higher. But, as it floated, its long, tasselled tail caught in the branches of a Lime Tree and the Kite dangled limply among the leaves.
The Twins howled lustily.
“Oh, dear,” said Jane. “Nothing goes right nowadays.”
“Hullo, hullo, hullo! What’s all this?” said a voice behind them.
They turned and saw the Park Keeper, looking very smart in his uniform and peaked cap. He was prodding up stray pieces of paper with the sharp end of his walking-stick.
Jane pointed to the Lime Tree. The Keeper looked up. His face became very stern.
“Now, now, you’re breaking the rules! We don’t allow Litter here, you know – not on the ground nor in the trees neither. This won’t do at all!”
“It isn’t Litter. It’s a Kite,” said Michael.
A mild, soft, foolish look came over the Keeper’s face. He went up to the Lime Tree.
“A Kite? So it is. And I haven’t flown a Kite since I was a boy!” He sprang up into the tree and came down holding the Kite tenderly under his arm.
“Now,” he said excitedly, “we’ll wind her up and give her a run and away she’ll go!” He put out his hand for the winding-stick.
Michael clutched it firmly.
“Thank you, but I want to fly it myself.”
“Well, but you’ll let me help, won’t you?” said the Keeper humbly. “Seeing as I got it down and I haven’t flown a Kite since I was a boy.”
“All right,” said Michael, for he didn’t want to seem unkind.
“Oh, thank you, thank you!” cried the Keeper gratefully. “Now, I take the Kite and walk ten paces down the green. And when I say ‘Go!’ you run! See?”
The Keeper walked away, counting his steps out loud.
“Eight, nine, ten.”
He turned and raised the Kite above his head.
“Go!”
Michael began to run.
There was a tug at the string as the winding-stick turned in his hand.
“She’s afloat!” cried the Keeper.
Michael looked back. The Kite was sailing through the air, plunging steadily upwards. Higher and higher it dived, a tiny wisp of green-and-yellow bounding away into the blue. The Keeper’s eyes were popping.
“I never saw such a kite. Not even when I was a boy,” he murmured, staring upwards.
A light cloud came up over the sun and puffed across the sky.
“It’s coming towards the Kite,” said Jane in an excited whisper.
Up and up went the tossing tail, darting through the air until it seemed but a faint, dark speck on the sky. The cloud moved slowly towards it. Nearer, nearer …
“Gone!” said Michael, as the speck disappeared behind the thin grey screen.
Jane gave a little sigh. The Twins sat quietly in the perambulator. A curious stillness was upon them all. The taut string running up from Michael’s hand seemed to link them all to the cloud, and the earth to the sky. They waited, holding their breaths, for the Kite to appear again.
Suddenly Jane could bear it no longer.
“Michael,” 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?”