Мэри Поппинс
Full Moon
SeeyoulaterattheGrandChain,Ihope.I’lllookoutforyou."And,leadingthemtothedoor,hetookhisleaveofthem,sidlingaway,swinginghiscurledmane,hisgoldenbodydappledwithmoonlightandshadow.
"Oh,please—"Janecalledafterhim.Buthewasoutofhearing.
"Iwantedtoaskhimifthey’devergetout.Thepoorhumans!Why,itmighthavebeenJohnandBarbara—oranyofus."SheturnedtoMichael,butfoundthathewasnolongerbyherside.Hehadmovedawayalongoneofthepathsand,runningafterhim,shefoundhimtalkingtoaPenguinwhowasstandinginthemiddleofthepathwithalargecopybookunderonewingandanenormouspencilundertheother.Hewasbitingtheendofitthoughtfullyassheapproached.
"Ican’tthink,"sheheardMichaelsaying,apparentlyinanswertoaquestion.
ThePenguinturnedtoJane."Perhapsyoucantellme,"hesaid."Now,whatrhymeswithMary?Ican’tuse’contrary’becausethathasbeendonebeforeandonemustbeoriginal.Ifyou’regoingtosay’fairy,’don’t.I’vethoughtofthatalready,butasit’snotabitlikeher,itwon’tdo."
"Hairy,"saidMichaelbrightly.
"H’m.Notpoeticenough,"observedthePenguin.
"Whatabout’wary’?"saidJane.
"Well—"ThePenguinappearedtobeconsideringit."It’snotverygood,isit?"hesaidforlornly."I’mafraidI’llhavetogiveitup.Yousee,IwastryingtowriteapoemfortheBirthday.IthoughtitwouldbesoniceifIbegan:
"OMary,Mary—"
andthenIcouldn’tgetanyfurther.It’sveryannoying.
