Mrs. Corry

           Twopoundsofsausages—BestPork,"saidMaryPoppins."Andatonce,please.We’reinahurry."

           TheButcher,whoworealargeblue-and-whitestripedapron,wasafatandfriendlyman.Hewasalsolargeandredandratherlikeoneofhisownsausages.Heleantuponhischopping-blockandgazedadmiringlyatMaryPoppins.ThenhewinkedpleasantlyatJaneandMichael.

           "InaNurry?"hesaidtoMaryPoppins."Well,that’sapity.I’dhopedyou’ddroppedinforabitofachat.WeButchers,youknow,likeabitofcompany.Andwedon’toftengetthechanceoftalkingtoanice,handsomeyoungladylikeyou—"Hebrokeoffsuddenly,forhehadcaughtsightofMaryPoppins’sface.Theexpressiononitwasawful.AndtheButcherfoundhimselfwishingtherewasatrapdoorinthefloorofhisshopthatwouldopenandswallowhimup.

           "Oh,well—"hesaid,blushingevenredderthanusual."Ifyou’reinaNurry,ofcourse.Twopounds,didyousay?BestPork?Rightyouare!"

           Andhehurriedlyhookeddownalongstringofthesausagesthatwerefestoonedacrosstheshop.Hecutoffalength—aboutthree-quartersofayard—wounditintoasortofgarland,andwrappeditupfirstinwhiteandtheninbrownpaper.Hepushedtheparcelacrossthechopping-block.

           "ANDthenext?"hesaidhopefully,stillblushing.

           "Therewillbenonext,"saidMaryPoppins,withahaughtysniff.Andshetookthesausagesandturnedtheperambulatorroundveryquickly,andwheeleditoutoftheshopinsuchawaythattheButcherknewhehadmortallyoffendedher.