Mary Poppins Opens the Door Read Online Free PDF

ended the bird dropped back to its golden nest.
    "Oh, Mr. Twigley, what bird is that?" Jane looked at the box with shining eyes.
    "A Nightingale," Mr. Twigley told her. "I was working on him when you came in. He has to be finished tonight, you see. Such lovely weather for nightingales."
    "Why don't you just wish?" suggested Michael. "Then you needn't do any work."
    "What! Wish on my Birdie? Certainly not! You see what happens when I start wishing. Why—he might turn into a Bald-headed Eagle!"
    "Will you keep him to sing to you always?" Jane asked enviously. She wished she could have a bird like that.
    "Keep him? Oh, dear, no! I'll set him free! Can't litter the place up with finished work. I've more things to do than take care of a bird. I have to put figures on those——" he nodded at the half-finished musical boxes. "And I've got a rush order that
must
be finished—a music box playing 'A Day in the Park.'"
    "A Day in the Park?" The children stared.
    "The Band, you know!" Mr. Twigley explained. "And the sound of the fountains. And gossiping ladies. Rooks caw-cawing, and children laughing, and the slow, soft murmur of trees as they grow."
    Mr. Twigley's eyes glowed behind his spectacles as he thought of all the lovely things he would put in the musical box.
    "But you can't hear trees growing," protested Michael. "There's no music for that!"
    "Tut!" said Mr. Twigley impatiently. "Of course there is! There's a music for everything. Didn't you ever hear the earth spinning? It makes a sound like a humming-top. Buckingham Palace plays 'Rule Britannia'; the River Thames is a drowsy flute. Dear me, yes! Everything in the world—trees, rocks and stars and human beings—they all have their own true music."
    As he spoke Mr. Twigley tripped across the floor and wound up a musical box. Immediately the little platform at the top began to turn. And from within came a clear high piping like the sound of a penny whistle.
    "That's mine!" said Mr. Twigley proudly, as he cocked his head to listen. He wound up another musical box and a new tune fell on the air.
    "That's 'London Bridge Is Falling Down'! It's my favourite song!" cried Michael.
    "What did I tell you?" smiled Mr. Twigley, as he turned another handle. The tune broke gaily from the box.
    "That's mine!" said Jane, with a crow of delight. "It's 'Oranges and Lemons.'"
    "Of course it is!" twinkled Mr. Twigley. And gaily seizing the children's hands he swept them away across the attic. The three little platforms turned and spun and the three tunes mingled in the air.
"London Bridge is Falling Down,
Dance over, my Lady Leigh!"
    sang Michael.
"Oranges and Lemons,
Said the Bells of St. Clements."
    sang Jane.
    And Mr. Twigley whistled like a happy blackbird.
    The feet of the children were light as wings as they danced to their own true music. Never before, they told themselves, had they felt so light and merry.
    Bang! The front door slammed and shook the house. Mr. TVigley paused on one toe and listened. Thump! Thump! came the footsteps on the stairs. A loud voice rumbled across the landing.
    Mr. Twigley gave a gasp of horror, and swung his coat-tails over his ears.
    "She's coming!" he shrieked. "Oh, dear! Oh, my! I wish I were in a nice safe place!"
    A blast of music came from the trumpets. And then a strange thing happened.
    Mr. Twigley, as though by an unseen hand, was snatched from the floor of the attic. Off he went, hurtling past the children, like a seed of thistledown tossed by the wind. Then choking and gasping, shaking and panting, he landed upon his musical box. He did not seem to have grown smaller nor the box larger. Yet, somehow, they fitted perfectly together.
    Round and round Mr. Twigley spun and upon his face spread a smile of triumph.
    "I'm safe!" he yelled, as he waved to the children, "She'll never catch me now!"
    "Hooray!" they were just about to shout but the word was caught in their throats, like a hiccup. For something had seized them by the hair and was flinging