“But you must know! You’ve only got to look!” said Michael, thinking how Perfectly Awful Ellen was.
But the Policeman, apparently, thought differently, for he took tight hold of Ellen’s arm with one hand, and the handle of the perambulator with the other, and led her across the street as tenderly as though she were a bride.
“Ever get a Day Off?” he enquired, looking interestedly into Ellen’s red face.
“Well,” said Ellen. “Half-days, so to speak. Every second Saturday.” She blew her nose nervously.
“Funny,” said the Policeman. “Those are my days too. And I’m usually just around here at two o’clock in the afternoon.”
“Oh!” said Ellen, opening her mouth very wide indeed.
“So!” said the Policeman, nodding at her politely.
“Well, I’ll see,” said Ellen. “Goodbye.”
And she went trudging on, looking back occasionally to see if the Policeman was still looking.
And he always was.
“Mary Poppins never needs a policeman,” complained Michael. “What can she be busy about?”
“Something important is happening at home,” said Jane. “I’m sure of it.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve got an empty, waiting sort of feeling inside.”
“Pooh!” said Michael. “I expect you’re hungry! Can’t we go faster, Ellen, and get it over?”
“That boy,” said Ellen to the Park railing, “has a heart of stone. No, we can’t, Master Michael, because of my feet.”
“What’s the matter with them?”
“They will only go so fast and no faster.”
“Oh, dear Mary Poppins!” said Michael bitterly.
He went sighing after the perambulator. Jane walked beside him counting rainbows through her hat.
Ellen’s slow feet tramped steadily onward. One-two. One-two. Plop-plop! Plop-plop!
And away behind them in Cherry Tree Lane the important thing was happening.
From the outside, Number Seventeen looked as peaceful and sleepy as all the other houses. But behind the drawn blinds there was such a stir and bustle that, if it hadn’t been Summer-time, a passer-by might have thought the people in the house were Spring-cleaning or getting ready for Christmas.
But the House itself stood blinking in the sunshine, taking no notice. After all, it thought to itself, I have seen such bustlings often before and shall probably see them many times again, so why should I bother about it?
And just then, the front door was flung open by Mrs Brill, and Doctor Simpson hurried out. Mrs Brill stood dancing on her toes as she watched him go down the garden path, swinging his little brown bag. Then she hurried to the Pantry and called excitedly:
“Where are you, Robertson? Come along, if you’re coming!”
She scuttled up the stairs two at a time with Robertson Ay, yawning and stretching, behind her.
“Sh!” hissed Mrs Brill. “Sh!”
She put her finger to her lips and tiptoed to Mrs Banks’ door.
“Tch, tch! You can’t see nothing but the wardrobe,” she complained, as she bent to look through the key-hole. “The wardrobe and a bit of the winder.”
But the next moment she started violently.
“My Glory-goodness!” she shrieked, as the door burst open suddenly and she fell back against Robertson Ay.
For there, framed against the light, stood Mary Poppins, looking very stern and suspicious. In her arms she carried, with great care, something that looked like a bundle of blankets.
“Well!” said Mrs Brill breathlessly. “If it isn’t you! I was just polishing the door-knob, putting a shine on it, so to say, as you came out.”
Mary Poppins looked at the door-knob. It was very dirty.
“Polishing the key-hole is what I should have said!” she remarked tartly.
But Mrs Brill took no notice. She was gazing tenderly at the bundle. With her large red hand she drew aside a fold of one of the blankets, and a satisfied smile spread over her face.
“Ah!” she cooed. “Ah, the Lamb! Ah, the Duck! Ah, the Trinket! And as good as a week of Sundays, I’ll be bound!”
Robertson Ay yawned again and stared at the bundle with his mouth slightly open.
“Another pair of shoes to clean!” he said mournfully, leaning against the banisters for support.
“Mind you don’t drop it, now!” said Mrs Brill anxiously, as Mary Poppins brushed past her.
Mary Poppins glanced at them both contemptuously.
“If I were some people,” she remarked acidly, “I’d mind my own business!”
And she folded the blanket over the bundle again and went upstairs to the Nursery. . .
“Excuse me, please! Excuse me!” Mr Banks came rushing up the stairs, nearly knocking Mrs Brill over as he hurried into Mrs Banks’ bedroom.
“Well!” he said, sitting down at the foot of the bed. “This is all Very Awkward. Very Awkward indeed. I don’t know that I can afford it. I hadn’t bargained for five.”
“I’m so sorry!” said Mrs Banks, smiling at him happily.
“You’re not sorry, not a bit. In fact, you’re very pleased and conceited about it. And there’s no reason to be. It’s a very small one.”
“I like them that way,” said Mrs Banks. “Besides, it will grow.”
“Yes, unfortunately!” he replied bitterly. “And I shall have to buy it shoes and clothes and a tricycle. Yes, and send it to school and give it a Good Start in Life. A very expensive proceeding. And then, after all that, when I’m an old man sitting by the fire, it will go away and leave me. You hadn’t thought of that, I suppose?”
“No,” said Mrs Banks, trying to look sorry, but not succeeding. “I hadn’t.”
“I thought not. Well, there it is. But, I warn you! I shall not be able to afford to have the bathroom retiled.”
“Don’t worry about that,” said Mrs Banks comfortingly. “I really like the old tiles best.”
“Then you’re a very stupid woman. That’s all I have to say.”
And Mr Banks went away, muttering and blustering through the house. But when he got outside the front door, he flung back his shoulders, and pushed out his chest, and put a large cigar in his mouth. And, soon after that, he was heard telling Admiral Boom the news in a voice that was very loud and conceited and boastful. . .
Mary Poppins stooped over the new cradle between John’s and Barbara’s cots and laid the bundle of blankets carefully in it.
“Here you are at last! Bless my Beak and Tail-feathers – I thought you were never coming! Which is it?” cried a croaking voice from the window.
Mary Poppins looked up.
The Starling who lived on the top of the Chimney was hopping excitedly on the window-sill.
“A girl. Annabel,” said Mary Poppins shortly. “And I’ll thank you to be a little quieter. Squawking and croaking there like a packet of magpies!”
But the Starling was not listening. He was turning somersaults on the window-sill, clapping his wings wildly together each time his head came up.
“What a treat!” he panted, when at last he stood up straight. “What a Treat!” Oh, I could sing!”