Mary-Mary

by Joan G. Robinson

  “When?” said Mary-Mary. “Tomorrow?”

  “Perhaps,” said Mother. “It all depends how busy I am. No, not tomorrow. It’s the Garden Fête. I must bake some cakes to take along there.”

  The Garden Fête was going to be held two afternoons running at the house of a lady called Miss Stokes. She had a large garden, and if the weather was fine the stalls and the teas were going to be out of doors.

  “Can we go to the Garden Fête too?” said Miriam.

  “Yes,” said Mother. “We will all go tomorrow.”

  “Oh, why not today?” said Miriam, Martyn, Mervyn, and Meg all together.

  “I told you why,” said Mother. “But now I come to think of it, there’s really no reason why you shouldn’t go by yourselves.”

  Miriam, Martyn, Mervyn, and Meg were all very pleased.

  “But do we have to take Mary-Mary?” they said.

  “No. You four go on your own today,” said Mother. “I’ll take Mary-Mary tomorrow.”

  Then she gave them threepence each to get in (because it was half-price for children) and ninepence each to spend there.

  Mary-Mary stood at the gate and watched them go. They felt rather sorry for her when they saw her standing there.

  “Never mind,” they said. “Perhaps Miss Muffin can come another day.”

  “Yes, perhaps she can,” said Mary-Mary, “and perhaps she can’t. And perhaps she can come today and perhaps she can’t. It all depends how busy she is.”

  They looked rather surprised at this. Then Miriam said, “Come on, she’s only pretending. Let’s go.” And they all said, “Never mind, Mary-Mary,” again, and waved good-bye to her all the way down the road.

  Mary-Mary went on thinking rather hard about Miss Muffin.

  “Perhaps she can and perhaps she can’t,” she said out loud, to nobody in particular. “It all depends how busy she is. I’d better find out.”

  Then she dialled a pretend telephone number on the gate, pulled a branch of the hedge close to her ear, and said very fast, in an important, grown-up voice, “Ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling. Hallo, Miss Muffn—is that you? Are you busy today? No, I’m bored to death. Oh, good. Well, there’s a garden fête at Miss Stokes’ house. Oh, hooray—thank you for telling me. I could just do with a garden fête. I’ve never been to one before. No, I thought you hadn’t. Good-bye.”

  “Well, that settles that,” said Mary-Mary. “Miss Muffin is coming today. I thought she was.”

  She ran quickly upstairs, pulled out a box from under her bed, and took out Miss Muffin’s old, battered hat and purple-flowered dress. Then she ran downstairs again and put them on in front of the hall mirror, nodding at herself and talking to herself all the time.

  In the kitchen she could hear Mother getting out the baking-tins, then someone knocking at the back door, then Mrs Merry’s voice saying she’d just popped in as she was passing.

  “That’s lucky,” said Mary-Mary, putting on the old, battered hat. “Mrs Merry’s just popped in, so I’ll just pop out. When Mrs Merry pops in she doesn’t pop out again for ages and ages; so if I pop out now no one’ll miss me. But just in case they do, I’ll pop a note in the letter-box saying I’ve popped out; then I’ll pop off.”

  “That sounded rather good,” said Mary-Mary. “I wish I could remember how I did it.”

  Then she wrote a note saying, “Dear Mrs Madam, Just popped out to the Fate. Yours truly, Miss, Muffin,” and popped it in the letter-box.

  Last of all she ran out and dug up her dreadful old handbag out of the sandpit. She had to keep it there when she wasn’t using it because it was so very old and dreadful-looking that people always wanted to throw it away when they saw it lying around. It had belonged to Mother a very long while ago.

  She opened it to see what was inside. There were only two buttons, an elastic band, and an empty cigarette packet.

  “Never mind,” said Miss Muffin. “Money isn’t everything.” And she closed it with a snap and set off to the Garden Fête.

  She ran all the way there, holding up her skirt so as not to trip over it. On the fence outside Miss Stokes’ house was a large notice which she stopped to read. It said:

  COME TO THE GARDEN FETE STALLS, SIDESHOWS, AND STRAWBERRY TEAS

  PLEASE WALK IN

  At the top of the drive a lady was sitting at a little table taking money from the people who were coming in (sixpence for grown-ups and half-price for children). Miss Muffin bent down low, picked up her skirt, and ran as fast as she could right past the little table, and through a rose arch into the garden. The lady at the table looked up quickly.

  “Who was that funny little person?” she said.

  But nobody seemed to know.

  “Oh, well, I expect she was something to do with one of the sideshows,” said the lady, and went on taking the sixpences.

  Miriam, Martyn, Mervyn, and Meg each spent their ninepence at the Garden Fête. First they spent threepence each on an ice-cream (but that didn’t last long). Then they spent threepence each on the hoop-la stall (but none of them won anything). Then they spent threepence each on the lucky dip.

  Miriam won two marbles.

  “What ever do I want with those?” she said.

  Martyn won a doll’s knife and fork.

  “That’s no use to me,” he said.

  Mervyn won a pink plastic hair-slide, but didn’t even feel funny enough to put it on. And Meg won a box of pistol caps.

  “I should call that an unlucky dip,” said Martyn. “I’d rather have had another ice-cream.”

  “So would I,” said the others. Then they all said together, “Never mind—we’ll save them for Mary-Mary.”

  After that they stood in a group near the tea garden, sadly watching the people having strawberry teas at the little tables and wishing they had saved their ice-creams till now instead of buying them right at the beginning.

  Just as they were wondering whether to go home the four Merry children came by. Barbara, Billy, Bunty, and Bob were all laughing and looking very jolly.

  “I say!” said Barbara to Miriam. “Have you seen who’s at the White Elephant stall?”

  “The what?” said Miriam. “Surely they haven’t got elephants here?”

  “No, of course not. ‘White elephants’ just means anything you don’t want and don’t know how to get rid of. People bring them to fêtes, and then sometimes other people buy them.” She began laughing again; so did the others.

  “Well, what’s so funny about that?” said Miriam, who was beginning to want her tea quite a lot.

  “It isn’t funny at all,” said Martyn, who was hungry. “I don’t see anything to laugh at,” said Mervyn, who was thirsty.

  “Nor do I,” said Meg, who was tired.

  “You will if you go to the White Elephant stall,” said the Merrys, and they all went off, laughing.

  Just then Miss Stokes came hurrying out of the tea garden.

  “Hallo! How are you all?” she said. “And how is your dear mother? I haven’t seen her for such a long time. And how is your baby brother, or is it a sister?”

  “We have a little sister,” said Miriam.

  “But she’s not quite a baby any more,” said Martyn.

  “She’s at home with Mother,” said Mervyn.

  “They’re coming tomorrow,” said Meg.

  “Well, that is nice,” said Miss Stokes. “I shall look forward to seeing them both. And now you must come and see my stall—it’s the White Elephant stall and I’ve been doing so well. I’ve got a wonderful helper.”

  She led them down to the far end of the garden, where they saw quite a little crowd collected round one of the stalls. As they came nearer they heard people laughing. Then all of a sudden Martyn said, “ Look who’s there!”

  They all looked, and high up above the people’s heads, standing on the stall itself, what should they see but a funny little person, no bigger than Mary-Mary, in a battered old hat and a purple-flowered dress.

  “Why, it’
s Mm—!” Miriam was just going to say ‘Mary-Mary,’ but Miss Stokes said, “Miss Muffin, that’s right. It’s little Miss Muffin. Do you know her?”

  “Well, sort of,” mumbled Miriam, Martyn, Mervyn, and Meg. “We have seen her before.”

  “That’s nice,” said Miss Stokes; “then you must come and meet her. She’s been such a success. I’ve sold nearly everything off my stall since she started helping me. Such a funny little thing—she told me her name was Muffin, but I don’t know any family of that name. I was a bit worried at first—she seemed so small to be here alone; but she said she’d just popped in as she was passing, and she had some big brothers and sisters here. So I supposed it was all right, and she’s been such a success on the stall.”

  Miss Stokes pushed her way through the crowd with the others following. It was quite difficult to get near the stall, because so many people were coming away with their arms full of things: old lampshades, picture-frames, china ornaments, and all sorts of odds and ends. One man was even wheeling an old pram full of odd-sized dinner plates, old hats, and saucepans.

  “Yes,” said Miss Stokes in a whisper, “they’ve all been bought at the White Elephant stall!”

  They pushed their way nearer and saw that Miss Muffin, on top of the stall, was waving a large bunch of paper flowers.

  “Only threepence!” she was calling out in a high, squeaky voice. “Who’ll buy a big bunch of flowers for threepence?”

  “What should I do with those?” said a man in the front.

  “You could put one in your buttonhole, and give the rest to your lady,” said Miss Muffin. “And here’s a jug, a very nice jug. Who’d like to buy this jug?” She picked up a large white bedroom jug that was standing in a basin beside her.

  “What’s it for?” said the man down in front.

  Miss Muffin looked at it. “Well, it’s a bit big for milk,” she said, “but you could use it for a vase. The handle makes it easier to fill.” She put the bunch of paper flowers in it. “There you are,” she said, “if you buy both together they’re very pretty.”

  “But what about the basin?” said the man.

  “Oh, that’s for sailing boats in, if you’re a man, or making puddings in, if you’re a lady. It’s a very useful basin—you can use it for both.”

  “But I haven’t got a boat,” said the man, smiling, “and my lady has a pudding basin already. What should I do with it?”

  Miss Muffin thought hard, then she said brightly, “I know—you could wash in it!”

  Every one laughed because that was what the basin was really for; then the man said, “All right, you win,” and he handed up the money for all three.

  He took one of the paper flowers and put it in his buttonhole, then he handed the rest of the bunch back to Miss Muffin.

  “Keep those for yourself,” he said. Then off he went, carrying the big china jug and basin.

  “Oh, goody!” said Miss Stokes. “I never thought we’d get rid of those.” Then she pushed her way to the front.

  “Miss Muffin,” she called, “here are some friends of yours. Would you like to come down now and see them? You’ve done so well I’ve hardly anything left to sell; so if you’d like to take your friends to tea I’ll give you the tickets.”

  So Miss Muffin was lifted down from the stall, and Miss Stokes thanked her very much indeed for her valuable help, and brought out a long strip of pink paper, which was five tea tickets all joined together.

  “Take those to the tea garden,” she said, “and you and your friends will just be in nice time for the strawberry teas.”

  So Miriam, Martyn, Mervyn, and Meg all sat at a table under a large striped umbrella with Miss Muffin, and had strawberries and bread and butter and jam, and little iced cakes as well.

  “You see,” said Mary-Mary, nodding at them under the large battered hat and wiping her sticky fingers on the purple-flowered dress, “Miss Muffin is quite a useful person to know sometimes. You ought to be polite to her every time she comes.”

  So Mary-Mary and her big brothers and sisters all had strawberry teas at the Garden Fête, thanks to Miss Muffin, and that is the end of the story.

  5

  Mary-Mary Makes the Morning Exciting

  ONE Saturday morning Mary-Mary’s mother was out, and Mary-Mary’s big brothers and sisters were all feeling rather dull. They wandered about the house and in and out of the garden, saying, “What shall we do? How boring everything is! I wish something interesting would happen.”

  “What sort of interesting?” said Mary-Mary, who was blowing air into a paper bag.

  “Oh, anything,” said Miriam.

  “Some men coming to dig up the road,” said Martyn.

  “Or the fire engine coming,” said Mervyn.

  “Or someone cutting a tree down,” said Meg.

  Mary-Mary screwed up the top of the bag, then clapped her hands on it so that it burst with a loud pop. Then she said, “If I wanted something interesting to happen I’d make it happen,” and she stumped off upstairs.

  A few minutes later Miriam, Martyn, Mervyn, and Meg heard a great thumping and bumping noise going on overhead. They all ran out into the hall and shouted up the stairs, “What ever are you doing, Mary-Mary?”

  “Something exciting,” said Mary-Mary.

  “Well, stop it,” they said.

  “You won’t say that when you see me come floating down the stairs,” said Mary-Mary.

  “What ever do you mean?” said Miriam.

  “I’m learning to fly,” said Mary-Mary.

  “It sounds as if you’re jumping off the bed,” said Miriam.

  “Oh, no, I’m flying off the bed,” said Mary-Mary. “Like Peter Pan.”

  “Well, don’t,” said Miriam. “The ceiling will fall down.”

  “Well, that would be exciting too,” said Mary-Mary.

  “Don’t be silly,” said Miriam, Martyn, Mervyn, and Meg all together, and they went back into the sitting-room.

  Mary-Mary stopped trying to fly, and instead she fetched Moppet from the top of the toy cupboard and whispered in his ear, “You and I will go and do something exciting all by ourselves. We’ll play shipwrecks in the bath.”

  She fetched her little sailing-boat and carried it into the bathroom with Moppet. Then she filled the bath with water, put Moppet in the little boat, and floated him out to sea in the middle of the bath.

  Moppet floated round quite nicely in the little boat for a while, then Mary-Mary said, “Look out, sailor—there’s a storm coming up in a minute!” And she took the bath-brush and stirred up the water into little waves, so that the boat rocked up and down, just as if it were in a rough sea.

  Some of the water splashed over the edge of the bath and made Mary-Mary’s feet wet, so she took off her shoes and socks. Then she locked the bathroom door.

  “I will hide the key in a safe and secret place,” she said to Moppet, “because it would be a pity if someone came in while the sea was rough and interrupted me just as I was going to save you.”

  Then, when she had hidden the key, she stirred up some more waves with the bath-brush, and slowly the little boat filled with water and began to sink.

  “Save me!” she squeaked in Moppet’s voice.

  “Yes,” said Mary-Mary in a beautiful, dreamy voice. “I am a mermaid and I will save you.”

  She reached down into the water and pulled Moppet out just before the little boat sank to the bottom. Then she sat on the edge of the bath, at the tap end, with Moppet in her lap.

  “Oh, thank you, thank you!” she squeaked. “You have saved my life. Tell me who you are.”

  “I am a mermaid,” sang Mary-Mary in the beautiful dreamy voice, “and I am sitting on a rock in the middle of the sea, combing my beautiful long hair.” And, as she had no comb, she brushed her hair with the big bath-brush until it stood out in short, wet spikes all round her head.

  “I have a beautiful palace at the bottom of the sea, all made of shells,” she sang, “and you shall
come there with me and be my mermouse, and we will live happily ever after.”

  Then she let the plug out, and when the water had run away she and Moppet climbed in and sat in the bottom of the bath and had a large pretend feast of fish and shrimps in the mermaid’s palace.

  But the bottom of the bath was cold and wet. So after a while Mary-Mary said to Moppet, “I’m getting rather tired of living happily ever after, aren’t you? Let’s get out and be ordinary people again.” And they climbed out of the bath and went to open the door. But the door of the bathroom was locked.

  Mary-Mary rattled the handle; then she remembered.

  “Of course,” she said. “I locked it myself. And I hid the key in a safe and secret place. Now, I wonder where that could have been? Oh, yes—I expect it was under the bath.”

  But it wasn’t. Mary-Mary looked all round the bathroom, under the bath, in the laundry box, and on the window-sill; but she couldn’t find the key anywhere.

  “It must have been a safe and secret place if I can’t even find it myself,” she said.

  Then she heard the others calling to her. “Where are you, Mary-Mary?”

  “I’m here,” said Mary-Mary.

  “Come down at once,” said Miriam.

  “I can’t,” said Mary-Mary.

  “Why not?” said Martyn.

  “I can’t unlock the door,” said Mary-Mary.

  “Oh, goodness!” said Meg. “Now what are we going to do?”

  They all stood outside the door and rattled the handle and talked and shouted and banged on the door, but still Mary-Mary was shut up inside.

  “Can’t you really remember where you put the key?” said Miriam.

  “No, truly I can’t,” said Mary-Mary. And she truly couldn’t. “Perhaps it’s gone down the plug-hole,” she said.

  “Oh, you silly girl,” said Miriam, Martyn, Mervyn, and Meg all together, and they all went on talking and arguing about how they should get her out.

  Miriam went to ask Miss Summers next door if she could help, but Miss Summers was out. Then Meg went to ask Mr Bassett, who lived near by; but he was out too.