“I won’t! Unhand me! Samuel! Tell him to set me free!”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dare – he’s far too strong. And the best of friends must part, Matilda!”
“Free? Nay, nay, you shall be my slave. There!” said the Indian cheerfully, as he strung some yellow beads round her head and stuck a feather in the knob of her hair. “This I give as a great honour. Now you’re an Indian too!”
“I’m not! I won’t! Oh, help! Oh, Sam!”
“Well, you wanted a crown of beaded gold and you seem to have got it, my dear!”
“Wash in the stream, cook over twigs!” The Indian wrinkled his nose at her. “All the wide greenwood for your house and sky above for your roof!”
“That’s larger than the largest castle.” Mr Mo gave her a beaming glance.
“Nay, struggle not,” said the Indian, as Mrs Mo tried to wriggle away. “A good squaw obeys her master. And a queen must do the same!”
“Queen?” cried Mrs Mo, wildly kicking.
The Indian tossed his head proudly. “Did you not know I was King of the Forest?”
“Matilda, how splendid! Just what you wanted!”
“I didn’t, I didn’t! Not in this way!”
“There are more ways than one of being a queen,” said Mary Poppins primly.
Mrs Mo turned on her in a fury. She drummed with her feet on the Indian’s shins and brandished the rolling-pin.
“This is your doing – you wolf in sheep’s clothing! Things were going so nicely until you came. Oh, Samuel, why did you let her in?” Mrs Mo burst into angry tears.
“Nicely for you!” said Mary Poppins. “But not for anyone else!”
“A wolf? A lamb, you mean, Matilda! I didn’t let her in – she came. As if I could keep that wolf from the door!” Mr Mo laughed at his little joke.
“Oh, help me, Samuel! Set me free and I’ll lend you the threepenny-piece. And the boys can have a slice of pie every second Friday!” Mrs Mo, with an imploring gesture, flung out her knobbly arms.
“What?” she cried, glaring at each in turn. “Does nobody want me back?”
There was silence in the little group. Mr Mo glanced at his three sons and then at Mary Poppins. One by one all shook their heads.
“Coo-roo! Coo-roo!
They don’t want you!”
cooed the doves as they fluttered past.
“Oh, what shall I do?” wailed Mrs Mo.
“I want you, Mahtildah!” the Indian cried. “I need you, Mahtildah, to boil the pot! Sweep the wigwam! Sew the moccasins! Make the arrows! Fill the pipe! And – and every second Monday, Mahtildah,
“You shall sit on the blanket beneath a moonbeam
And feed on wild strawberries, snakes and nut cream!”
“Snakes? Moonbeams? Let me go! I eat nothing but mutton chops. Oh, help! Murder! Ambulance! Fire!”
Her voice rose to an anguished scream as the Indian flung her over his shoulder and stepped back into the woodland. Clasping his struggling burden tightly, he glanced at the three little boys.
“They let me go when I hollered,” he said. “So – one good turn deserves another!”
And, smiling broadly at Mr Mo, he bore the protesting Mrs Mo into the depths of the forest.
“Police! Police!” they heard her shriek, as she and the Indian and the rolling-pin disappeared from view.
Mr Mo gave a sigh of relief.
“Well, it certainly is an ill wind that blows nobody any good! I hope Matilda will settle down and enjoy being a queen. Mary, you’ve paid me well for that handle. I shall always be in your debt.”
“She said she would do it in her own good time – and she has,” said Michael proudly.
“Ah!” said Mr Mo, shaking his head. “She does everything in her own time – it’s a very special kind.”
“You owe me nothing, Cousin Sam!” Mary Poppins turned away from the forest with a conquering shine in her eye. “Except, of course,” she added severely, “not to be so foolish in future.”
“Out of the frying-pan into the fire? Oh, I’ll never marry again, Mary! Once bitten, twice shy. The boys must manage somehow.”
“Perhaps, Mr Mo,” Mrs Hickory dimpled, “you would let me wash and mend for them. It would be no trouble at all.”
“What a beautiful thought!” cried Mr Mo. “All’s well that ends well, Mary, you see! And I in return, Mrs Hickory, will build you a nice little house. Oh, I’ve lost sixpence and found a shilling! Look!” he said, pointing to the sunset. “Red sky at night is the shepherd’s delight! My dears, we are all going to be so happy. I shall start on my Fun Fair at once!”
And away he dashed across the lawn, with the rest of the party at his heels.
“But what about the wedding-breakfast?” Michael panted after him.
“My goodness, I’d forgotten. Here – fruit, cake, sausages, buns!” He took a piece from every dish and thrust it into Michael’s hands.
Mary Poppins looked on disapprovingly.
“Now, Michael, not another bite! You will have no room for your supper.”
“Enough’s as good as a feast, my lad!” Mr Mo grinned at Michael as he watched the food disappearing.
“Enough is too much!” said Mary Poppins. “Come along, both of you!”
“Oh, I cannot bear to leave it!” cried Jane. Her little Park seemed brighter than ever, as it shone in the setting sun.
“You never will!” Mr Mo declared. “As long as you remember it, you can always come and go. And I hope you’re not going to tell me that you can’t be in two places at once. A clever girl who makes parks and people surely knows how to do that!” He smiled his twinkling, teasing smile.
Mary Poppins stepped out from under the buttercup, with a homeward look in her eye.
“Say goodbye politely, Jane!” She sent the perambulator rolling along the pebbled path.
“Goodbye, Mr Mo!” said Jane softly, as she stood on tiptoe and held out her arms.
“Oh, luck! Oh, joy!” He patted his cheek. “This is no Park for Poor People! I’m rich – she’s given me a kiss! Share and share alike!” he cried, as he kissed Mrs Hickory right on a dimple.
“Remember, Sam!” warned Mary Poppins. “Look before you leap!”
“Oh, I shan’t do any leaping, Mary! A little dance and a hop or two – nothing more serious, I assure you!”
She gave a disbelieving sniff, but Mr Mo did not hear it. He was skipping beside Mrs Hickory and seizing her apron-strings.
“May I have the pleasure?” they heard him saying.
“Me too!” cried Eenie, Meenie and Mynie, as they flew to join their father.
And there they all were, prancing round the table, helping themselves to pie and wine and hanging the cherries behind their ears. Mrs Hickory’s dimples were twinkling gaily and her babies were bobbing about in her arms.
“It’s a poor heart that never rejoices!” cried Mr Mo, as he whirled her about. He seemed to have quite forgotten his guests in the gaiety of the moment.
“It’s love that makes the world go round!” yelled Eenie, Meenie and Mynie.