she cried. “Pull it in! Pull it in!”
Michael turned the stick and gave a long, strong pull. The string remained taut and steady. He pulled again, puffing and panting.
“I can’t,” he said. “It won’t come.”
“I’ll help!” said Jane. “Now – pull!”
But, hard as they tugged, the string would not give, and the Kite remained hidden behind the cloud.
“Let me!” said the Keeper importantly. “When I was a boy we did it this way.”
And he put his hand on the string, just above Jane’s, and gave it a short, sharp jerk. It seemed to give a little.
“Now – all together – pull!”
The Keeper tossed off his hat, and planting their feet firmly on the grass, Jane and Michael pulled with all their might.
“It’s coming!” panted Michael.
Suddenly the string slackened, and a small whirling shape shot through the grey cloud and came floating down.
“Wind her up!” the Keeper spluttered, glancing at Michael.
But the string was already winding round the stick of its own accord.
Down, down came the Kite, turning over and over in the air, wildly dancing at the end of the jerking string.
Jane gave a little gasp.
“Something’s happened,” she cried. “That’s not our Kite! It’s quite a different one!”
They stared.
It was quite true. The Kite was no longer green-and-yellow. It had turned colour and was not navy-blue. Down it came, tossing and bounding.
Suddenly Michael gave a shout.
“Jane! Jane! It isn’t a Kite at all. It looks like – oh, it looks like—”
“Wind, Michael, wind quickly!” gasped Jane. “I can hardly wait!”
For now, above the tallest trees, the shape at the end of the string was clearly visible. There was no sign of the green-and-yellow Kite, but in its place danced a figure that seemed at once strange and familiar, a figure wearing a blue coat with silver buttons and a straw hat trimmed with daisies. Tucked under its arm was an Umbrella with a parrot’s head for a handle, a brown carpet-bag dangled from one hand, while the other held firmly to the end of the shortening string.
“Ah!” Jane gave a shout of triumph. “It is her!”
“I knew it!” cried Michael, his hands trembling on the winding-stick.
“Lumme!” said the Park Keeper, gaping and blinking. “Lumme!”
On sailed the curious figure, its feet neatly clearing the tops of the trees. They could see the face now, and the well-known features – coal-black hair, bright blue eyes, and nose turned upwards like the nose of a Dutch doll.
As the last length of string wound itself round the stick, the figure drifted down between the Lime Trees and alighted primly on the grass.
In a flash Michael dropped the stick. Away he bounded, with Jane at his heels.
“Mary Poppins, Mary Poppins!” they cried, and flung themselves upon her.
Behind them the Twins were crowing like cocks in the morning, and the Park Keeper was opening and shutting his mouth as though he would like to say something but could not find the words.
“At last! At last! At last!” shouted Michael wildly, clutching at her arm, her bag, her umbrella – anything so long as he might touch her and feel that she was really true.
“We knew you’d come back! We found the letter that said au revoir!” cried Jane, flinging her arms round the waist of the blue overcoat.
A satisfied smile flickered for a moment over Mary Poppins’ face – up from the mouth, over the turned-up nose, into the blue eyes. But it died away swiftly.
“I’ll thank you to remember,” she remarked, disengaging herself from their hands, “that this is a Public Park and not a Bear Garden. Such goings on! I might as well be at the Zoo. And where, may I ask, are your gloves?”
They fell back, fumbling in their pockets.
“Humph! Put them on, please!”
Trembling with excitement and delight, Jane and Michael stuffed their hands into their gloves and put on their hats.
Mary Poppins moved towards the perambulator. The Twins cooed happily as she strapped them in more securely and straightened the rug. Then she glanced round.
“Who put that Duck in the pond?” she demanded, in that stern, haughty voice they knew so well.
“I did,” said Jane. “For the Twins. He was going to New York.”
“Well, take him out, then!” said Mary Poppins. “He is not going to New York – wherever that is – but Home to Tea.”
And, slinging her carpet-bag over the handle of the perambulator, she began to push the Twins towards the gate.
The Park Keeper, suddenly finding his voice, blocked her way.
“See here!” he said, staring. “I shall have to report this. It’s against the Regulations. Coming down out of the sky like that. And where from, I’d like to know, where from?”
He broke off, for Mary Poppins was eyeing him up and down in a way that made him feel he would rather be somewhere else.
“If I was a Park Keeper,” she remarked primly, “I should put on my cap and button my coat. Excuse me!”
And, haughtily waving him aside, she pushed past with the perambulator.
Blushing, the Keeper bent to pick up his hat. When he looked up again, Mary Poppins and the children had disappeared through the gate of Number Seventeen Cherry Tree Lane.
He stared at the path. Then he stared up at the sky and down at the path again.
He took off his hat, scratched his head, and put it on again.
“I never saw such a thing!” he said shakily. “Not even when I was a boy.”
And he went away muttering and looking very upset. . .
“Why, it’s Mary Poppins!” said Mrs Banks, as they came into the hall. “Where did you come from? Out of the blue?”
“Yes,” began Michael joyfully, “she came down on the end—”
He stopped short, for Mary Poppins had fixed him with one of her terrible looks.
