"Indians?" Michael's eyes widened. "Among those daisy trees?"
"He was looking for a squaw, papa, to take care of his wigwam!"
"Well, I hope he finds one," said Mr. Mo. "Oh, yes, of course there are Indians! And goodness only knows what else. Quite like a jungle, you might say. We never go very far in, you know. Much too dangerous. But — let me introduce my sons. This is Eenie, this is Meenie, and this is Mynie!"
Three pairs of blue eyes twinkled, three pointed noses turned up to the sky and three round faces grinned.
"And these—" said Mr. Mo, turning. Then he chuckled and flung up his hands. "Well! Here we are, old friends already, and I don't even know your names!"
They told him, shaking hands with his children.
"Banks? Not the Banks of Cherry Tree Lane? Why, I'm doing a job for you!" Mr. Mo rummaged in his tool-bag.
"What kind of job?" demanded Michael.
"It's a new — ah, there you are, Mrs. Hickory!"
Mr. Mo turned and waved a greeting as a dumpy little feminine figure came hurrying towards them. Two dimples twinkled in her cheeks, two rosy babies bounced in her arms and she carried in her looped-up apron a large bulky object.
"But she had no children!" said Jane to herself, as she stared at the two fat babies.
"We've brought you a present, Mr. Mo!" Mrs. Hickory blushed and opened her apron. "I found this lovely loaf on the lawn — somebody dropped it, I expect. My twins — this is Dickory, this is Dock," she explained to the astonished children—"are far too young to eat fresh bread. So here it is for the breakfast!"
"That's not a loaf, it's a sponge-cake crumb. I dropped it myself," said Michael. But he could not help feeling that the crumb was a good deal larger than he remembered it.
"Tee-hee!"
Mrs. Hickory giggled shyly and her dimples went in and out. You could see she thought he was joking and that she liked being joked with.
"A neighbourly thought!" said Mr. Mo. "Let's cut it in two and have half each. Half a loaf's better than no bread! And, in return, Mrs. Hickory, may I give you a speck of butter?"
"Indeed you may NOT!" said a furious voice. And the door of Mr. Mo's house burst open.
Jane and Michael fell back a pace. For there stood the largest and ugliest woman they had ever seen in their lives. She seemed to be made of a series of knobs, rather like a potato. A knob of a nose, a knob of hair, knobbly hands, knobbly feet, and her mouth had only two teeth.
She was more like a lump of clay than a human being and Jane was reminded of the scrap of plasticine that had lain behind the summer-house. A dingy pinafore covered her body and in one of her large knobbly hands she held a rolling-pin.
"May I ask what you think you're doing, Samuel? Giving away my butter?"
She stepped forward angrily and flourished the rolling-pin.
"I–I thought we could spare it, my — er — dear!" Mr. Mo quailed beneath her gaze.
"Not unless she pays for it! Spare, spare and your back will go bare!"
"Oh, no, my dear, you've got it wrong! Spare, spare and you'll know no care. Poor people must share and share alike — that's what makes them happy!"
"Nobody's going to share anything that belongs to Matilda Mo! Or spare either, if it comes to that. Last week you spared a footstool for your cousin, Mrs. Corry! And what have you got to show for it?"
"A lucky threepenny-piece from her coat!"
"Tush! And you mended a table for the Turvys—"
"Well, Topsy gave me a charming smile!" Mr. Mo beamed at the sweet recollection.
"Smiles won't fill a sack with gold! And the week before that it was Albert Wigg who wanted his ceiling raised."
"Well, he needed more room to bounce about in. And it gave me so much pleasure, Matilda!"
"Pleasure? Where's the profit in that? In future you can get your pleasure by giving things to me. And you, too!" added Mrs. Mo, shaking her fist at the boys.
"Alas, alas!" muttered Mr. Mo. "No rose without a thorn! No joy without annoy!"
"Eenie!" Mrs. Mo shouted. "Get me a wedding-wreath this instant! Look at me — a blushing bride — and nothing on my head."
"Oh, no!" breathed Jane. "You'll spoil my garden!"
But Eenie, with a look of alarm, had already darted to the flower-beds and plucked a crown of flowers.
"Not good enough, but better than nothing!" Mrs. Mo grunted ungraciously as she planted the garland on her knobbly head.
"Coo, Coo!" laughed the doves on the buttercup branch.
"They don't suit you.
Oo-hoo! Oo-hoo!"
"Meenie!" cried Mrs. Mo in a rage. "Up with you quickly and catch those birds! I'll make them into a pigeon pie!"
But the doves merely ruffled their wings and flew away, giggling.
"Two birds in the bush are worth one in the hand," said Mr. Mo, gazing after them. "I mean," he added nervously, "they sing more sweetly when they're free! Don't you agree, Matilda?"
"I never agree," snapped Mrs. Mo. "And I'll have no singing here. Mynie! Tell that man to be quiet!"
For a lusty voice was filling the air with the words of a well-known song.
"I'll sing you one-o,
Green grow the rushes-o!"
It was the Ice Cream Man, cycling along the path.
Jane and Michael had no time to wonder how he had managed to get into the little Park, for Eenie, Meenie and Mynie were shouting.
"Papa! Papa! A penny, please!"
"No ices!" bellowed Mrs. Mo. "We haven't the money to spare!"
"Matilda!" Mr. Mo entreated. "There's my lucky threepenny-piece."
"That is for a rainy day. Not for mere enjoyment."
"Oh, it's not going to rain, I'm sure, Matilda!"
"Of course it will rain. And, anyway, it's my threepenny-piece. From today, Samuel, what's yours is mine. Get along," she yelled to the Ice Cream Man, "and don't come here making foolish noises."
"It's not a noise, it's a song," he retorted. "And I'll sing it as much as I like."
And away he wheeled, singing
"I'll sing you two-o"
as loudly as he could.
"Out of sight," sighed Mr. Mo, as the barrow disappeared among the trees, "but not, alas, out of mind! Well, we mustn't grumble, boys!" He brightened. "We still have the wedding-feast. Now, Mrs. Hickory, where will you sit?"
Mrs. Hickory's dimples twinkled gaily.
"She won't sit anywhere, Samuel. She has not received an invitation."
The dimples disappeared again.
"Oh, but, Matilda—!" cried Mr. Mo, with a crestfallen look on his rosy face.
"But me no buts!" Mrs. Mo retorted, advancing towards the table. "What's this?" she demanded. "Something's missing! A peach and an orange have disappeared. And who has been eating my apple-pie?"
"I h-have," said Michael nervously. "B-but only a very small slice."
"And I took a peach," Jane said in a whisper. She found it hard to make the confession, Mrs. Mo looked so large and fierce.
"Oh, indeed?" The knobbly woman turned to the children. "And who invited you?"
"Well, you see," began Jane, "I was making a Park. And suddenly I found myself — I mean, it happened — I mean — I—well—" However could she explain?
"Don't hum and haw, Jane, if you please. Speak when you're spoken to. Come when you're called. And, Michael, do not gape like that. The wind may change and where will you be?"
A voice that was welcome as Nuts in May sounded in their ears.
"Mary Poppins!" cried Michael in glad surprise, staring — in spite of the changing wind — from her to Mr. Mo.
For there, beneath the buttercup, was the crowded perambulator. And beside it stood a tidy shape with buttoned-shoes, tulip-trimmed hat and parrot-headed umbrella.