Mary Poppins in the Park. P. Travers L.

Miss Lark in a frenzy.

      “Shoo!” said the Prime Minister earnestly, waving his hat at the Lion.

      But the Lion bared its teeth in a grin as it hugged the Policeman closer.

      “Now, what’s the trouble? Who sent for me?” cried a loud, impatient voice.

      The Lord Mayor hurried along the Walk with his Aldermen at his heels.

      “Good gracious! What are you doing, Smith?” He stared in disgust at the Park Keeper. “Come out of that basket and stand up straight! It is there to be used for litter, Smith, and not some foolish game.”

      “I’m usin’ it for armour, Your Worship! There’s a lion in the Park!”

      “A lion, Smith? What nonsense you talk! The lions are in the Zoo!”

      “A lion?” echoed the Aldermen. “Ha, ha! What a silly story!”

      “It’s true!” yelled Jane and Michael at once. “Look out! He’s just behind you!”

      The three portly figures turned, and their faces grew pale as marble.

      The Lord Mayor waved a feeble hand at the trembling Aldermen.

      “Get me water! Wine! Hot milk!” he moaned.

      But for once the Aldermen disobeyed. Hot milk, indeed! they seemed to say as they dragged him to the Prime Minister’s tree and pushed him into the branches.

      “Police! Police!” the Lord Mayor cried, catching hold of a bough.

      “I’m here, Your Honour!” the Policeman panted, pushing away a tawny paw.

      But the Lion took this for a mark of affection.

      “Gurrrrumph!” he said in a husky voice, as he clasped the Policeman tighter.

      “Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” Miss Lark wailed. “Has nobody got a gun?”

      “A dagger! A sword! A crowbar!” cried the voices from every tree.

      The Park was ringing with shouts and screams. The Park Keeper rattled his stick on the Litter-basket. “Yoo-hoo!” cried the Keeper of the Zoological Gardens to distract the Lion’s attention. The Lion was growling. The Policeman was yelling. The Lord Mayor and the Aldermen were still crying “Police!”

      Then suddenly a silence fell. And a neat, trim figure appeared on the path. Straight on she came, as a ship into port, with the perambulator wheeling before her and the tulip standing up stiff on her hat.

      Creak went the wheels.

      Tap went her shoes.

      And the watching faces grew pale with horror as she tripped towards the Lion.

      “Go back, Mary Poppins!” screamed Miss Lark, breaking the awful silence. “Save yourself and the little ones! There’s a wild beast down on the path!’

      Mary Poppins looked up at Miss Lark’s face as it hung like a fruit among the leaves.