Mary Poppins Comes Back

CHAPTER SEVEN The Evening Out

What, no pudding?" said Michael, as Mary Poppins, her arm full of plates, mugs and knives, began to lay the table for Nursery Tea.

She turned and looked at him fiercely.

"This," she snapped, "is my Evening Out. So you will eat bread and butter and strawberry-jam and be thankful. There's many a little boy would be glad to have it."

"I'm not," grumbled Michael. "I want rice-pudding with honey in it."

"You want! You want! You're always wanting. If it's not this it's that, and if it's not that it's the other. You'll ask for the Moon next."

He put his hands in his pockets and moved sulkily away to the window-seat. Jane was kneeling there, staring out at the bright, frosty sky. He climbed up beside her, still looking very cross.

"All right, then! I do ask for the Moon. So there!" He flung the words back at Mary Poppins. "But I know I shan't get it. Nobody ever gives me anything."

He turned hurriedly away from her angry glare.

"Jane," he said, "there's no pudding."

"Don't interrupt me, I'm counting!" said Jane, pressing her nose against the window-pane so that it was quite blunt and squashed at the tip.

"Counting what?" he asked, not very interested. His mind was full of rice-pudding and honey.

"Shooting stars. Look, there goes another. That's seven. And another! Eight. And one over the Park — that's nine!"

"O-o-h! And there's one going down Admiral Boom's chimney!" said Michael, sitting up suddenly and forgetting all about the pudding.

"And a little one — see! — streaking right across the Lane. Such frosty lights!" cried Jane. "Oh, how I wish we were out there! What makes stars shoot, Mary Poppins?"

"Do they come out of a gun?" enquired Michael.

Mary Poppins sniffed contemptuously.

"What do you think I am? An Encyclopædia? Everything from A to Z?" she demanded crossly. "Come and eat your teas, please!" She pushed them towards their chairs and pulled down the blind. "And No Nonsense. I'm in a hurry!"

And she made them eat so quickly that they were both afraid they would choke.

"Mayn't I have just one more piece?" asked Michael, stretching out his hand to the plate of bread-and-butter.

"You may not. You have already eaten more than is good for you. Take a ginger biscuit and go to bed."

"But—"

"But me no buts or you'll be sorry!" she flung at him sternly.

"I shall have indigestion, I know I shall," he said to Jane, but only in a whisper, for when Mary Poppins looked like that it was wiser not to make any remark at all. Jane took no notice. She was slowly eating her ginger biscuit and peering cautiously out at the frosty sky through a chink in the blind.

"Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen—"

"Did I or did I not say BED?" enquired the familiar voice behind them.

"All right, I'm just going! I'm just going, Mary Poppins!"

And they ran squealing to the Night-Nursery with Mary Poppins hurrying after them and looking Simply Awful.

Less than half-an-hour later Mary Poppins was tucking each one in tightly, pushing the sheets and blankets under the mattress with sharp furious little stabs.

"There!" she said, snapping the words between her lips. "That's all for tonight. And if I hear One Word—" She did not finish the sentence but her look said all that was necessary.

"There'll be Trouble!" said Michael, finishing it for her. But he whispered it under his breath to his blanket for he knew what would happen if he said it aloud. She whisked out of the room, her starched apron rustling and crackling, and shut the door with an angry click. They heard her light feet hurrying away down the stairs — Tap-tap, Tap-tap — from landing to landing.

"She's forgotten to light the night-light," said Michael, peering around the corner of his pillow. "She must be in a hurry. I wonder where she's going!"

"And she's left the blind up!" said Jane, sitting up in bed. "Hooray, now we can watch the shooting stars!"

The pointed roofs of Cherry Tree Lane were shiny with frost and the moonlight slid down the gleaming slopes and fell soundlessly into the dark gulfs between the houses. Everything glimmered and shone. The earth was as bright as the sky.

"Seventeen-Eighteen-Nineteen-Twenty—" said Jane, steadily counting as the stars shot down. As fast as one disappeared another came to take its place until it seemed that the whole sky was alive and dancing with the dazzle of shooting stars.

"It's like fireworks," said Michael. "Oh, look at that one! Or the Circus. Do you think they have circuses in Heaven, Jane?"

"I'm not sure!" said Jane doubtfully. "There's the Great Bear and the Little Bear, of course, and Taurus-the-Bull and Leo-the-Lion. But I don't know about a Circus."

"Mary Poppins would know," said Michael, nodding wisely.

"Yes, but she wouldn't tell," said Jane, turning again to the window. "Where was I? Was it Twenty-one? Oh, Michael, such a beauty — do you see?" She bounced excitedly up and down in her bed, pointing to the window.

A very bright star, larger than any they had yet seen, was shooting through the sky towards Number Seventeen Cherry Tree Lane. It was different from the others for, instead of leaping straight across the dark, it was turning over and over, curving through the air very curiously.

"Duck your head, Michael!" shouted Jane suddenly. "It's coming in here!"

They dived down into the blankets and burrowed their heads under the pillows.

"Do you think it's gone now?" came Michael's muffled voice presently. "I'm nearly smothercated."

"Of course I haven't gone!" A small clear voice answered him. "What do you take me for?"

Very surprised, Jane and Michael threw off the bed-clothes and sat up. There, at the edge of the window-sill, perched on its shiny tail and gleaming brightly at them, was the shooting star.

"Come on, you two! Be quick!" it said, gleaming frostily across the room.

Michael stared at it.

"But — I don't understand—" he began.

A bright, glittering, very small laugh sounded in the room.

"You never do, do you?" said the star.

"You mean — we're to come with you?" said Jane.

"Of course! And mind you wrap up. It's chilly!"

They sprang out of their beds and ran for overcoats.

"Got any money?" the star asked sharply.

"There's twopence in my coat pocket," said Jane doubtfully.

"Coppers? They'll be no good! Here, catch!" And with a little sizzling sound, as though a firework squib was going off, the star sent out a shower of sparks. Two of them shot right across the room and landed, one in Jane's hand and one in Michael's.

"Hurry, or we'll be late!"

The star streaked across the room, through the closed door and down the stairs, with Jane and Michael, tightly clasping their starry money, after it.

"Can I be dreaming I wonder?" said Jane to herself, as she hurried down Cherry Tree Lane.

"Follow!" cried the star as, at the end of the Lane, where the frosty sky seemed to come down to meet the pavement, it leapt into the air and disappeared.

"Follow! Follow!" came the voice from somewhere in the sky. "Just as you are, step on a star!"

Jane seized Michael's hand and raised her foot uncertainly from the pavement. To her surprise she found that the lowest star in the sky was easily within her reach. She stepped up, balancing carefully. The star seemed quite steady and solid.

"Come on, Michael!"

They hurried up the frosty sky, leaping over the gulfs between the stars.

"Follow!" cried the voice, far ahead of them. Jane paused and, glancing down, caught her breath to see how high they were. Cherry Tree Lane — indeed, the whole world — was as small and sparkly as a toy on a Christmas Tree.

"Are you giddy, Michael?" she said, springing on to a large flat star.

"N-o-o. Not if you hold my hand."

They paused. Behind them the great stairway of stars led down to earth, but before them there were no more to be seen, nothing but a thick blue patch of naked sky.

Michael's hand trembled in Jane's.

"W-w-what shall we do now?" he said, in a voice that tried not to sound frightened.

"Walk up! Walk up! Walk up and see the sights! Pay your money and take your choice! The two-Tailed Dragon or the Horse with Wings! Magical Marvels! Universal Wonders! Walk up! Walk up!"

A loud voice seemed to be shouting these words in their very ears. They stared about them. There was no sign of anybody.

"Step along everybody! Don't miss the Golden Bull and the Comical Clown! World-Famous Troupe of Performing Constellations! Once seen never forgotten! Push aside the curtain and walk in!"

Again the voice sounded close beside them. Jane put out her hand. To her surprise she found that what had seemed a plain and starless patch of sky was really a thick dark curtain. She pressed against it and felt it yield; she gathered up a fold of it and, pulling Michael after her, pushed the curtain aside.

A bright flare of light dazzled them for a moment. When they could see again they found themselves standing at the edge of a ring of shining sand. The great blue curtain enfolded the ring on all sides and was drawn up to a point above as though it were a tent.

"Now then! Do you know you were almost too late? Got your tickets?"

They turned. Beside them, his bright feet gleaming in the sand, stood a strange and gigantic figure. He looked like a hunter, for a starry leopard-skin was slung across his shoulders, and from his belt, decorated with three large stars, hung down a shining sword.

"Tickets, please!" he held out his hand.

"I'm afraid we haven't got any. You see, we didn't know—" began Jane.

"Dear, dear, how careless! Can't let you in without a ticket, you know. But what's that in your hand?"

Jane held out the golden spark.

"Well, if that isn't a ticket, I'd like to know what is!" He pressed the spark between his three large stars. "Another shiner for Orion's belt!" he remarked pleasantly.

"Is that who you are?" said Jane, staring at him.

"Of course — didn't you know? But — excuse me, I must attend to the door. Move along, please!"

The children, feeling rather shy, moved on hand in hand. Tier on tier of seats rose up at one side of them and at the other a golden cord separated them from the ring. And the ring itself was crowded with the strangest collection of animals, all shining bright as gold. A Horse with great gold Wings pranced by on glittering hooves. A golden Fish threshed up the dust of the ring with its fin. Three Little Kids were rushing wildly about on two legs instead of four. And it seemed to Jane and Michael, as they looked closer, that all these animals were made of stars. The wings of the Horse were of stars, not feathers, the Three Kids had stars on their noses and tails, and the Fish was covered with shining starry scales.

"Good-evening!" it remarked, bowing politely to Jane as it threshed by. "Fine night for the performance!"

But before Jane could reply it had hurried past.

"How very strange!" said she. "I've never seen animals like this before!"

"Why should it be strange?" said a voice behind them.

Two children, both boys and a little older than Jane, stood there smiling. They were dressed in shining tunics and their peaked caps had each a star for a pompon.

"I beg your pardon," said Jane, politely. "But, you see, we're used to — er — fur and feathers and these animals seem to be made of stars."

"But of course they are!" said the first boy, opening his eyes very wide. "What else could they be made of? They're the Constellations!"

"But even the sawdust is gold—" began Michael.

The second boy laughed. "Star-dust, you mean! Haven't you been to a Circus before?"

"Not this kind."

"All circuses are alike," said the first boy. "Our animals are brighter, that's all."

"But who are you?" demanded Michael.

"The Twins. He's Pollux and I'm Castor. We're always together."

"Like the Siamese Twins?"

"Yes. But more so. The Siamese Twins are only joined in body but we have a single heart and a single mind between us. We can think each other's thoughts and dream each other's dreams. But we mustn't stay here talking. We've got to get ready — see you later!" And the Twins ran off and disappeared through a curtained exit.

"Hullo!" said a gloomy voice from inside the ring. "I suppose you don't happen to have a currant bun in your pocket?"

A Dragon with two large finny tails lumbered towards them, breathing steam from its nostrils.

"I'm sorry, we haven't," said Jane.

"Nor a biscuit or two?" said the Dragon eagerly.

They shook their heads.

"I thought not," said the Dragon, dropping a golden tear. "It's always the way on Circus nights. I don't get fed till after the performance. On ordinary occasions I have a beautiful maiden for supper—"

Jane drew back quickly, pulling Michael with her.

"Oh, don't be alarmed!" the Dragon went on, reassuringly. "You'd be much too small. Besides, you're human and therefore tasteless. They keep me hungry," he explained, "so that I shall do my tricks better. But after the show—" A greedy light came into his eyes and he shuffled away, lolling out his tongue and saying "Yum-yum" in a soft, greedy, hissing voice.

"I'm glad we're only human," said Jane, turning to Michael. "It would be dreadful to be eaten by a Dragon!"

But Michael had hurried on ahead and was talking eagerly to the Three Little Kids.

"How does it go?" he was asking, as Jane caught up with him.

And the Eldest Kid, which apparently had offered to recite, cleared its throat, and began—

"Horn and toe,

Toe and horn——"

"Now, Kids!" Orion's voice interrupted loudly. "You can say your piece when the time comes. Get ready now, we're going to begin! Follow me, please!" he said to the children.

They trotted obediently after the gleaming figure, and as they went the golden animals turned to stare at them. They heard snatches of whispered conversation as they passed.

"Who's that?" said a huge starry Bull, as it stopped pawing the star-dust to gaze at them. And a Lion turned and whispered something into the Bull's ear. They caught the words "Banks" and "Evening Out" but heard no more than that.

By now every seat on every tier was filled with a shining starry figure. Only three empty seats remained and to these Orion led the children.

"Here you are! We kept these for you. Just under the Royal Box. You'll see perfectly. Look! they're just beginning!"

And, turning, Jane and Michael saw that the ring was empty. The animals had hurried out while they had been climbing to their seats. They unbuttoned their overcoats and leaned forward excitedly.

From somewhere came a fanfare of trumpets. A blast of music echoed through the tent and above the sound could be heard a high, sweet neighing.

"The comets!" said Orion, sitting down beside Michael.

A wild nodding head appeared at the entrance and one by one nine comets galloped into the ring, their manes braided with gold, and silver plumes on their heads.

Suddenly the music rose to a great roar of sound and with one movement the comets dropped upon their knees and bowed their heads. A warm gust of air came wafting across the ring.

"How hot it's getting!" cried Jane.

"Hush! He's coming!" said Orion.

"Who?" whispered Michael.

"The Ring-Master!"

Orion nodded to the far entrance. A light shone there, eclipsing the light of the constellations. It grew steadily brighter.

"Here he is!" Orion's voice had a curious softness in it.

And as he spoke there appeared between the curtains a towering golden figure with flaming curls upon his head and a wide, radiant face. And with him came a great swell of warmth that lapped the ring and spread out in ever-widening circles until it surrounded Jane and Michael and Orion. Half-consciously, made dreamy by that warmth, the children slipped off their overcoats.

Orion sprang to his feet holding his right hand above his head.

"Hail, Sun, hail!" he cried. And from the stars in the tiered seats the cry came echoing—

"Hail!"

The Sun glanced round the wide dark-tented ring and, in answer to the greeting, swung his long gold whip three times about his head. As the lash turned in the air there was a quick, sharp crack. At once the comets sprang up and cantered out, their braided tails swinging wildly, their plumed heads high and erect.

"Here we are again, here we are again!" cried a loud, hoarse voice, and bouncing into the ring came a comical figure with silver-painted face, wide red mouth and huge silvery frills about his neck.

"Saturn — the Clown!" whispered Orion behind his hand to the children.

"When is a door not a door?" demanded the Clown of the audience, turning over and standing on one hand.

"When it's ajar!" answered Jane and Michael loudly.

A disappointed look came over the Clown's face.

"Oh, you know it!" he said, reproachfully. "That's not fair!"

The Sun cracked his whip.

"All right, all right!" said the Clown. "I've got another. Why does a hen cross the road?" he asked, sitting down with a bump on the star-dust.

"To get to the other side!" cried Jane and Michael.

The swinging whip caught the Clown round the knees.

"O-o-h! Don't do that! You'll hurt poor Joey. Look at them laughing up there! But I'll fix them! Listen!" He turned a double somersault in the air.

"What kind of jam did the chicken ask for when it came out of the egg. Tell me that!"

"Mar — me — lade!" yelled Michael and Jane.

"Be off with you!" cried the Sun, catching his whip about the Clown's shoulders, and the Clown went bounding round the ring, head over heels, crying—

"Poor old Joey! He's failed again! He's failed again! They know all his best jokes, poor old fellow, poor old — oh, beg pardon, Miss, beg pardon!"

He broke off for he had somersaulted against Pegasus, the Winged Horse, as it entered carrying a bright spangly figure on its back.

"Venus, the Evening Star," explained Orion.

Breathlessly, Jane and Michael watched the starry figure ride lightly through the ring. Round and round she went, bowing to the Sun as she passed, and presently the Sun, standing in her path, held up a great hoop covered with thin gold paper.

She balanced on her toes for a moment. "Hup!" said the Sun, and Venus, with the utmost grace, jumped through the hoop and landed again on the back of Pegasus.

"Hurrah!" cried Jane and Michael, and the audience of stars echoed back "Hurrah!"

"Let me try, let Poor Joey have a go, just a little one to make a cat laugh!" cried the Clown. But Venus only tossed her head and laughed and rode out of the ring.

She had hardly disappeared before the Three Kids came prancing in, looking rather shy and bowing awkwardly to the Sun. Then they stood on their hind legs in a row before him, and in high, thin voices recited the following song—

"Horn and hoof,

Hoof and horn,

Every night

Three Kids are born,

Each with a Twinkly Nose,

Each with a Twinkly Tail.

Blue and black,

Black and blue

Is the evening sky

As the Kids come through,

Each with a Twinkly Nose,

Each with a Twinkly Tail.

Gay and bright

And white as May

The Three Kids drink

At the Milky Way,

Each with a Twinkly Nose,

Each with a Twinkly Tail.

All night long

From Dusk till Dawn

The Three Kids graze

On the starry lawn

Each with a Twinkly Nose,

Each with a Twink-ker-ly T-a-i-l!"

They drew out the last line with a long baa-ing sound and danced out.

"What's next?" asked Michael but there was no need for Orion to reply for the Dragon was already in the ring, his nostrils steaming and his two finny tails tossing up the star-dust. After him came Castor and Pollux carrying between them a large white shining globe faintly figured with a design of mountains and rivers.

"It looks like the Moon!" said Jane.

"Of course it's the Moon!" said Orion.

The Dragon was now on his hind legs and the Twins were balancing the Moon on his nose. It bobbed up and down uncertainly for a moment. Then it settled and the Dragon began to waltz about the ring to the tune of the starry music. Round he went, very carefully and steadily, once, twice, three times.

"That will do!" said the Sun cracking his whip. And the Dragon, with a sigh of relief, shook its head and sent the Moon flying across the ring. It landed, with a bumpy thud, right in Michael's lap.

"Good gracious!" said he, very startled. "What shall I do with this?"

"Whatever you like," said Orion. "I thought you asked for it."

And suddenly Michael remembered his conversation that evening with Mary Poppins. He had asked for the Moon then, and now he had got it. And he didn't know what to do with it. How very awkward!

But he had no time to worry about it for the Sun was cracking his whip again. Michael settled the Moon on his knee, folded his arms around it and turned back to the ring.

"What are two and three?" the Sun was asking the Dragon.

The two tails lashed five times on the star-dust.

"And six and four?" The Dragon thought for a minute. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine — The tails stopped.

"Wrong!" said the Sun. "Quite wrong! No supper for you to-night!"

At that the Dragon burst into tears and hurried from the ring sobbing.

"Alas and alack,

Boo-hoo, boo-hoo!"

he cried bitterly.

"I wanted a Maiden

Served in a stew,

A succulent, seasoned, tasty Girl

With star for her eye

And comet for curl,

And I wouldn't have minded if there'd been two,

For I'm awfully hungry,

Boo-hoo!

Boo-hoo!"

"Won't they give him even a small maiden?" said Michael, feeling rather sorry for the Dragon.

"Hush!" said Orion, as a dazzling form sprang into the ring.

When the cloud of star-dust had cleared away, the children drew back, startled. It was the Lion and he was growling fiercely.

Michael moved a little closer to Jane.

The Lion, crouching, moved forward slowly till he reached the Sun. His long red tongue went out, lolling dangerously. But the Sun only laughed, and lifting his foot, he gently kicked the Lion's golden nose. With a roar, as though he had been burnt, the starry beast sprang up.

The Sun's whip cracked fiercely on the air. Slowly, unwillingly, growling all the time, the Lion rose on his hind legs. The Sun tossed him a skipping-rope and, holding it between his forepaws, the lion began to sing.

"I am the Lion, Leo-the-Lion,

The beautiful, suitable, Dandy Lion,

Look for me up in the starry sky on

Clear cold nights at the foot of Orion,

Glimmering, glittering, gleaming there,

The Handsomest Sight in the atmosphere!"

And at the end of the song he swung the rope and skipped round the ring, rolling his eyes and growling.

"Hurry up, Leo, it's our turn!" A rumbling voice sounded from behind the curtain.

"Come on, you big cat!" a shrill voice added.

The Lion dropped his skipping-rope and with a roar sprang at the curtain, but the two creatures who entered next stepped carefully aside so that the Lion missed them.

"Great Bear and Little Bear," said Orion.

Slowly the two Bears lumbered in, holding paws and waltzing to slow music. Round the ring they went, looking very serious and solemn, and at the end of their dance they made a clumsy curtsey to the audience and remarked—

"We're the Gruffly Bear and the Squeaky Bear,

O Constellations, has any one here

A honeycomb square that they can spare

For the Squeaky Bear and the Gruffly Bear

To add to the store in their dark blue lair

Or to—

or to—

or to—"

The Great Bear and the Little Bear stammered and stumbled and looked at each other.

"Don't you remember what comes next?" rumbled the Gruffly Bear behind his paw.

"No, I don't!" The Squeaky Bear shook his head and stared anxiously down at the star-dust as though he thought the missing words might be there.

But at that moment the audience saved the situation. A shower of honeycombs came hurtling down, tumbling about the ears of the two Bears. The Gruffly Bear and the Squeaky Bear, looking very relieved, stooped and picked them up.

"Good!" rumbled the Great Bear, digging his nose into a comb.

"fix-cellent!" squeaked the Little Bear, trying another. Then, with their noses streaming with honey, they bowed solemnly to the Sun and lumbered out.

The Sun waved his hand and the music grew louder and rang triumphantly through the tent.

"The signal for the Big Parade," said Orion, as Castor and Pollux came dancing in with all the Constellations at their heels.

The Bears came back, waltzing clumsily together, and Leo-the-Lion, still growling angrily, came sniffing at their heels. In swept a starry Swan, singing a high, clear chant.

"The Swan Song," said Orion.

And after the Swan came the Golden Fish, leading the Three Kids by a silver string, and the Dragon followed, still sobbing bitterly. A loud and terrible sound almost drowned the music. It was the bellowing of Taurus-the-Bull as he leapt into the ring, trying to toss Saturn the Clown from his back. One after another the creatures came rushing in to take their places. The ring was a swaying golden mass of horns and hooves and manes and tails.

"Is this the end?" Jane whispered.

"Almost," replied Orion. "They're finishing early to-night. She has to be in by half-past ten."

"Who has?" asked both the children together. But Orion did not hear. He was standing up in his seat waving his arm.

"Come along, be quick there, step along!" he called.

And in came Venus riding her Winged Horse followed by a starry Serpent that put its tail carefully in its mouth and bowled along like a hoop.

Last of all came the comets, prancing proudly through the curtains, swinging their braided tails. The music was louder now and wilder and a golden smoke rose up from the star-dust as the Constellations, shouting, singing, roaring, growling, formed themselves into a ring. And in the centre, as though they dared not go too near his presence, they left a clear, bare circle for the Sun.

There he stood, towering above them all, his whip folded in his arms. He nodded lightly to each animal as it passed him with bent head. And then Jane and Michael saw that bright gaze lift from the ring and wander round the great audience of watching stars until it turned in the direction of the Royal Box. They felt themselves growing warmer as his rays fell upon them and, with a start of surprise, they saw him raise his whip and nod his head towards them.

As the lash swung up every star and constellation turned in its tracks. Then, with one movement, every one of them bowed.

"Are they — can they be bowing to us?" whispered Michael, clutching the Moon more tightly.

A familiar laugh sounded behind them. They turned quickly There, sitting alone in the Royal Box, sat a well-known figure in a straw hat and blue coat and a gold locket round its neck.

"Hail, Mary Poppins, hail!" came the massed voices from the circus ring.

Jane and Michael looked at each other. So this was what Mary Poppins did on her Evening Out! They could hardly believe their eyes — and yet, there was Mary Poppins, as large as life and looking very superior.

"Hail!" came the cry again.

Mary Poppins raised her hand in greeting.

Then, stepping primly and importantly, she moved out of the box. She did not seem in the least surprised to see Jane and Michael but she sniffed as she went past.

"How often," she remarked to them across Orion's head, "have you been told that it is rude to stare?"

She passed on and down to the ring. The Great Bear lifted the golden rope. The Constellations drew apart and the Sun moved a pace forward. He spoke and his voice was warm and full of sweetness.

"Mary Poppins, my dear, you are welcome!"

Mary Poppins dropped to her knees in a deep curtsey.

"The Planets hail you and the Constellations give you greeting. Rise, my child!"

She stood up, bending her head respectfully before him.

"For you, Mary Poppins," the Sun went on, "the Stars have gathered in the dark blue tent, for you they have been withdrawn to-night from shining on the world. I trust, therefore, that you have enjoyed your Evening Out!"

"I never had a better one. Never!" said Mary Poppins, lifting her head and smiling.

"Dear child!" The Sun bowed. "But now the sands of night are running out, and you must be in by

There, all alone in the Royal Box, sat a

well-known figure.

half-past ten. So, before you depart, let us all, for old sake's sake, dance the Dance of the Wheeling Sky!"

"Down you go!" said Orion, to the astonished children, giving them a little push. They stumbled down the stairs and almost fell into the star-dust ring.

"And where, may I ask, are your manners?" hissed the well-known voice in Jane's ear.

"What must I do?" stammered Jane.

Mary Poppins glared at her and made a little movement towards the Sun. And, suddenly, Jane realised. She grabbed Michael's arm, and, kneeling, pulled him down beside her. The warmth from the Sun lapped them about with fiery sweetness.

"Rise, children," he said kindly. "You are very welcome. I know you well — I have looked down upon you many a summer's day!"

Scrambling to her feet Jane moved towards him but his whip held her back. "Touch me not, child of earth!" he cried warningly, waving her further away. "Life is sweet and no man may come near the Sun — touch me not!"

"But are you truly the Sun?" demanded Michael, staring at him.

The Sun flung out his hand.

"O Stars and Constellations," he said, "tell me this. Who am I? This child would know?"

"Lord of the Stars, O Sun!" answered a thousand starry voices.

"He is King of the South and North," cried Orion, "and Ruler of the East and West. He walks the outer rim of the world and the Poles melt in his glory. He draws up the leaf from the seed and covers the land with sweetness. He is truly the Sun."

The Sun smiled across at Michael.

"Now do you believe?"

Michael nodded.

"Then, strike up! And you, Constellations, choose your Partners!"

The Sun waved his whip. The music began again, very swift and gay and dancey. Michael began to beat time with his feet as he hugged the Moon in his arms. But he squeezed it a little too tightly for suddenly there was a loud pop and the Moon began to dwindle.

"Oh! Oh! Look what's happening!" cried Michael, almost weeping.

Down, down, down, shrank the Moon, until it was as small as a soap-bubble, then it was only a wisp of shining light and then — his hands closed upon empty air.

"It couldn't have been a real Moon, could it?" he demanded.

Jane glanced questioningly at the Sun across the little stretch of star-dust.

He flung back his flaming head and smiled at her.

"What is real and what is not? Can you tell me or I you? Perhaps we shall never know more than this — that to think a thing is to make it true. And so, if Michael thought he had the Moon in his arms — why, then, he had indeed."

"Then," said Jane wonderingly, "is it true that we are here to-night or do we only think we are?"

The Sun smiled again, a little sadly.

"Child," he said, "seek no further! From the beginning of the world all men have asked that question. And I, who am Lord of the Sky — even I do not know the answer. I am certain only that this is the Evening Out, that the Constellations are shining in your eyes and that it is true if you think it is…"

"Come, dance with us, Jane and Michael!" cried the Twins.

And Jane forgot her question as the four of them swung out into the ring in time with the heavenly tune. But they were hardly half-way round the ring before, with a little start, she stumbled and stood still.

"Look! Look! She is dancing with him!"

Michael followed her gaze and stood still on his short fat legs, staring.

Mary Poppins and the Sun were dancing together. But not as Jane and he were dancing with the Twins, breast to breast and foot to foot. Mary Poppins and the Sun never once touched, but waltzed with arms outstretched, opposite each other, keeping perfect time together in spite of the space between them.

About them wheeled the dancing constellations: Venus with her arms round the neck of Pegasus, the Bull and the Lion arm in arm and the Three Kids prancing in a row. Their moving brightness dazzled the children's eyes as they stood in the star-dust gazing.

Then suddenly the dance slackened and the music died away. The Sun and Mary Poppins, together yet apart, stood still. And at the same time every animal paused in the dance and stood quietly in its tracks. The whole ring was silent.

The Sun spoke.

"Now," he said quietly, "the time has come. Back to your places in the sky, my stars and constellations. Home and to sleep, my three dear mortal guests. Mary Poppins, good-night! I do not say good-bye for we shall meet again. But — for a little time — farewell, farewell!"

Then, with a large and gracious movement of his head, the Sun leaned across the space that separated him from Mary Poppins and, with great ceremony, carefully, lightly, swiftly, he brushed her cheek with his lips.

"Ah!" cried the Constellations, enviously, "The Kiss! The Kiss!"

But as she received it, Mary Poppins' hand flew to her cheek protectingly, as though the kiss had burnt it. A look of pain crossed her face for a moment. Then, with a smile, she lifted her head to the Sun.

"Farewell!" she said softly, in a voice Jane and Michael had never heard her use.

"Away!" cried the Sun, stretching out his whip. And obediently the Constellations began to rush from the ring. Castor and Pollux joined arms protectingly about the children, that the Great Bear might not brush them as he lumbered by, nor the Bull's horns graze them, nor the Lion do them harm. But in Jane's ears and Michael's the sounds of the ring were growing fainter. Their heads fell sideways, dropping heavily upon their shoulders. Other arms came round them and, as in a dream, they heard the voice of Venus saying—"Give them to me! I am the Homeward Star. I bring the lamb to the fold and the child to its Mother."

They gave themselves up to her rocking arms, swinging lightly with her as a boat swings with the tide.

To-and-fro, to-and-fro.

A light flickered across their eyes. Was that the Dragon going brightly by or the nursery candle held guttering above them?

To-and-fro, to-and-fro.

They nestled down into soft, sweet warmth. Was it the lapping heat of the Sun? Or the eiderdown on a nursery bed?

"I think it is the Sun," thought Jane, dreamily.

"I think it is my eiderdown," thought Michael.

And a far-away voice, like a dream, like a breath, cried faintly, faintly—"It is whatever you think it is. Farewell… Farewell…"

Michael woke with a shout. He had suddenly remembered something.

"My overcoat! My overcoat! I left it under the Royal Box!"

He opened his eyes. He saw the painted duck at the end of his bed. He saw the mantel-piece with the clock and the Royal Doulton Bowl and the jam-jar full of green leaves. And he saw, hanging on its usual hook, his overcoat with his hat just above it.

"But where are the stars?" he called, sitting up in bed and staring. "I want the stars and Constellations!"

"Oh? Indeed?" said Mary Poppins, coming into the room and looking very stiff and starched in her clean apron. "Is that all? I wonder you don't ask for the Moon, too!"

"But I did!" he reminded her reproachfully. "And I got it, too! But I squeezed it too tight and it bust!"

"Burst!"

"Well, burst, then!"

"Stuff!" said Mary Poppins, tossing him his dressing-gown.

"Is it morning already?" said Jane, opening her eyes and gazing round the room very surprised to find herself in her own bed. "But how did we get back? I was dancing with the Twin stars, Castor and Pollux."

"You two and your stars," said Mary Poppins crossly, pulling back the blankets. "I'll star you. Spit-spot out of bed, please. I'm late already."

"I suppose you danced too long last night," said Michael, bundling unwillingly out on to the floor.

"Danced? Humph, a lot of dancing I get a chance for, don't I — looking after the five worst children in the world!"

Mary Poppins sniffed and looked very sorry for herself and as if she had not had enough sleep.

"But weren't you dancing — on your Evening Out?" said Jane. For she was remembering how Mary Poppins and the Sun had waltzed together in the centre of the star-dust ring.

Mary Poppins opened her eyes wide.

"I hope," she remarked, drawing herself up haughtily, "I have something better to do with my Evening Out than to go round and round like a Careering Whirligig."

"But I saw you!" said Jane. "Up in the sky. You jumped down from the Royal Box and went to dance in the ring."

Holding their breaths, she and Michael gazed at Mary Poppins as her face slowly flushed red with fury.

"You," she said shortly, "have been having a nice sort of a nightmare, I must say. Who ever heard of me, a person in my position, jumping down from—"

"But I had the nightmare, too," interrupted Michael, "and it was lovely. I was in the sky with Jane and I saw you!"

"What, jumping?"

"Er — yes — and dancing."

"In the sky?" He trembled as she came towards him. Her face was dark and terrible.

"One more insult—" she said threateningly, "Just one more and you'll find yourself dancing in the corner. So I warn you!"

He hurriedly looked the other way, tying the cord of his dressing-gown, and Mary Poppins, her very apron crackling with anger, flounced across the room to wake up the Twins.

Jane sat on her bed staring at Mary Poppins as she bent over the cots.

Michael slowly put on his slippers and sighed.

"We must have dreamt it after all," he said sadly. "I wish it had been true."

"It was true," said Jane in a cautious whisper, her eyes still fixed on Mary Poppins.

"How do you know? Are you sure?"

"Quite sure. Look!"

Mary Poppins' head was bent over Barbara's cot. Jane nodded towards it. "Look at her face," she whispered in his ear.

Michael regarded Mary Poppins' face steadily. There was the black hair looped back behind the ears, there the familiar blue eyes so like a Dutch doll's, and there were the turned-up nose and the bright red shiny cheeks.

"I can't see anything—" he began and broke off suddenly. For now, as Mary Poppins turned her head, he saw what Jane had seen.

Burning bright, in the very centre of her cheek, was a small fiery mark. And, looking closer, Michael saw that it was curiously shaped. It was round, with curly, flame-shaped edges and like a very small sun.

"You see?" said Jane softly. "That's where he kissed her."

Michael nodded — once, twice, three times.

"Yes," he said, standing very still and staring at Mary Poppins. "I do see. I do…"