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.
The Twins began to cry quietly.
With their free hands Jane and Michael opened the window and made one last effort to stay Mary Poppins’ flight.
“Mary Poppins!” they cried. “Mary Poppins, come back!”
But she either did not hear or deliberately took no notice. For she went sailing on and on, up into the cloudy, whistling air, till at last she was wafted away over the hill and the children could see nothing but the trees bending and moaning under the wild west wind. . .
“She did what she said she would, anyway. She stayed till the wind changed,” said Jane, sighing and turning sadly from the window. She took John to his cot and put him into it. Michael said nothing, but as he brought Barbara back and tucked her into bed he was sniffing uncomfortably.
“I wonder,” said Jane, “if we’ll ever see her again?”
Suddenly they heard voices on the stairs.
“Children, children!” Mrs Banks was calling as she opened the door. “Children – I am very cross. Mary Poppins has left us—”
“Yes,” said Jane and Michael.
“You knew, then?” said Mrs Banks, rather surprised. “Did she tell you she was going?”
They shook their heads, and Mrs Banks went on:
“It’s outrageous. One minute here and gone the next. Not even an apology. Simply said, ‘I’m going!’ and off she went. Anything more preposterous, more thoughtless, more discourteous—What is it, Michael?” She broke off crossly, for Michael had grasped her skirt in his hands and was shaking her.
“What is it, child?”
“Did she say she’d come back?” he cried, nearly knocking his Mother over. “Tell me – did she?”
“You will not behave like a Red Indian, Michael,” she said, loosening his hold. “I don’t remember what she said, except that she was going. But I certainly shan’t have her back if she does want to come. Leaving me high and dry with nobody to help me and without a word of notice.”
“Oh, Mother!” said Jane reproachfully.
“You are a very cruel woman,” said Michael, clenching his fist as though at any minute he would have to strike her.
“Children! I’m ashamed of you – really I am! To want back anybody who has treated your Mother so badly. I’m utterly shocked.”
Jane burst into tears.
“Mary Poppins is the only person I want in the world!” Michael wailed, and flung himself on to the floor.
“Really, children, really! I don’t understand you. Do be good, I beg of you. There’s nobody to look after you tonight. I have to go out to dinner and it’s Ellen’s Day Off. I shall have to send Mrs Brill up.” And she kissed them absentmindedly, and went away with an anxious little line on her forehead. . .
“Well, if I ever did! Her going away and leaving you pore dear children in the lurch like that,” said Mrs Brill, a moment later, bustling in and setting to work on them.
“A heart of stone, that’s what that girl had and no mistake, or my name’s not Clara Brill. Always keeping herself to herself, too, and not even a lace handkerchief or a hatpin to remember her by. Get up, will you please, Master Michael!” Mrs Brill went on, panting heavily.
“How we stood her so long, I don’t know – with her airs and graces and all. What a lot of buttons, Miss Jane! Stand still do now, and let me undress you, Master Michael. Plain she was, too, nothing much to look at. Indeed, all things considered, I don’t know that we won’t be better off, after all. Now, Miss Jane, where’s your nightgown – why, what’s this under your pillow—?”
Mrs Brill had drawn out a small nobbly parcel.
“What is it? Give it to me – give it,” said Jane, trembling with excitement, and she took it from Mrs Brill’s hands very quickly. Michael came and stood near her and watched her undo the string and tear away the brown paper. Mrs Brill, without waiting to see what emerged from the package, went into the Twins.
The last wrapping fell to the floor and the thing that was in the parcel lay in Jane’s hand.
“It’s her picture,” she said in a whisper, looking closely at it.
And it was!
Inside a little curly frame was a painting of Mary Poppins, and underneath it was written, “Mary Poppins by Bert”.
“That’s the Match Man – he did it,” said Michael, and took it in his hand so that he could have a better look.
Jane found suddenly that there was a letter attached to the painting. She unfolded it carefully. It ran:
DEAR JANE,
Michael had the compass so the picture is for you. Au revoir.
MARY POPPINS
She read it out loud till she came to the words she couldn’t understand.
“Mrs Brill!” she called. “What does ‘au revoir’ mean?”
“Au revore, dearie?” shrieked Mrs Brill from the next room. “Why, doesn’t it mean – let me see, I’m not up in these foreign tongues – doesn’t it mean ‘God bless you’? No. No, I’m wrong. I think, Miss Jane dear, it means ‘To Meet Again’.”
Jane and Michael looked at each other. Joy and understanding shone in their eyes. They knew what Mary Poppins meant.
Michael gave a long sigh of relief. “That’s all right,” he said shakily. “She always does what she says she will.” He turned away.
“Michael, are you crying?” Jane asked.
He twisted his head and tried to smile at her.
“No, I am not,” he said. “It is only my eyes.”
She