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Mary-Mary Has a Photograph Taken

MARY-MARY was the youngest of five. All her brothers and sisters were very big and clever, and knew all about everything; but Mary-Mary didn’t know much about anything. So all her big brothers and sisters, who were called Miriam, Martyn, Mervyn, and Meg, used to tell her what to do and how to do it. But Mary-Mary liked doing things her own way. So she used to say, “No, I shan’t. I’ll do it the other way.”

And that, of course, is why she was called Mary-Mary instead of just Mary, which was her real name.

One day Mary-Mary’s mother said, “I think it is time you had your photographs taken again. We haven’t had a proper one done since you were all quite little.”

“Mary-Mary is still quite little,” said Miriam.

“But she was a baby last time,” said Martyn.

“And she kept wriggling and screeching,” said Mervyn.

“And pulling my hair-ribbon,” said Meg.

Then they all started talking at once, saying, “Don’t let’s have our photographs taken all together.” “Let’s each have one of our own.” “Then they can all go in separate frames.”

But Mother said, “I’m afraid that would cost far too much. Besides, I should like to have one of all five of you. Then I could put it on top of my writing-desk, where all my friends could see it.”

“What shall we wear?” said Miriam.

“Jeans and a jersey,” said Martyn.

“Space suits, said Mervyn.

“My party dress,” said Meg.

“I shan’t wear anything,” said Mary-Mary.

“What!” said all the others.

“Anything special, I mean,” said Mary-Mary.

Mother said she didn’t think it mattered much what they wore so long as they were all clean and tidy, and remembered to smile and look pleasant.

“You will have to sit quite still, Mary-Mary,” said Miriam.

“And not make silly faces,” said Martyn.

“Or talk all the time,” said Mervyn.

“And you have to smile at the camera,” said Meg.

“I think it’s silly to smile at a camera,” said Mary-Mary. “I shall smile at the man. Unless I don’t like him. Then I shan’t smile at all.”

“It might be a lady,” said Meg.

“I still shan’t smile if I don’t like her,” said Mary-Mary.

Then Miriam, Martyn, Mervyn, and Meg all started saying together, “Mother, Mary-Mary’s going to spoil the photograph.” “She says she’s not going to smile.” “Don’t let’s have it done with her.” “Can’t she have a snapshot taken in the garden?”

But Mother said, “Don’t be silly, all of you. Of course, Mary-Mary will smile. Just leave her alone and I’m sure she’ll behave beautifully.”

Mary-Mary had just begun planning what awful face she would make in front of the camera, because the others were all so sure she was going to spoil the photograph. But when she heard Mother say she was sure she would behave beautifully she changed her mind.

She began practising her smile instead. She smiled at the floor and she smiled at the ceiling. She smiled at the table, she smiled at the chairs, she smiled at everything she could see. But the more she smiled the queerer it felt, and after a while she didn’t feel as if she was smiling at all. It made her face ache. So, just to give her face a rest, she blew out her cheeks and crossed her eyes. Then she tried on the smile again.

‘Why are you making such awful faces, Mary-Mary?” said Miriam.

“I’m not,” said Mary-Mary, rather surprised. “I’m getting ready to have my photograph taken.”

“Oh, dear, I know she’s going to spoil it!” said Mirian to Mother. “Can’t we all be done separately?”

And Martyn and Mervyn said, “Yes, do let’s.”

And Meg said, “Can I have mine in the silver frame?”

But Mother said, “No. I think you’re all being very silly. And, in any case, there’s a photograph in the silver frame already—one of Miriam and Martyn when they were babies. Now, do leave Mary-Mary alone. She’ll be perfectly all right if you don’t worry her.”

Mary-Mary went out and looked in the hall mirror to see if her smile really looked as funny as it felt. She tried smiling at herself for quite a long time. But the longer she looked at her face in the glass the queerer it looked.

“It’s funny,” she said to herself. “It’s quite easy to smile by mistake, but it’s really very difficult to smile on purpose. Perhaps it’s because I’m not smiling at anyone. I’ll try again at dinner-time.”

Then, just to give her face a rest, she tried making some interesting new faces that were very ugly indeed.

“They may come in useful next time the others are rude to me,” she said to herself.

At dinner-time Miriam said to Mary-Mary, “Why are you making that extraordinary face at me?”

“I’m not,” said Mary-Mary. “I’m smiling at you.”

“Well, don’t,” said Miriam. “It looks awful.”

Mary-Mary made one of her interesting new faces instead, but Miriam pretended not to see.

A little later Mother said, “What’s the matter, Mary-Mary, dear? Have you got a tummy ache?”

“No,” said Mary-Mary. “I’m smiling at you.”

Mother looked surprised. Then she said, “That isn’t your ordinary smile, darling. What are you doing it for?”

“I’m practising for the photograph,” said Mary-Mary.

“There you are, you see!” said Miriam, Martyn, Mervyn, and Meg, all together. “What did we tell you?” “She is going to spoil it!” “She’s practising all these awful faces to make in front of the camera.”

Mary-Mary didn’t make the rest of her interesting new faces at them, because no one was looking at her. Instead she decided to save them for another time, and went away to find Moppet, her toy mouse.

Moppet was lying under the chest of drawers in the bedroom. Mary-Mary pulled him out, brushed the fluff off his fur, and stared closely into his tiny black eyes.

“Watch carefully, Moppet,” she said. Then she smiled at him.

“What did I look like?” asked Mary-Mary.

“Oh, you looked just like a toothpaste lady!” she said in Moppet’s voice.

“Good,” said Mary-Mary. “I hoped I did.”

She went back to the sitting-room, put her head round the door, and said, “Moppet says I smile just like a toothpaste lady.”

Then, before anyone could answer, she shut the door quickly and went away to play in the garden.

The very next day they all got ready to go to the photographer’s. They had their shoes polished, their nails scrubbed, and their hair brushed, and Mother said she had never seen them all looking so clean and neat and tidy all at the same time.

When they got to the photographer’s a lady with golden hair smiled at them a great deal, and showed them into a room behind the shop, where there was a thick carpet on the floor and a large camera standing in the corner.

Mary-Mary liked the colour of the lady’s hair very much, but she decided to save her smile for when the photograph was taken, in case she couldn’t do it twice.

The lady found a chair for Mother in a corner behind the camera; then she looked at all the children, still smiling, and said to Mother, “How would you like them taken—all together or one at a time?”

Mother said, “All together, please. I think I would like them standing in a row.”

“Yes,” said the lady, “that would make a very nice picture.

So Miriam, Martyn, Mervyn, Meg, and Mary-Mary all stood in a row together, while the lady turned on a very bright light and did things to the camera. She kept smiling all the time as she bobbed up and down this way and that, looking at them from every direction and saying, “Yes, that’s lovely. Now keep just like that, can you?”

Then she went behind the camera.

Mary-Mary put on the smile she had been practising so as to be ready for the photograph to be taken. Then she looked out of the corner of her eye to see if the others were smiling too. But Miriam, Martyn, Mervyn, and Meg were all looking at her.

Miriam had her eyes wide open and was shaking her head at her. Martyn was frowning. Mervyn had his mouth screwed up into a round ‘O’. And Meg was looking very cross indeed.

Mary-Mary thought they looked so funny, all standing in a row making faces at her without saying a word, that she suddenly laughed out loud.

“All right,” said the lady, bobbing about behind the camera. “Now we’ll try another one, shall we?”

Everyone looked surprised. Then Mary-Mary said, “Another what?”

“Another picture,” said the lady. “I’ve taken one already, but I think some of you moved. Now, are you all ready?”

Mary-Mary began smiling again, so as to be ready for the next photograph to be taken.

“Tell her to stop making faces,” whispered Miriam to Martyn.

“Tell her to stop making faces,” whispered Martyn to Mervyn.

“Tell her to stop making faces,” whispered Mervyn to Meg.

“Tell her to stop making faces,” whispered Meg to Mary-Mary.

Mary-Mary looked at the lady and saw that she was looking at them all with her eyes screwed up and her head on one side.

She turned to Meg and whispered back, “No. You tell her. I don’t think she can help it.”

Then Miriam, Martyn, Mervyn, and Meg all whispered at once, “No, you. Stop making faces.”

“Oh, I thought you meant the lady!” whispered Mary-Mary, and she burst out laughing again.

Then the lady said, “Thank you very much. I think that will do nicely.”

After that they all put on their hats and coats, and Mother talked to the lady about when the photographs would be ready and where they were to be sent. Then they all set off home again.

On the way Miriam said to Mother, “I’m sure Mary-Mary spoiled the photograph. She kept making faces and laughing.”

But Mother said, “Oh, no, I’m sure it will be lovely. Wait till you see it. I expect we shall all be surprised how nice it is.”

A week later there was a loud rat-tat on the front door, and the postman handed in a large, stiff envelope, addressed to Mother.

“Oh, it’s our photograph!” cried Miriam.

“Can we open it?” said Martyn.

“No, give it to Mother,” said Mervyn.

“Let’s have a look,” said Meg.

“Me too,” said Mary-Mary.

And they all crowded round while Mother opened the envelope.

Then everyone said, “Oh!” in a very surprised voice, and Mother started laughing. But all the others just stared at the picture as if they couldn’t believe their eyes.

For there, in a row, stood Miriam with her eyes wide open, Martyn frowning, Mervyn with his mouth screwed up into a round ‘O’, and Meg looking very cross indeed. And they were all staring at Mary-Mary. But Mary-Mary herself, right at the end of the row, was looking just the way people ought to look in photographs, all smiling and jolly.

“Oh, but it’s awful!” said Miriam.

“I look terrible,” said Martyn.

“Look at me, then,” said Mervyn.

“How dreadful!” said Meg.

Mother smiled at the photograph, holding it up in front of her.

“But it’s lovely of Mary-Mary,” she said. “It’s quite the best photograph we’ve ever had of her. And I’ve always wanted a proper photograph to show to all my friends.”

Then Miriam, Martyn, Mervyn, and Meg all said together, “But you can’t show people a photograph like that!” “We look awful.” “Everyone will laugh at us.” “It isn’t fair.”

“No,” said Mother, “I don’t think I can. I shall have to cut Mary-Mary off the end, and have you four done again another day.”

So that is just what she did. She cut Mary-Mary, all smiling and jolly, off the end of the photograph and found that it just fitted the frame which had the picture of Miriam and Martyn, when they were babies, in it.

“I think we might put that old one in the photograph album now,” she said. And she took it out and slipped the new one of Mary-Mary into the frame instead. Then she hid the rest of the photograph in a drawer in the writing-desk, promising she wouldn’t show it to anyone but Father. And she took Miriam, Martyn, Mervyn, and Meg to the photographer’s again another day.

And after that, whenever Mother’s friends came to visit her, they would see two photographs on top of the writing-desk. At one end a photograph of Miriam, Martyn, Mervyn, and Meg all in a row, smiling rather carefully, as if they were afraid of making funny faces; and at the other end, in a silver frame all to herself, a photograph of Mary-Mary looking just the way people ought to look in photographs, all smiling and jolly.

So Mary-Mary didn’t spoil the photograph, after all, and that is the end of the story.