Private Conversations

With a deep, bracing breath, Mary handed the silly pink thing back to Mrs. Chandler, "Now that I think on it, I do not believe I shall need to make that call.  Would you excuse me a moment to powder my nose?"

"Um, sure," Janice replied distractedly as Lily was urgently tugging her sleeve.  Thus both parties retreated a few steps from the door for separate, private conversations.

Deep in the shadow of the front hallway, Lily whispered urgently, "Mum, mum, mum, it's her.  She's here, here to help.  She can help with Ben!"

"Darling, what are you blathering on about?"

Lily gave the huffy, frustrated look common to most 10 year olds who honestly feel they know everything, "Mum, you know, your son.  My brother.  The one who sent Jo Frost away in tears.  She can help, I just know it."

"Who, the strange woman at the door?" Janice asked incredulously.


"But how..."

"I just know."

"But that's..."

"Mum, I just know."

Meanwhile, Mary had retrieved her compact a few steps down the walk and stood with her umbrella tucked under her arm so the little parrot head was facing up at her.  Her eyes cast about, the sparkle taking in the strange changes to the environment. 

With a sigh she queried, "Where have you taken me?"

The umbrella handle squawked, "Seventeen Cherry Tree Lane, London, England, Great Britain."

"Oh bully for you and thoroughly put.  But where are the Banks?"

"Winds change, East to West, West to East.  Time flows, rest to rest, mind to breast."

"Now don't you go speaking in riddles with me."

"Riddles of life and riddles in time, hard to make sense in whims of rhyme."

"I've had just about enough of you," Mary quipped as she flipped closed her compact and pinched shut the handle's beak, "And riddles or no, children are children."  She turned resolutely back to the house, "There's work to be done here, work enough for Mary Poppins."

The End

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