Mary Poppins in the Park

by P. L. Travers

  Mr. Banks gazed after him with a look of shocked surprise.

  "Somebody under a dandelion? Having a party? What can he mean? Really, I sometimes wonder if Smith is right in the head. Under a dandelion—laughing and singing! Did you ever hear such a thing?"

  "Never!" said Mary Poppins demurely, with a dainty shake of her head.

  And as she shook it a buttercup petal fell from the brim of her hat.

  The children watched it fluttering down and turned and smiled at each other.

  "There's one on your head, too, Michael!"

  "Is there?" he said, with a happy sigh. "Bend down and let me look at yours."

  And sure enough Jane had a petal, too.

  "I told you so!" She nodded wisely. And she held her head very high and still so as not to disturb it.

  Crowned with the gold of the buttercup tree she walked home under the maple boughs. All was quiet. The sun had set. The shadows of the Long Walk were falling all about her. And at the same time the brightness of the little Park folded her closely round. The dark of one, the light of the other—she felt them both together.

  "I am in two places at once," she whispered, "just as he said I would be!"

  And she thought again of the little clearing among the thronging weeds. The daisies would grow again, she knew. Clover would hide the little lawns. Cardboard table and swings would crumble. The forest would cover it all.

  But somehow, somewhere, in spite of that, she knew she would find it again—as neat and as gay and as happy as it had been today. She only had to remember it and there she would be once more. Time upon time she would return—hadn't Mr. Mo said so?—and stand at the edge of that patch of brightness and never see it fade....

  CHAPTER SIX

  Hallowe'en

  Mary Poppins!" called Michael. "Wait for us!"

  "W-a-a-a-i-t!" the wind echoed, whining round him.

  It was a dusky, gusty autumn evening. The clouds blew in and out of the sky. And in all the houses of Cherry Tree Lane the curtains blew in and out of the windows. Swish-swish. Flap-flap.

  The Park was tossing like a ship in a storm. Leaves and litter-paper turned head-over-heels in the air. The trees groaned and waved their arms, the spray of the fountain was blown and scattered. Benches shivered. Swings were creaking. The Lake water leapt into foamy waves. Nothing was still in the whole Park as it bowed and shuddered under the wind.

  And through it all stalked Mary Poppins, with not a hair out of place. Her neat blue coat with its silver buttons was neither creased nor ruffled, and the tulip sat on her hat so firmly that it might have been made of marble.

  Far behind her the children ran, splashing through drifts of leaves. They had been to Mr. Folly's stall for nuts and toffee-apples. And now they were trying to catch her up.

  "Wait for us, Mary Poppins!"

  In front of her, on the Long Walk, the perambulator trundled. The wind whistled through the wheels, and the Twins and Annabel clung together for fear of being blown overboard. Their tasselled caps were tossing wildly and the rug was flapping loose, like a flag.

  "O-o-o-h!" they squeaked, like excited mice, as a sudden gust tore it free and carried it away.

  Someone was coming down the path, bowling along like a tattered newspaper.

  "Help!" shrilled a high, familiar voice. "Something has blown right over my hat! I can't see where I'm going."

  It was Miss Lark, out for her evening walk. Her two dogs bounded on ahead and behind her the Professor straggled, with his hair standing on end.

  "Is that you, Mary Poppins?" she cried, as she plucked the rug away from her face and flung it upon the perambulator. "What a dreadful night! Such a wild wind! I wonder you're not blown away!"

  Mary Poppins raised her eyebrows and gave a superior sniff. If the wind blew anyone away, it would not be herself, she thought.

  "What do you mean—a dreadful night?" Admiral Boom strode up behind them. His dachshund, Pompey, was at his heels, wearing a little sailor's jacket to keep him from catching cold.

  "It's a perfect night, my dear lady, for a life on the ocean wave!

  Sixteen men on a dead man's chest

  Yo, ho, ho! And a bottle of rum.

  You must sail the Seven Seas, Lucinda!"

  "Oh—I couldn't sit on a dead man's chest!" Miss Lark seemed quite upset at the thought. "Nor drink rum, either, Admiral. Do keep up, Professor, please. There—my scarf has blown away! Oh, goodness, now the dogs have gone!"

  "Perhaps they've blown away, too!" The Professor glanced up into a tree, looking for Andrew and Willoughby. Then he peered short-sightedly down the Walk.

  "Ah, here they come!" he murmured vaguely. "How strange they look with only two legs!"

  "Two legs!" said Miss Lark reproachfully. "How absent-minded you are, Professor. Those aren't my darling, precious dogs—they're only Jane and Michael."

  The Admiral whipped out his telescope and clapped it to his eye.

  "Ahoy, there, shipmates!" he roared to the children.

  "Look!" shouted Michael, running up. "I put out my hand to hold my cap and the wind blew a leaf right into it!"

  "And one into mine the same minute!" Jane panted behind him.

  They stood there, laughing and glowing, with their packages held against their chests and the star-shaped maple leaves in their hands.

  "Thank you," said Mary Poppins firmly, as she plucked the leaves from between their fingers, gave them a scrutinising glance and popped them into her pocket.

  "Catch a leaf, a message brief!" Miss Lark's voice shrieked above the wind. "But, of course, it's only an old wives' tale. Ah, there you are, dear dogs—at last! Take my hand, Professor, please. We must hurry home to safety."

  And she shooed them all along before her, with her skirts blowing out in every direction.

  Michael hopped excitedly. "Was it a message, Mary Poppins?"

  "That's as may be," said Mary Poppins, turning up her nose to the sky.

  "But we caught them!" Jane protested.

  "C. caught it. G. got it," she answered, with annoying calm.

  "Will you show us when we get home?" screamed Michael, his voice floating away.

  "Home is the sailor, home from the sea!" The Admiral took off his hat with a flourish. "Au revoir, messmates and Miss Poppins! Up with the anchor, Pompey!"

  "Ay, ay, sir!" Pompey seemed to be saying, as he galloped after his master.

  Michael rummaged in his package.

  "Mary Poppins, why didn't you wait? I wanted to give you a toffee-apple."

  "Time and tide wait for no man," she answered priggishly.

  He was just about to ask what time and tide had to do with toffee-apples, when he caught her disapproving look.

  "A pair of Golliwogs—that's what you are! Just look at your hair! Sweets to the sweet," she added conceitedly, as she took the sticky fruit he offered and nibbled it daintily.

  "It's not our fault, it's the wind!" said Michael, tossing the hair from his brow.

  "Well, the quicker you're into it the quicker you're out of it!" She thrust the perambulator forward under the groaning trees.

  "Look out! Be careful! What are you doin'?"

  A howl of protest rent the air as a figure, clutching his tie and his cap, lurched sideways in the dusk.

  "Remember the bye-laws! Look where you're goin'! You can't knock over the Park Keeper."

  Mary Poppins gave him a haughty stare.

  "I can if he's in my way," she retorted. "You'd no right to be there."

  "I've a right to be anywhere in the Park. It's in the Regulations." He peered at her through the gathering dark and staggered back with a cry.

  "Toffee-apples? And bags o' nuts? Then it must be 'Allowe'en! I might 'ave known it——" His voice shook. "You don't get a wind like this for nothin'. O-o-ow!" He shuddered. "It gives me the 'Orrors. I'll leave the Park to look after itself. This is no night to be out."

  "Why not?" Jane handed him a nut. "What happens at Hallowe'en?"

&nb
sp; The Park Keeper's eyes grew as round as plates. He glanced nervously over his shoulder and leant towards the children.

  "Things," he said in a hoarse whisper, "come out and walk in the night. I don't know what they are quite—never 'avin' seen them—ghosts, perhaps, or h'apparitions. Anyway, it's spooky. Hey—what's that?" He clutched his stick. "Look! There's one of them up there—a white thing in the trees!"

  A light was gleaming among the branches, turning their black to silver. The wind had blown the clouds away and a great bright globe rode through the sky.

  "It's only the moon!" Jane and Michael laughed. "Don't you recognise it?"

  "Ah——" The Park Keeper shook his head. "It looks like the moon and it feels like the moon. And it may be the moon—but it may not. You never can tell on 'Allowe'en!"

  And he turned up his coat-collar and hurried away, not daring to look behind him.

  "Of course it's the moon," said Michael stoutly. "There's moonlight on the grass!"

  Jane gazed at the blowing, shining scene.

  "The bushes are dancing in the wind. Look! There's one coming towards us—a small bush and two larger ones. Oh, Mary Poppins, perhaps they're ghosts?" She clutched a fold of the blue coat. "They're coming nearer, Mary Poppins! I'm sure they're apparitions!"

  "I don't want to see them!" Michael screamed. He seized the end of the parrot umbrella as though it were an anchor.

  "Apparitions, indeed!" shrieked the smallest bush. "Well, I've heard myself called many things—Charlemagne said I looked like a fairy and Boadicea called me a goblin—but nobody ever said to my face that I was an apparition. Though I dare say"—the bush gave a witchlike cackle—"that I often look like one!"

  A skinny little pair of legs came capering towards them and a wizened face, like an old apple, peered out through wisps of hair.

  Michael drew a long breath.

  "It's only Mrs. Corry!" he said, loosing his hold on the parrot umbrella.

  "And Miss Fannie and Miss Annie!" Jane waved in relief to the two large bushes.

  "How de do?" said their mournful voices, as Mrs. Corry's enormous daughters caught up with their tiny mother.

  "Well, here we are again, my dears—as I heard St. George remark to the Dragon. Just the kind of night for——" Mrs. Corry looked at Mary Poppins and gave her a knowing grin. "For all sorts of things," she concluded. "You got a message, I hope!"

  "Thank you kindly, Mrs. Corry. I have had a communication."

  "What message?" asked Michael inquisitively. "Was it one on a leaf?"

  Mrs. Corry cocked her head. And her coat—which was covered with threepenny-bits—twinkled in the moonlight.

  "Ah," she murmured mysteriously. "There are so many kinds of communication! You look at me, I look at you, and something passes between us. John o' Groats could send me a message, simply by dropping an eyelid. And once—five hundred years ago—Mother Goose handed me a feather. I knew exactly what it meant—'Come to dinner. Roast Duck'!"

  "And a tasty dish it must have been! But, excuse me, Mrs. Corry, please—we must be getting home. This is no night for dawdling—as you will understand." Mary Poppins gave her a meaning look.

  "Quite right, Miss Poppins! Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and——Now, who was it first told me that—Robert the Bruce? No, I've forgotten!"

  "See you later," said Fannie and Annie, waving to Jane and Michael.

  "Later?" said Jane. "But we're going to bed."

  "There you go—you galumphing giraffes! Can't you ever open your mouths without putting your feet into them? They mean, my dears," said Mrs. Corry, "they'll be seeing you later in the year! November, perhaps, or after Christmas. Unless, of course"—her smile widened—"unless you are very clever! Well, good night and sleep well!"

  She held out her little wrinkled hands and Jane and Michael both sprang forward.

  "Look out! Look out!" she shrieked at them. "You're stepping on my shadow!"

  "Oh—I'm sorry!" They both jumped back in alarm.

  "Deary goodness—you gave me a turn!" Mrs. Corry clapped her hand to her heart. "Two of you standing right on its head—the poor thing will be distressed!"

  They looked at her in astonishment and then at the little patch of black that lay on the windy grass.

  "But I didn't think shadows could feel," said Jane.

  "Not feel! What nonsense!" cried Mrs. Corry. "They feel twice as much as you do. I warn you, children, take care of your shadows or your shadows won't take care of you. How would you like to wake one morning and find they had run away? And what's a man without a shadow? Practically nothing, you might say!"

  "I wouldn't like it at all," said Michael, glancing at his own shadow rippling in the wind. He realised, for the first time, how fond he was of it.

  "Exactly!" Mrs. Corry snorted. "Ah, my love," she crooned to her shadow. "We've been through a lot together—haven't we?—you and I. And never a hair of your head hurt till these two went and stepped on it. All right, all right, don't look so glum!" She twinkled at Jane and Michael. "But remember what I say—take care! Fannie and Annie, stir your stumps. Look lively—if you possibly can!"

  And off she trotted between her daughters, bending sideways now and again to blow a kiss to her shadow.

  "Now, come along. No loitering," said Mary Poppins briskly.

  "We're keeping an eye on our shadows!" said Jane. "We don't want anything to hurt them."

  "You and your shadows," said Mary Poppins, "can go to bed—spit-spot!"

  And sure enough that was what they did. In next to no time they had eaten their supper, undressed before the crackling fire and bounced under the blankets.

  The nursery curtains blew in and out and the night-light flickered on the ceiling.

  "I see my shadow and my shadow sees me!" Jane looked at the neatly brushed head reflected on the wall. She nodded in a friendly way and her shadow nodded back.

  "My shadow and I are two swans!" Michael held his arm in the air and snapped his fingers together. And upon the wall a long-necked bird opened and closed its beak.

  "Swans!" said Mary Poppins, sniffing, as she laid her coat and tulip hat at the end of her camp-bed. "Geese more like it, I should say!"

  The canvas creaked as she sprang in.

  Michael craned his neck and called: "Why don't you hang up your coat, Mary Poppins, the way you always do?"

  "My feet are cold, that's why! Now, not another word!"

  He looked at Jane. Jane looked at him. They knew it was only half an answer. What was she up to tonight, they wondered. But Mary Poppins never explained. You might as well ask the Sphinx.

  "Tick!" said the clock on the mantelpiece.

  They were warm as toast inside their beds. And their beds were warm inside the nursery. And the nursery was warm inside the house. And the howling of the wind outside made it seem warmer still.

  They leaned their cheeks upon their palms and let their eyelids fall.

  "Tock!" said the clock on the mantelpiece.

  But neither of them heard....

  "What is it?" Jane murmured sleepily. "Who's scratching my nose?"

  "It's me!" said Michael in a whisper. He was standing at the side of her bed with a wrinkled leaf in his hand.

  "I've been scratching it for ages, Jane! The front door banged and woke me up and I found this on my pillow. Look! There's one on yours, too. And Mary Poppins' bed is empty and her coat and hat have gone!"

  Jane took the leaves and ran to the window.

  "Michael," she cried, "there was a message. One leaf says 'Come' and the other 'Tonight.'"

  "But where has she gone? I can't see her!" He craned his neck and looked out.

  All was quiet. The wind had dropped. Every house was fast asleep. And the full moon filled the world with light.

  "Jane! There are shadows in the garden—and not a single person!"

  He pointed to two little dark shapes—one in pyjamas, one in a nightgown—that were floating down the front path and t
hrough the garden railings.

  Jane glanced at the nursery walls and ceiling. The night-light glowed like a bright eye. But in spite of that steady, watchful gleam there was not a single shadow!

  "They're ours, Michael! Put something on. Quick—we must go and catch them!"

  He seized a sweater and followed her, tip-toeing down the creaking stairs and out into the moonlight.

  Cherry Tree Lane was calm and still, but from the Park came strains of music and trills of high-pitched laughter.

  The children, clutching their brown leaves, dashed through the Lane Gate. And something, light as snow or feathers, fell upon Michael's shoulder. Something gentler than air brushed against Jane's cheek.

  "Touched you last!" two voices cried. And they turned and beheld their shadows.

  "But why did you run away?" asked Jane, gazing at the transparent face that looked so like her own.

  "We're guests at the Party." Her shadow smiled.

  "What party?" Michael demanded.

  "It's Hallowe'en," his shadow told him. "The night when every shadow is free. And this is a very special occasion. For one thing, there's a full moon—and it falls on the Birthday Eve. But come along, we mustn't be late!"

  And away the two little shadows flitted, with the children solidly running behind them.

  The music grew louder every second, and as they darted round the laurels they beheld a curious sight.

  The whole playground was thronged with shadows, each of them laughing and greeting the others and hopping about in the moonlight. And the strange thing was that, instead of lying flat on the ground, they were all standing upright. Long shadows, short shadows, thin shadows, fat shadows, were bobbing, hobnobbing, bowing, kowtowing, and passing in and out of each other with happy cries of welcome.

  In one of the swings sat a helmeted shape, playing a concertina. It smiled and waved a shadowy hand, and Jane and Michael saw at once that it belonged to the Policeman.

  "Got your invitations?" he cried. "No human beings allowed in without a special pass!"

  Jane and Michael held up their leaves.

  "Good!" The Policeman's shadow nodded. "Bless you!" he added, as a shape beside him was seized with a fit of sneezing.