Мэри Поппинс
Bad Tuesday
Andoh,theheavyburningthingthathadbeeninsidehimalldayhadmeltedanddisappeared.Hefeltpeacefulandhappy,andasifhewouldliketogiveeverybodyheknewabirthdaypresent.
"What—whathappened?"hesaidratheranxiouslytoMaryPoppins.
"Itoldyouthatwasmycompass,didn’tI?Bekindenoughnottotouchmythings,ifyouplease,"wasallshesaidasshestoopedandpickedupthecompassandputitinherpocket.Thenshebegantofoldtheclothesthathehadthrowndownonthefloor.
"ShallIdoit?"hesaid.
"No,thankyou."
Hewatchedhergointothenextroom,andpresentlyshereturnedandputsomethingwarmintohishands.Itwasacupofmilk.
Michaelsippedit,tastingeverydropseveraltimeswithhistongue,makingitlastaslongaspossiblesothatMaryPoppinsshouldstaybesidehim.
Shestoodtherewithoutsayingaword,watchingthemilkslowlydisappear.Hecouldsmellhercracklingwhiteapronandthefaintflavouroftoastthatalwayshungabouthersodeliriously.Buttryashewould,hecouldnotmakethemilklastforever,andpresently,withasighofregret,hehandedhertheemptycupandslippeddownintothebed.Hehadneverknownittobesocomfortable,hethought.Andhethought,too,howwarmhewasandhowhappyhefeltandhowluckyhewastobealive.
"Isn’titafunnything,MaryPoppins,"hesaiddrowsily."I’vebeensoverynaughtyandIfeelsoverygood."
"Humph!"saidMaryPoppinsasshetuckedhiminandwentawaytowashupthesupperthings….
