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Miss Lark's Andrew
PeopleusedtolaughheartilywhentheysawAndrewsittingupinthebackseatofMissLark’scaronthewaytotheHairdresser’s,withthefurrugoverhiskneesandhisbestcoaton.AndonthedaywhenMissLarkboughthimtwopairsofsmallleatherbootssothathecouldgooutintheParkwetorfine,everybodyintheLanecamedowntotheirfrontgatestowatchhimgobyandtosmilesecretlybehindtheirhands.
"Pooh!"saidMichael,astheywerewatchingAndrewonedaythroughthefencethatseparatedNumberSeventeenfromNextDoor."Pooh,he’saninkypoop!"
"Howdoyouknow?"askedJane,veryinterested.
"IknowbecauseIheardDaddycallhimonethismorning!"saidMichael,andhelaughedatAndrewveryrudely.
"Heisnotanincompoop,"saidMaryPoppins."Andthatisthat."
AndMaryPoppinswasright.Andrewwasn’tanincompoop,asyouwillverysoonsee.
YoumustnotthinkhedidnotrespectMissLark.Hedid.Hewasevenfondofherinamildsortofway.Hecouldn’thelphavingakindlyfeelingforsomebodywhohadbeensogoodtohimeversincehewasapuppy,evenifshedidkisshimrathertoooften.ButtherewasnodoubtaboutitthatthelifeAndrewledboredhimtodistraction.Hewouldhavegivenhalfhisfortune,ifhehadone,foranicepieceofraw,redmeat,insteadoftheusualbreastofchickenorscrambledeggswithasparagus.
Forinhissecret,innermostheart,Andrewlongedtobeacommondog.Heneverpassedhispedigree(whichhungonthewallinMissLark’sdrawing-room)withoutashudderofshame.
