Dear Readers,

I should like to thank you very much for your outstanding response to the first chapter! It means so much to me. I would like to especially thank JulieFan25, literaryfreak, Gabrielle, nofearonlylove, shrimps1995, and Len for all of their contributions. You're the reason that Chapter 2 is here so soon! While I can't guarantee updates this swiftly all the time, you guys truly compelled me to move things along, and after completing another chapter, I decided to put this one up. I assure you that I didn't rush this one, as it's been written for quite some time now. In any case, I figured you all should get a look and decide how bad I muddled the beginning of Mary and Bert's friendship. I do hope that you like it! Most of their past encounters have been inspired from subtle hints I feel both of them drop in the movie. In any case, I do admit that I read into things entirely too much.

But enough of my blabbering. Here we pick up shortly after where we last left off. Thank you all so much again! I hope you enjoy!

-Margo

He was just a nameless chimney sweep, though to be completely fair Bert did not have a stronger inclination as to what Mary's identity was. Still residing with her beloved Uncle Albert, Mary was just shy of turning eighteen, and for that matter, just approaching the threshold of a career of her own. She was young, yes, but not nearly as blithe as a girl her age was expected to be. Despite the hospitality her uncle had expended to her, the years Mary spent in his care had been toilsome. Though, truly, he could not be at all blamed for such a thing. He was not responsible for the indecency of the tendencies of so many human beings, the people who Mary Poppins genuinely tried to give her heart to only to be disregarded by. Perhaps other girls her age did not worry about such things, though surely no other girl her age was relying so heavily on the abilities of her heart.

But beyond all of this the day she met Bert was a day that Mary remembered clearly; it seemed every element of it had been recorded in her mind forever, right down to the very dress she wore. Bert had even admitted she looked beautiful in it, those many years later of course, the day they leapt into his drawing. Loving Uncle Albert and his sound financial position had always wanted Mary to look as fair on the outside as he believed her to be on the inside. A shallow "U" comprised of violet satin had served as Mary's collar. The dress itself was layered, the bottommost being made of chintz that matched the neckline. There was an overlay of delicate lavender chiffon that covered every inch of the darker portions, save for a large, upside down "V" on either side. The plaited chiffon was joined against the chintz with a thick, satin belt and the dress's three-quarter sleeves were decorated with gentle satin ruffles, the accompaniments being of the darker color. The dress had been exquisite indeed, but very much practical as well - three-quarter sleeves had been absolutely necessary. Mary would never forget the heat that swept over London that summer afternoon, as it was the primary reason she had ever run into Bert, or at the very least, left him with the first impression that she had.

The young lady had just returned to her home in the city after running errands for her care giver, escaping the extreme summer weather as she slipped through the front door and into the shade of the house.

"It's positively stifling out there!" She had informed Uncle Albert, removing her straw hat in a flourish and hanging it up appropriately. Soon after, Mary had heard scuffling above her, and knowing her uncle was the house's only other resident, she immediately inquired the source of it.

"Just the chimney sweep, dear," he had replied, never glancing up from the book he was reading. The response had shocked his niece.

"A chimney sweep?" She echoed in disbelief. "Uncle Albert, it's sweltering! He'll roast in there today. What possessed you to call a sweep over this afternoon?"

But he had seemed perfectly justified. "Well, the nights are expected to get colder and the chimney in the sitting room upstairs needs work. I figured I would request him now before it gets nippier and he's too busy to attend to it. Of course, I couldn't get our usual sweep, but this chap came instead."

"I can't imagine why," Mary noted sarcastically to her uncle's nonchalant demeanor. "Have you at least offered him some water?" When Uncle Albert shook his head "no," as if realizing he should have, Mary rushed into the kitchen saying, "I best get him some before he passes out."

While it may have seemed odd for Mary to get worked up over such a thing, at that point in her life the young lady had indeed learned what a wretched feeling it was to go above and beyond for someone and receive no gratitude in return. She refused to deprive someone else of the thankfulness they deserved if she could help it. Without another moment's thought, Mary retrieved a tray and a pitcher, hurrying to fill it with the coolest water available. An etched drinking glass was added, as were the few rags she was able to get her hands on, thinking of how horribly the debris and sweat must have caked on the poor man on such a day. Satisfied, Mary floated through the sitting room once again and up the steps to deliver the tray.

"You'll have to forgive my uncle for calling you out on such a day," Mary had announced as she entered the room, setting the items on the table, which had been covered in white. The whole room, from the wooden floors to the sofas, had been protected and the sweep had seemed to be well into the task. Luckily enough, he had been outside of the fireplace when she entered and her approach had been heard. "I simply can't fathom it - but I thought you could use this nonetheless," Mary explained, pouring some of the water into the glass for the man.

"That's very thoughtful of you. My gratitude, miss," the sweep exclaimed picking up a cloth and rubbing the darkness from his face. It had been obvious that he was not expecting her to come in the room, let alone address him. He had appeared to be delighted by the unexpected measure, and Mary couldn't help but feel good about acting on her impulse.

"You're quite welcome," she had insisted, her hands locked behind her back. "We certainly appreciate you coming out on a day like today, it being so ghastly. Are you sure you feel all right?"

"Positive," he had replied in his same chipper tone, perhaps glad that someone had bestowed upon him some consideration, something that was probably not very bountiful in his life. When Mary had managed to get a look at him with his face somewhat clean, she realized that he was fairly young and that the stamina that accompanied such youth must have been the only thing that had kept him from toppling over.

"I suppose I'll-" She had jumped into her words of parting, but was cut short. For one reason or another, perhaps the combination of sweat against the damp glass, the drinking glass had escaped the sweep's hand as he raised it to his lips for the first time, smashing thoroughly against the hard floor.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," he had stammered, becoming upset for breaking the item in such a way in front of its purveyor. "Take that directly from my pay." A flurry of motion followed afterwards.

"Oh! Don't worry about that. It's perfectly fine. There's no cause for concern." Mary had insisted softly, trying to keep the man from picking up the pieces. She was beginning to feel horribly guilty that her good deed had gone astray. He hadn't ceased in his pursuit to rectify the situation until she had laid a hand against his shoulder, at which point he stepped back, obviously not wanting her dress to contract soot.

"You didn't get cut, did you?" Mary had asked, the thought of the debris getting into an incision causing her to bring a hand to her chin, terrified.

"No, no," he hurried to assure.

That was all Mary needed to hear to be contented. "Well then, there's no harm done at all. It will be much easier to mend that glass than it would be to mend you."

"I'm afraid not," the sweep had disagreed, "I appear to have done quite a number on it. I assure you that-"

The young lady had raised a hand in front of her for silence, a part of her almost growing bored. "Oh, none of that. I'll take care of this, just shield your eyes, please."

He obediently had brought a hand to his head, most likely thinking it had something to do with the glass. That, however, had only been part of Mary's reasoning. If she left the glass in shambles, the sweep would never forgive himself and she in turn would be terribly upset for ever bringing the situation into existence. A glass so badly broken, however, could not be repaired by ordinary means. She would have to use magic, and perhaps if the sweep kept his eyes closed, he would not see it.

Mary had tilted the hand still in front of her towards her body, as one might bring a glass to their lips. She then moved the hand in a backwards C motion, appearing to grasp at the air. At this movement, the pieces had slowly picked themselves back off the floor, returning to their correct positions to make up the cup. The water, too, returned drop by drop, until all signs of the event were removed from the covered hardwood. As Mary extended her palm out flatly again, the glass had glided to her hand and she examined it thoroughly. It looked brand new, with neither holes in its structure nor fragments in its water. Satisfied, the young lady set it back on the table.

"Good as new," she informed an awe-struck chimney sweep, who had apparently seen the whole thing.

"Very clever magic trick you've got there." He had somehow managed, intrigued.

Mary had grinned awkwardly. "More like a bad habit, but thank you all the same. I agree it does come in handy sometimes."

The sweep chuckled, obviously having no idea what else to do in such a situation. The young lady, truly, hadn't had a much stronger inkling herself.

"Well, I suppose I should leave you be and stop causing such trouble. Thank you very much again."

"Thank you, miss," he had replied.

"Quite welcome," Mary almost sang, the words reverberating into the sitting room as she exited.

About a half an hour later, a semi-clean chimney sweep had ambled down the staircase with brushes in tow. The sleeves of his blouse were rolled up his elbows and he had exhaled in satisfaction.

"Yer all set, sir," he had informed Uncle Albert.

"Very good, very good. I shall be right with you." Uncle Albert had hurried off to retrieve money for the sweep, leaving Mary in the room.

"That was remarkable, you know," the sweep had told her, "that bit with the glass and all. I've seen some good tricks in my day, but-"

"I beg your pardon?" Mary had asked, concerned. "I don't recall any such ev - oh, the heat has been tampering with your head, hasn't it? Perhaps you should retire to some place cool for the evening, hmm?"

He had looked at her curiously and was about to question her when Uncle Albert returned with the payment.

"Thank you, sir," the sweep had heralded, pocketing the coins.

"No, thank you," Uncle Albert insisted. "It was very good of you to come on a day like this. Have a good evening, now."

"I will, thank you. Good evening to you, ma'am," the sweep had addressed to Mary, still a bit confused.

"Good evening," she returned with an elaborated wink of one of her sapphire eyes and a knowing smile.

He could only smile in return as he exited the house.

They were far from being the friends they would eventually grow into, but an unapparent foundation had been laid, nonetheless, for future encounters. Because, yes, hey would meet again, of course, and the next time fate caused them to collide the two would become better acquainted with each other. However, that wouldn't be for the better part of a year, and so very much would happen to Mary in the interim.