Mary Poppins in the Park Read Free

the man who rips him apart!"
    For the Boy was something more than a boy—as you'll probably have guessed. Inside, he knew the Straits of Magellan as you know the nose on your face. Honest mariners paled at his fame, his deeds were a byword in seven seas. He could sack a dozen ships in a morning and bury the treasure so cleverly that even he could not find it.
    To a passer-by it might have seemed that the Boy had two good eyes. But in his own private opinion, he was only possessed of one. He had lost the other in a hand-to-hand fight somewhere off Gibraltar. His everyday name always made him smile when people called him by it. "If they knew who I really am," he would say, "they wouldn't look so cheerful!"
    As for the Monkey,
he
believed he was nothing like a monkey.
    "This old fur coat," he assured himself, "is simply to keep me warm. And I swing by my tail for the fun of it, not because I must."
    Well, there they all were, one afternoon, full of their fine ideas. The sun spread over them like a fan, very warm and cosy. The meadow flowers hung on their stems, bright as newly-washed china. Up in the sky the larks were singing—on and on, song without end, as though they were all wound up.
    The Goose-girl sat among her geese, the Swineherd with his swine. The Ass in his field, and the Toad in his hole, were nodding sleepily. And the Boy and his Monkey lolled on the bridge discussing their further plans for bloodshed.
    Suddenly the Ass snorted and his ear gave a questioning twitch. Larks were above and the brook beneath, but he heard among these daily sounds the echo of a footstep.
    Along the path that led to the stream a ragged man was lounging. His tattered clothes were so old that you couldn't find one bit of them that wasn't tied with string. The brim of his hat framed a face that was rosy and mild in the sunlight, and through the brim his hair stuck up in tufts of grey and silver. His steps were alternately light and heavy, for one foot wore an old boot and the other a bedroom slipper. You would have to look for a long time to find a shabbier man.
    But his shabbiness seemed not to trouble him—indeed, he appeared to enjoy it. For he wandered along contentedly, eating a crust and a pickled onion and whistling between mouthfuls. Then he spied the group in the meadow, and stared, and his tune broke off in the middle.
    "A beautiful day!" he said politely, plucking the hat-brim from his head and bowing to the Goose-girl.
    She gave him a haughty, tossing glance, but the Tramp did not seem to notice it.
    "You two been quarrelling?" he asked, jerking his head at the Swineherd.

    The Goose-girl laughed indignantly. "Quarrelling? What a silly remark! Why, I do not even know him!"
    "Well," said the Tramp, with a cheerful smile, "would you like me to introduce you?"
    "Certainly not!" She flung up her head. "How could I associate with a swineherd? I'm a princess in disguise."
    "Indeed?" said the Tramp, looking very surprised. "If that is the case, I must not detain you. I expect you want to be back at the Palace, getting on with your work."
    "Work? What work?" The Goose-girl stared.
    It was now her turn to look surprised. Surely princesses sat upon cushions, with slaves to perform their least command.
    "Why, spinning and weaving. And etiquette! Practising patience and cheerfulness while unsuitable suitors beg for your hand. Trying to look as if you liked it when you hear, for the hundred-thousandth time, the King's three silly riddles! Not many princesses—as you must know—have leisure to sit all day in the sun among a handful of geese!"
    "But what about wearing a pearly crown? And dancing till dawn with the Sultan's son?"
    "Dancing? Pearls? Oh, my! Oh, my!" A burst of laughter broke from the Tramp, as he took from his sleeve a piece of sausage.
    "Those crowns are as heavy as lead or iron. You'd have a ridge in your head in no time. And a princess's duty—surely you know?—is to dance with her father's old friends first. Then the