Мэри Поппинс
Bad Tuesday
"AndI’lltellhimyouhaven’tcleanedtheshoesthismorning,"saidMichael,andwasalittleastonishedathimself.ItwashishabitandJane’salwaystoprotectRobertsonAy,becausetheylovedhimanddidn’twanttolosehim.
Buthewasnotastonishedlong,forhehadbeguntowonderwhathecoulddonext.Anditwasnotimebeforehethoughtofsomething.
ThroughthebarsofthefencehecouldseeMissLark’sAndrewdaintilysniffingattheNextDoorlawnandchoosingforhimselfthebestbladesofgrass.HecalledsoftlytoAndrewandgavehimabiscuitoutofhisownpocket,andwhileAndrewwasmunchingithetiedAndrew’stailtothefencewithapieceofstring.ThenheranawaywithMissLark’sangry,outragedvoicescreaminginhisears,andhisbodyalmostburstingwiththeexcitingweightofthatheavythinginsidehim.
ThedoorofhisFather’sstudystoodopen—forEllenhadjustbeendustingthebooks.SoMichaeldidaforbiddenthing.Hewentin,satdownathisFather’sdesk,andwithhisFather’spenbegantoscribbleontheblotter.Suddenlyhiselbow,knockingagainsttheinkpot,upsetit,andthechairandthedeskandthequillpenandhisownbestclotheswerecoveredwithgreatspreadingstainsofblueink.Itlookeddreadful,andfearofwhatwouldhappentohimstirredwithinMichael.But,inspiteofthat,hedidn’tcare—hedidn’tfeeltheleastbitsorry.
"Thatchildmustbeill,"saidMrs.Banks,whenshewastoldbyEllen—whosuddenlyreturnedanddiscoveredhim—ofthelatestadventure."Michael,youshallhavesomesyrupoffigs."
"I’mnotill.
