Mary Poppins Comes Back

by P. L. Travers

  “Does it – does it,” she whispered, “begin with an M?”

  The child hopped on one leg delightedly.

  “Of course it does – and you know it. M-A-I-A. I’m Maia.” She turned to Jane and Michael.

  “Now you recognize me, don’t you? I’m the second of the Pleiades. Electra – she’s the eldest – couldn’t come because she’s minding Merope. Merope’s the baby, and the other five of us come in between – all girls. Our Mother was very disappointed at first not to have a boy, but now she doesn’t mind.”

  The child danced a few steps and burst out again in her excited little voice:

  “Oh, Jane! Oh, Michael – I’ve often watched you from the sky, and now I’m actually talking to you. There is nothing about you I don’t know. Michael doesn’t like having his hair brushed, and Jane has a thrush’s egg in a jam jar on the mantelpiece. And your Father is going bald on the top. I like him. It was he who first introduced us – don’t you remember? He said one evening last summer:

  “‘Look, there are the Pleiades. Seven stars all together, the smallest in the sky. But there is one of them you can’t see.’

  “He meant Merope, of course. She’s still too young to stay up all night. She’s such a baby that she has to go to bed very early. Some of them up there call us the Little Sisters, and sometimes we are called the Seven Doves, but Orion calls us ‘You girls’ and takes us hunting with him.”

  “But what are you doing here?” demanded Michael, still very surprised.

  Maia laughed. “Ask Mary Poppins. I am sure she knows.”

  “Tell us, Mary Poppins,” said Jane.

  “Well,” said Mary Poppins snappily, “I suppose you two aren’t the only ones in the world that want to go shopping at Christmas—”

  “That’s it,” squealed Maia delightedly. “She’s quite right. I’ve come down to buy toys for them all. We can’t get away very often, you know, because we’re so busy making and storing up the Spring Rains. That’s the special job of the Pleiades. However, we drew lots and I won. Wasn’t it lucky?”

  She hugged herself happily.

  “Now, come on. I can’t stay very long. And you must come back and help me choose.”

  And dancing about them, running now to one and now to another, she shepherded them back to the Toy Department. As they went, the crowds of shoppers stood and stared at them and dropped their parcels with astonishment.

  “So cold for her. What can her parents be thinking of!” said the Mothers, with voices that were suddenly soft and gentle.

  “I mean to say—!” said the Fathers. “It shouldn’t be allowed. Must write to The Times about it.” And their voices were unnaturally gruff and gritty.

  The shopwalkers behaved curiously, too. As the little group passed they bowed to Maia as though she were a Queen.

  But none of them – not Jane, nor Michael, nor Mary Poppins, nor Maia – noticed nor heard anything extraordinary. They were too busy with their own extraordinary adventure.

  “Here we are!” said Maia, as she pranced into the Toy Department. “Now, what shall we choose?”

  An Assistant, with a start, bowed respectfully as soon as he saw her.

  “I want something for each of my sisters – six of them. You must help me, please,” said Maia, smiling at him.

  “Certainly, madam,” said the Assistant agreeably.

  “First – my eldest sister,” said Maia. “She’s very domestic. What about that little stove with the silver saucepans? Yes. And that striped broom. We are so troubled with Stardust, and she will love having that to sweep it up with.”

  The Assistant began wrapping the things in coloured paper.

  “Now for Taygete. She likes dancing. Don’t you think, Jane, a skipping-rope would be just the thing for her? You’ll tie them carefully, won’t you?” she said to the Assistant. “I have a long way to go.”

  She fluttered on among the toys, never standing still for a moment, but walking with a light quicksilver step, as though she were still twinkling in the sky.

  Mary Poppins and Jane and Michael could not take their eyes off her as she flickered from one of them to another asking their advice.

  “Then there’s Alcyone. She’s difficult. She’s so quiet and thoughtful and never seems to want anything. A book, do you think, Mary Poppins? What is this Family – the Swiss-Robinsons? I think she would like that. And if she doesn’t, she can look at the pictures. Wrap it up!”

  She handed the book to the Assistant.

  “I know what Celæno wants,” she went on. “A hoop. She can bowl it across the sky in the daytime and make a circle of it to spin about her at night. She’ll love that red and blue one.” The Assistant bowed again and began to wrap up the hoop.

  “Now there are only the two little ones left. Michael, what would you advise for Sterope?”

  “What about a top?” said Michael, giving the question his earnest consideration.

  “A humming top?” What a good idea! She will love to watch it go waltzing and singing down the sky. And what do you think for Merope, the baby, Jane?”

  “John and Barbara,” said Jane shyly, “have rubber ducks!”

  Maia gave a delighted squeal and hugged herself.

  “Oh, Jane, how wise you are! I should never have thought of that. A rubber duck for Merope, please – a blue one with yellow eyes.”

  The assistant tied up the parcels, while Maia ran round him, pushing at the paper, giving a tug to the string to make sure that it was firmly knotted.

  “That’s right,” she said. “You see, I mustn’t drop anything.”

  Michael, who had been staring steadily at her ever since she first appeared, turned and said in a loud whisper to Mary Poppins:

  “But she has no purse. Who will pay for the toys?”

  “None of your business,” snapped Mary Poppins. “And it’s rude to whisper.” But she began to fumble busily in her pocket.

  “What did you say?” demanded Maia with round, surprised eyes. “Pay? Nobody will pay. There is nothing to pay – is there?”

  She turned her shining gaze upon the Assistant.

  “Nothing at all, madam,” he assured her, as he put the parcels into her arms and bowed again.

  “I thought not. You see,” she said, turning to Michael, “the whole point of Christmas is that things should be given away, isn’t it? Besides, what could I pay with? We have no money up there.” And she laughed at the mere suggestion of such a thing.

  “Now we must go,” she went on, taking Michael’s arm. “We must all go home. It’s very late, and I heard your Mother telling you that you must be home in time for tea. Besides, I must get back, too. Come.” And drawing Michael and Jane and Mary Poppins after her, she led the way through the shop and out by the spinning door.

  Outside the entrance Jane suddenly said:

  “But there’s no present for her. She’s bought something for all the others and nothing for herself. Maia has no Christmas present.” And she began to search hurriedly through the parcels she was carrying, to see what she could spare for Maia.

  Mary Poppins gave a quick glance into the window beside her. She saw herself shining back at her, very smart, very interesting, her hat on straight, her coat nicely pressed and her new gloves just completing the whole effect.

  “You be quiet,” she said to Jane in her snappiest voice. At the same time she whipped off her new gloves and thrust one on to each of Maia’s hands.

  “There!” she said gruffly. “It’s cold today. You’ll be glad of them.”

  Maia looked at the gloves, hanging very large and almost empty upon her hands. She said nothing, but moving close to Mary Poppins she reached up her spare arm and put it round Mary Poppins’ neck and kissed her. A long look passed between them, and they smiled as people smile who understand each other. Maia turned then, and with her hand lightly touched the cheeks of Jane and Michael. And for a moment they all stood in a ring at the windy corner gazing at each other as though they were enchant
ed.

  “I’ve been so happy,” said Maia softly, breaking the silence. “Don’t forget me, will you?”

  They shook their heads.

  “Goodbye,” said Maia.

  “Goodbye,” said the others, though it was the last thing they wanted to say.

  Then Maia, standing poised on tiptoe, lifted up her arms and sprang into the air. She began to step, climbing ever higher, as though there were invisible stairs cut into the grey sky. She waved to them as she went, and the three of them waved back.

  “What on earth is happening?” somebody said close by.

  “But it’s not possible!” said another voice.

  “Preposterous!” cried a third. For a crowd was gathering to witness the extraordinary sight of Maia returning home.

  A Policeman pushed his way through the throng, scattering the people with his truncheon.

  “Naow, naow. Wot’s all this? A Naccident or wot?”

  He looked up, his gaze following that of the rest of the crowd.

  “’Ere!” he called angrily, shaking his fist at Maia. “Come down! Wot you doing up there? ’Olding up the traffic and all. Come down! We can’t ’ave this kind of thing – not in a public place. ’Tisn’t natural!”

  Far away they heard Maia laughing and saw something bright dangling from her arm. It was the skipping-rope. After all, the parcel had come undone.

  For a moment longer they saw her prancing up the airy stair, and then a bank of cloud hid her from their eyes. They knew she was behind it, though, because of the brightness that shone about its thick dark edge.

  “Well, I’m jiggered!” said the Policeman, staring upwards and scratching his head under its helmet.

  “And well you might be!” said Mary Poppins, with such a ferocious snap that anyone else might have thought she was really cross with the Policeman. But Jane and Michael were not taken in by that snap. For they could see in Mary Poppins’ eyes something that, if she were anybody else but Mary Poppins, might have been described as tears. . .

  “Could we have imagined it?” said Michael, when they got home and told the story to their Mother.

  “Perhaps,” said Mrs Banks. “We imagine strange and lovely things, my darling.”

  “But what about Mary Poppins’s gloves?” said Jane.

  “We saw her give them away to Maia. And she’s not wearing them now. So it must be true!”

  “What, Mary Poppins!” exclaimed Mrs Banks. “Your best fur-topped gloves! You gave them away!”

  Mary Poppins sniffed.

  “My gloves are my gloves and I do what I like with them!” she said haughtily.

  And she straightened her hat and went down to the kitchen to have her tea. . .

  Chapter Twelve

  WEST WIND

  IT WAS THE first day of Spring.

  Jane and Michael knew this at once, because they heard Mr Banks singing in his bath, and there was only one day in the year when he did that.

  They always remembered that particular morning. For one thing, it was the first time they were allowed to come downstairs for breakfast, and for another Mr Banks lost his black bag. So that the day began with two extraordinary happenings.

  “Where is my BAG?” shouted Mr Banks, turning round and round in the hall like a dog chasing its tail.

  And everybody else began running round and round too – Ellen and Mrs Brill and the children. Even Robertson Ay made a special effort and turned round twice. At last Mr Banks discovered the bag himself in his study, and he rushed into the hall with it, holding it aloft.

  “Now,” he said, as though he were delivering a sermon, “my bag is always kept in one place. Here. On the umbrella stand. Who put it in the study?” he roared.

  “You did, my dear, when you took the Income Tax papers out of it last night,” said Mrs Banks.

  Mr Banks gave her such a hurt look that she wished she had been less tactless and had said she had put it there herself.

  “Humph – Urrumph!” he said, blowing his nose very hard and taking his overcoat from its peg. He walked with it to the front door.

  “Hullo,” he said more cheerfully, “the Parrot tulips are in bud!” He went into the garden and sniffed the air. “H’m wind’s in the West, I think.” He looked down towards Admiral Boom’s house where the telescope weathercock swung. “I thought so,” he said. “Westerly weather. Bright and balmy. I won’t take an overcoat.”

  And with that he picked up his bag and his bowler hat and hurried away to the City.

  “Did you hear what he said?” Michael grabbed Jane’s arm.

  She nodded. “The wind’s in the West,” she said slowly.

  Neither of them said any more, but there was a thought in each of their minds that they wished was not there.

  They forgot it soon, however, for everything seemed to be as it always was, and the Spring sunlight lit up the house so beautifully that nobody remembered it needed a coat of paint and new wallpapers. On the contrary, they all found themselves thinking that it was the best house in Cherry Tree Lane.

  But trouble began after luncheon.

  Jane had gone down to dig in the garden with Robertson Ay. She had just sown a row of radish seed when she heard a great commotion in the Nursery and the sound of hurrying footsteps on the stairs. Presently Michael appeared, very red in the face and panting loudly.

  “Look, Jane, look!” he cried, and held out his hand. Within it lay Mary Poppins’ compass, with the disc frantically swinging round the arrow as it trembled in Michael’s shaking hand.

  “The compass?” said Jane, and looked at him questioningly.

  Michael suddenly burst into tears.

  “She gave it to me,” he wept. “She said I could have it all for myself now. Oh, oh, there must be something wrong! What is going to happen? She has never given me anything before.”

  “Perhaps she was only being nice,” said Jane to soothe him, but in her heart she felt as disturbed as Michael was. She knew very well that Mary Poppins never wasted time in being nice.

  And yet, strange to say, during that afternoon Mary Poppins never said a cross word. Indeed, she hardly said a word at all. She seemed to be thinking very deeply, and when they asked questions she answered them in a far-away voice. At last Michael could bear it no longer.

  “Oh, do be cross, Mary Poppins! Do be cross again! It is not like you. Oh, I feel so anxious.” And indeed, his heart felt heavy with the thought that something, he did not quite know what, was about to happen at Number Seventeen, Cherry Tree Lane.

  “Trouble trouble and it will trouble you!” retorted Mary Poppins crossly, in her usual voice.

  And immediately he felt a little better.

  “Perhaps it’s only a feeling,” he said to Jane. “Perhaps everything is all right and I’m just imagining – don’t you think so, Jane?”

  “Probably,” said Jane slowly. But she was thinking hard and her heart felt tight in her body.

  The wind grew wilder towards evening, and blew in little gusts about the house. It went pulling and whistling down the chimneys, slipping through the cracks under the windows, turning the Nursery carpet up at the corners.

  Mary Poppins gave them their supper and cleared away the things, stacking them neatly and methodically. Then she tidied up the Nursery and put the kettle on the hob.

  “There!” she said, glancing round the room to see that everything was all right. She was silent for a minute. Then she put one hand lightly on Michael’s head and the other on Jane’s shoulder.

  “Now,” she said, “I am just going to take the shoes down for Robertson Ay to clean. Behave yourselves, please, till I come back.” She went out and shut the door quietly behind her.

  Suddenly, as she went, they both felt they must run after her, but something seemed to stop them. They remained quiet, with their elbows on the table waiting for her to come back. Each was trying to reassure the other without saying anything.

  “How silly we are,” said Jane presently. “Everything’s all
right.” But she knew she said it more to comfort Michael than because she thought it was true.

  The Nursery clock ticked loudly from the mantelpiece. The fire flickered and crackled and slowly died down. They still sat there at the table, waiting.

  At last Michael said uneasily: “She’s been gone a very long time, hasn’t she?”

  The wind whistled and cried about the house as if in reply. The clock went on ticking its solemn double note.

  Suddenly the silence was broken by the sound of the front door shutting with a loud bang.

  “Michael!” said Jane, starting up.

  “Jane!” said Michael, with a white, anxious look on his face.

  They listened. Then they ran quickly to the window and looked out.

  Down below, just outside the front door, stood Mary Poppins, dressed in her coat and hat, with her carpet bag in one hand and her umbrella in the other. The wind was blowing wildly about her, tugging at her skirt, tilting her hat rakishly to one side. But it seemed to Jane and Michael that she did not mind, for she smiled as though she and the wind understood each other.

  She paused for a moment on the step and glanced back towards the front door. Then with a quick movement she opened the umbrella, though it was not raining, and thrust it over her head.

  The wind, with a wild cry, slipped under the umbrella, pressing it upwards as though trying to force it out of Mary Poppins’ hand. But she held on tightly, and that, apparently was what the wind wanted her to do, for presently it lifted the umbrella higher into the air and Mary Poppins from the ground. It carried her lightly so that her toes just grazed along the garden path. Then it lifted her over the front gate and swept her upwards towards the branches of the cherry trees in the Lane.

  “She’s going, Jane, she’s going!” cried Michael, weeping.

  “Quick!” cried Jane. “Let us get the Twins. They must see the last of her.” She had no doubt now, nor had Michael, that Mary Poppins had gone for good because the wind had changed.

  They each seized a Twin and rushed back to the window.

  Mary Poppins was in the upper air now, floating away over the cherry trees and the roofs of the houses, holding tightly to the umbrella with one hand and to the carpet bag with the other.