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 enchanted.
“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. . .
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
