Mary Poppins in the Park. P. Travers L.

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СКАЧАТЬ said the Tramp, looking very surprised. “If that is the case, I must not detain you. I expect you want to be back at the Palace, getting on with your work.”

      “Work? What work?” The Goose-girl stared.

      It was now her turn to look surprised. Surely princesses sat upon cushions, with slaves to perform their least command.

      “Why, spinning and weaving. And etiquette! Practising patience and cheerfulness while unsuitable suitors beg for your hand. Trying to look as if you liked it when you hear, for the hundred-thousandth time, the King’s three silly riddles! Not many princesses – as you must know – have leisure to sit all day in the sun among a handful of geese!”

      “But what about wearing a pearly crown? And dancing till dawn with the Sultan’s son?”

      “Dancing? Pearls? Oh, my! Oh, my!” A burst of laughter broke from the Tramp, as he took from his sleeve a piece of sausage.

      “Those crowns are as heavy as lead or iron. You’d have a ridge in your head in no time. And a princess’s duty – surely you know? – is to dance with her father’s old friends first. Then the Lord Chamberlain. Then the Lord Chancellor. And, of course, the Keeper of the Seal. By the time you get round to the Sultan’s son, it’s late and he’s had to go home.”

      The Goose-girl pondered the Tramp’s words. Could he really be speaking the truth? All the goose-girls in all the stories were princesses in disguise. But oh, how difficult it sounded! What did one say to Lord Chamberlains? “Come here!” “Go there!” as one would to a goose? Spinning and weaving! Etiquette!

      Perhaps, taking everything into account, it might be better, the Goose-girl thought, simply to be a goose-girl.

      “Well, away to the Palace!” the Tramp advised her. “You’re wasting your time sitting here, you know! Don’t you agree?” he called to the Swineherd, who was listening from his side of the stream.

      “Agree with what?” said the Swineherd quickly, as though he hadn’t heard a word. “I never concern myself with goose-girls,” he added untruthfully. “It would not be fitting or suitable. I am a prince in disguise!”

      “You are?” cried the Tramp admiringly. “Then you’re occupying your time, I suppose, in getting up muscle to fight the Dragon.”

      The Swineherd’s damask cheek grew pale. “What dragon?” he asked in a stifled voice.

      “Oh, any that you chance to meet. All princes, as you yourself must know, have to fight at least one dragon. That is what princes are for.”

      “Two-headed?” enquired the Swineherd, gulping.

      “Two?” cried the Tramp. ‘Seven, you mean! Two-headed dragons are quite out of date.”

      The Swineherd felt his heart thump. Suppose, in spite of all the stories, instead of the prince killing the monster, the monster should kill the prince? He was not, you understand, afraid. But he wondered whether, after all, he were not a simple swineherd.

      “A fine lot of porkers you’ve got there!” The Tramp glanced appreciatively from the swine to his piece of sausage.

      A snort of disgust went up from the herd. A raggedy tramp to be calling them porkers!

      “Perhaps you are not aware,” they grunted, “that we are sheep in disguise!”

      “Oh, dear!” said the Tramp, with a doleful air. “I’m sorry for you, my friends!”

      “Why should you be sorry?” demanded the swine, sticking their snouts in the air.

      “Why? Surely you know that the people here are extremely partial to mutton! If they knew there was a flock of sheep – however disguised – in this meadow—” He broke off, shaking his head and sighing. Then he searched among his tattered rags, discovered a piece of plum cake and munched it sombrely.

      The swine, aghast, looked at each other. Mutton – what a frightful word! They had thought of themselves as graceful lambs prancing for ever in fields of flowers – never as legs of mutton. Would it not be wiser, they cogitated, to decide to be merely pigs?

      “Here, goosey-ganders!” chirruped the Tramp. He tossed his crumbs to the Goose-girl’s flock.

      The geese, as one bird, raised their heads and let out a snake-like hiss.

      “We’re swans!” they cackled in high-pitched chorus. And then, as he did not seem to believe them, they added the word, “Disguised!”

      “Well, if that’s the case,” the Tramp remarked, “you won’t be here very long. All swans, as you know, belong to the King. Dear me, what lucky birds you are! You will swim on the ornamental lake, and courtiers with golden scissors will clip your flying feathers. Strawberry jam on silver plates will be given you every morning. And not a care in the world will you have – not even the trouble of hatching your eggs, for these His Majesty eats for breakfast.”

      “What!” cried the geese. “No grubs? No goslings?”

      “Certainly not! But think of the honour!” The Tramp chuckled and turned away, bumping into a shaggy shape that was standing among the daisies.

      The geese stood rigid in the grass, staring at each other.

      Strawberry jam! Clipped wings! No hatching season! Could they have made a mistake, they wondered? Were they not, after all, just geese?

      From something that once had been a pocket the Tramp extracted an apple.

      “Pardon, friend!” he said to the Ass, as he took a juicy bite. “I’d offer you half – but you don’t need it. You’ve all this buttercup field.”

      The Ass surveyed the scene with distaste. “It may be all very well for donkeys, but don’t imagine,” he remarked, “that I’m such an ass as I look. As you may be interested to know, I’m an Arab steed in disguise!”

      “Indeed?” The Tramp looked very impressed. “How you must long, if that is so, for the country of your birth. Sandstorms! Mirages! Waterless deserts!”

      “Waterless?” The Ass looked anxious.

      “Well, practically. But that’s nothing to you. The way you Arab animals can live for weeks on nothing – nothing to eat, nothing to drink, nowhere to sleep – it’s wonderful!”

      “But what about all those oases? Surely grass grows there?”

      “Few and far between,” said the Tramp. “But what of that, my friend? The less you eat the faster you go! The less you drink the lighter you are! It only takes you half a jiffy to fling yourself down and shelter your master when his enemies attack!”

      “But,” cried the Ass, “in that case, I should be shot at first!”

      “Naturally,” the Tramp replied. “That’s why one admires you so – you noble Arab steeds. You’re ready to die at any moment!”

      The Ass rubbed his forehead against his leg. Was he ready to die at any moment? He could not honestly answer Yes. Weeks and weeks with nothing to eat! And here СКАЧАТЬ