Mary Poppins in the Park

CHAPTER THREE Lucky Thursday

It's dod fair!" grumbled Michael.

He pressed his nose to the window-pane and sniffed a tear away. And, as if to taunt him, a gust of rain rattled against the glass.

All day the storm had raged. And Michael, because he had a cold, was not allowed to go out. Jane and the Twins had put on gum-boots and gone to play in the Park. Even Annabel, wrapped in a mackintosh, had sailed off under the parrot umbrella, looking as proud as a queen.

Oh, how lonely Michael felt! It was Ellen's Day Out. His mother had gone shopping. Mrs. Brill was down in the kitchen. And Robertson Ay, up in the attic, was asleep in a cabin trunk.

"Get up and play in your dressing-gown. But don't put a toe outside the nursery!" Mary Poppins had warned him.

So there he was, all by himself, with nothing to do but grumble. He built a castle with his blocks, but it tumbled down when he blew his nose. He tried cutting his hair with his penknife, but the blade was far too blunt. And at last there was nothing left to do but breathe on the rainy window-pane and draw a picture there.

The nursery clock ticked the day away. The weather grew wetter and Michael grew crosser.

But then, at sunset, the clouds lifted and a line of crimson shone from the West. Everything glittered in rain and sun. Rat-tat-tat — on the black umbrellas, the cherry-trees dropped their weight of water. The shouts of Jane and John and Barbara floated up to the window. They were playing leapfrog over the gutters on their way home from the Park.

Admiral Boom came splashing past, looking like a shiny sunflower in his big yellow sou'wester.

The Ice Cream Man trundled along the lane, with a waterproof cape spread over his tricycle. And in front of it the notice said:

DON'T STOP ME

I WANT MY TEA

He glanced at Number Seventeen and waved his hand to the window. Michael, on any other day, would gladly have answered back. But today he deliberately took no notice. He huddled on the window-seat, glumly watching the sunset, and looking over Miss Lark's roof at the first faint star in the sky.

"The others ged all the fud," he sniffed. "I wish I could have sobe luck!"

Then footsteps clattered on the stairs. The door burst open and Jane ran in.

"Oh, Michael, it was lovely!" she cried. "We were up to our knees in water."

"Thed I hobe you catch a code!" he snapped. He gave a guilty glance round to see if Mary Poppins had heard. She was busy unwrapping Annabel and shaking the rain from her parrot umbrella.

"Don't be cross. We all missed you," said Jane in a coaxing voice.

But Michael did not want to be coaxed. He wanted to be as cross as he liked. Nobody, if he could help it, was going to alter his bad mood. Indeed, he was almost enjoying it.

"Dode touch be, Jade. You're all wet!" he said in a sulky voice.

"So are we!" chirped John and Barbara, running across to hug him.

"Oh, go away!" he cried angrily, turning back to the window. "I dode want to talk to any of you. I wish you'd all leave be alode!"

"Miss Lark's roof is made of gold!" Jane gazed out at the sunset. "And there's the first star — wish on it! How does the tune go, Michael?"

He shook his head and wouldn't tell, so she sang the song herself.

"Star light

Star bright,

First star I've seen tonight,

Wish I may

Wish I might

That the wish may come true

That I wish tonight."

She finished the song and looked at the star.

"I've wished," she whispered, smiling.

"It's easy for you to sbile, Jade — you hawed got a code!" He blew his nose for the hundredth time and gave a gloomy sniff. "I wish I was biles frob everywhere! Sobewhere I could have sobe fud. Hullo, whad's that?" he said, staring, as a small dark shape leapt on to the sill.

"What's what?" she murmured dreamily.

"John! Barbara! And you too, Jane! Take off your coats at once. I will not have supper with Three Drowned Rats!" said Mary Poppins sharply.

They slithered off the window-seat and hurried to obey her. When Mary Poppins looked like that it was always best to obey.

The dark shape crept along the sill and a speckled face peeped in. Could it be — yes, it was! — a cat. A tortoiseshell cat with yellow eyes and a collar made of gold.

Michael pressed his nose to the pane. And the cat pressed its nose to the other side and looked at him thoughtfully. Then it smiled a most mysterious smile and, whisking off the window-sill, it sprang across Miss Lark's garden and disappeared over the roof.

"Who owns it, I wonder?" Michael murmured, as he gazed at the spot where the cat had vanished. He knew it couldn't belong to Miss Lark. She only cared for dogs.

"What are you looking at?" called Jane, as she dried her hair by the fire.

"Dothing!" he said in a horrid voice. He was not going to share the cat with her. She had had enough fun in the Park.

"I only asked," she protested mildly.

He knew she was trying to be kind and something inside him wanted to melt. But his crossness would not let it.

"Ad I odly adswered!" he retorted.

Mary Poppins looked at him. He knew that look and he guessed what was coming, but he felt too tired to care.

"You," she remarked in a chilly voice, "can answer questions in bed. Spit-spot and in you go — and kindly close the door!"

Her eyes bored into him like gimlets as he stalked away to the night nursery and kicked the door to with a bang.

The steam-kettle bubbled beside his bed, sending out fragrant whiffs of balsam. But he turned his nose away on purpose and put his head under the blankets.

"Dothing dice ever happeds to be," he grumbled to his pillow.

But it offered its cool white cheek in silence as if it had not heard.

He gave it a couple of furious thumps, burrowed in like an angry rabbit, and immediately fell asleep.

A moment later — or so it seemed — he woke to find the morning sun streaming in upon him.

"What day is today, Mary Poppins?" he shouted.

"Thursday," she called from the next room. Her voice, he thought, was strangely polite.

The camp-bed groaned as she sprang out. He could always tell what she was doing simply by the sound — the clip-clip of hooks and eyes, the swish of the hairbrush, the thump of her shoes and the rattle of the starched apron as she buttoned it round her waist. Then came a moment of solemn silence as she glanced approvingly at the mirror. And after that a hurricane as she whisked the others out of bed.

"May I get up, too, Mary Poppins?"

She answered "Yes!", to his surprise, and he scrambled out like lightning in case she should change her mind.

His new sweater — navy blue with three red fir-trees — was lying on the chair. And for fear she would stop him wearing it, he dragged it quickly over his head and swaggered in to breakfast.

Jane was buttering her toast.

"How's your cold?" she enquired.

He gave an experimental sniff.

"Gone!" He seized the milk jug.

"I knew it would go," she said, smiling. "That's what I wished on the star last night."

"Just as well you did," he remarked. "Now you've got me to play with."

"There are always the Twins," she reminded him.

"Not the same thing at all," he said. "May I have some more sugar, Mary Poppins?"

He fully expected her to say "No!" But, instead, she smiled serenely.

"If you want it, Michael," she replied, with the ladylike nod she reserved for strangers.

Could he believe his ears, he wondered? He hurriedly emptied the sugar bowl in case they had made a mistake.

"The post has come!" cried Mrs. Banks, bustling in with a package. "Nothing for anyone but Michael!"

He tore apart the paper and string. Aunt Flossie had sent him a cake of chocolate!

"Nut milk — my favourite!" he exclaimed, and was just about to take a bite when there came a knock at the door.

Robertson Ay shuffled slowly in.

"Message from Mrs. Brill," he yawned. "She's mixed a sponge cake, she says, and would like him to scrape the bowl!" He pointed a weary finger at Michael.

Scrape the cake-bowl! What a treat! And as rare as unexpected!

"I'm coming right away!" he shouted, stuffing the chocolate into his pocket. And, feeling rather bold and daring, he decided to slide down the banisters.

"The very chap I wanted to see!" cried Mr. Banks, as Michael landed. He fumbled in his waistcoat pocket and handed his son a shilling.

"What's that for?" demanded Michael. He had never had a shilling before.

"To spend," said Mr. Banks solemnly, as he took his bowler hat and bag and hurried down the path.

Michael felt very proud and important. He puffed out his chest in a lordly way and clattered down to the kitchen.

"Good — is it, dearie?" said Mrs. Brill, as he tasted the sticky substance.

"Delicious," he said, smacking his lips.

But before he had time for another spoonful a well-known voice floated in from the Lane.

"All hands on deck! Up with the anchor! For I'm bound for the Rio Grande!"

It was Admiral Boom, setting out for a walk.

Upon his head was a black hat, painted with skull-and-crossbones — the one he had taken from a pirate chief in a desperate fight off Falmouth.

Away through the garden Michael dashed to get a look at it. For his dearest hope was that some day he, too, would have such a hat.

"Heave her over!" the Admiral roared, leaning against the front gate and lazily mopping his brow.

The autumn day was warm and misty. The sun was drawing into the sky the rain that had fallen last night.

"Blast my gizzard!" cried Admiral Boom, fanning himself with his hat. "Tropical weather that's what it is — it oughtn't to be allowed. The Admiral's hat is too hot for the Admiral. You take it, messmate, till I come back. For away I'm bound to go — oho! — 'cross the wide Missouri!"

And spreading his handkerchief over his head, he thrust the pirate's hat at Michael and stamped away, singing.

Michael clasped the skull-and-crossbones. His heart hammered with excitement as he put the hat on his head.

"I'll just go down the Lane," he said, hoping that everybody in it would see him wearing the treasure. It banged against his brow as he walked and wobbled whenever he looked up. But nevertheless, behind each curtain — he was sure — there lurked an admiring eye.

It was not until he was nearly home that he noticed Miss Lark's dogs. They had thrust their heads through the garden fence and were looking at him in astonishment. Andrew's tail gave a well-bred wag, but Willoughby merely stared.

"Luncheon!" trilled Miss Lark's voice.

And as Willoughby rose to answer the summons he winked at Andrew and sniggered.

"Can he be laughing at me?" thought Michael. But he put the idea aside as ridiculous and sauntered up to the nursery.

"Do I have to wash my hands, Mary Poppins? They're quite clean," he assured her.

"Well, the others, of course, have washed theirs — but you do as you think best!"

At last she realised, he thought, that Michael Banks was no ordinary boy. He could wash or not, as he thought best, and she hadn't even told him to take off his hat! He decided to go straight in to luncheon.

"Now, away to the Park," said Mary Poppins, as soon as the meal was over. "If that is convenient for you, Michael?" She waited for his approval.

"Oh, perfickly convenient!" He gave a lordly wave of his hand. "I think I shall go to the swings."

"Not to the Lake?" protested Jane. She wanted to look at Neleus.

"Certainly not!" said Mary Poppins. "We shall do what Michael wishes!"

And she stood aside respectfully as he strutted before her through the gate.

The soft bright mist still rose from the grass, blurring the shapes of seats and fountains. Bushes and trees seemed to float in the air. Nothing was like its real self until you were close upon it.

Mary Poppins sat down on a bench, settled the perambulator beside her and began to read a book. The children dashed away to the playground.

Up and down on the swings went Michael, with the pirate's hat bumping against his eyes. Then he took a ride on the spinning-jenny and after that, the loop. He couldn't turn somersaults, like Jane, for fear of dropping the hat. "What next?" he thought, feeling rather bored. Everything possible, he felt, had happened to him this morning. Now there was nothing left to do.

He wandered back through the weaving mist and sat beside Mary Poppins. She gave him a small, preoccupied smile, as though she had never seen him before, and went on reading her book. It was called Everything a Lady Should Know.

Michael sighed, to attract her attention.

But she did not seem to hear.

He kicked a hole in the rainy grass.

Mary Poppins read on.

Then his eye fell on her open handbag which was lying on the seat. Inside it was a handkerchief, and beneath the handkerchief a mirror and beside the mirror her silver whistle.

He gazed at it with envious eyes. Then he glanced at Mary Poppins. There she was, still deep in her book. Should he ask her again for a loan of the whistle? She seemed to be in the best of humours — not a cross word the whole day long.

But was the humour to be relied on? Suppose he asked and she said no!

He decided not to risk asking, but just to take the whistle. It was only borrowing, after all. He could put it back in a minute.

Quick as a fish his hand darted, and the whistle was in his trouser-pocket.

Round behind the bench he hurried, feeling the silver shape against him. He was just about to take it out when something small and bright ran past him.

"I believe that's the cat I saw last night!" said Michael to himself.

And, indeed, it was one and the same. The same black-and-yellow coat shone in the sunny mist, more like dapples of light and shadow than ordinary fur. And about its neck was the same gold collar.

The cat glanced up invitingly, smiling the same mysterious smile, and padded lightly on.

Michael darted after it, in and out of the patches of mist that seemed to grow thicker as he ran.

Something fell with a chink at his feet.

"My shilling!" he cried, as he bent to retrieve it. He searched among the steaming grasses, turning over the wet blades, feeling under the clover. Not here! Not there! Where could it have gone?

"Come on!" said a soft, inviting voice. He looked round quickly. To his surprise there was nobody near — except the smiling cat.

"Hurry!" cried the voice again.

It was the cat who had spoken.

Michael sprang up. It was no use hunting, the shilling had gone. He hurried after the voice.

The cat smiled and rubbed against his legs as he caught it up. The steaming vapour rose up from the earth, wrapping them both around. And before them stood a wall of mist almost as thick as a cloud.

"Take hold of my collar," the cat advised. Its voice was no more than a soft mew, but it held a note of command.

Michael felt a twinge of excitement. Something new was happening! He bent down obediently and clasped the band of gold.

"Now, jump!" the cat ordered. "Lift your feet!"

And holding the golden collar tightly, Michael sprang into the mist.

"Whee — ee — ee!" cried a rushing wind in his ears. The sunny cloud was sweeping past him and all around him was empty space. The only solid things in the world were the shining band round the cat's neck and the hat on his own head.

"Where on earth are we going?" Michael gasped.

At the same moment the mist cleared. His feet touched something firm and shiny. And he saw that he stood on the steps of a palace — a palace made of gold.

"Nowhere on earth," replied the cat, pressing a bell with its paw.

The doors of the palace opened slowly. Sweet music came to Michael's ears and the sight he beheld quite dazzled him.

Before him lay a great gold hall, blazing with plumes of light. Never, in his richest dreams, had Michael imagined such splendour. But the grandeur of the palace was as nothing compared to the brilliance of its inhabitants. For the hall was full of cats.

There were cats playing fiddles, cats playing flutes, cats on trapezes, cats in hammocks; cats juggling with golden hoops, cats dancing on the tips of their toes; cats turning somersaults; cats chasing tails and cats merely lolling about daintily licking their paws.

Moreover, they were tortoiseshell cats, all of them dappled with yellow and black; and the light in the hall seemed to come from their coats, for each cat shone with its own brightness.

In the centre, before a golden curtain, lay a pair of golden cushions. And on these reclined two dazzling creatures, each wearing a crown of gold. They leaned together, paw in paw, majestically surveying the scene.

"They must be the King and Queen," thought Michael.

To one side of this lordly pair stood three very young cats. Their fur was as smooth and bright as sunlight, and each had a chaplet of yellow flowers perched between the ears. Round about them were other cats who looked like courtiers — for all were wearing golden collars and ceremoniously standing on their hind legs.

One of these turned and beckoned to Michael.

"Here he is, Your Majesty!" He bowed obsequiously.

"Ah," said the King, with a stately nod. "So glad you've turned up at last! The Queen and I and our three daughters" — he waved his paw at the three young cats—"have been expecting you!"

Expecting him! How flattering! But, of course, no more than his due.

"May we offer you a little refreshment?" asked the Queen, with a gracious smile.

"Yes, please!" said Michael eagerly. In such a graceful environment there would surely be nothing less than jelly — and probably ice cream!

Immediately three courtier cats presented three golden platters. On one lay a dead mouse, on the second a bat, and the third held a small raw fish.

Michael felt his face fall. "Oh no! thank you!" he said, with a shudder.

"First Yes Please and then No Thank You! Which do you mean?" the King demanded.

"Well, I don't like mice!" protested Michael. "And I never eat bats or raw fish either."

"Don't like mice?" cried a hundred voices, as the cats all stared at each other.

"Fancy!" exclaimed the three Princesses.

"Then perhaps you would care for a little milk?" said the Queen, with a queenly smile.

At once a courtier stood before him with milk in a golden saucer.

Michael put out his hands to take it.

"Oh, not with your paws!" the Queen implored him. "Let him hold it while you lap!"

"But I can't lap!" Michael protested. "I haven't got that kind of tongue."

"Can't lap!" Again the cats regarded each other. They seemed quite scandalised.

"Fancy!" the three Princesses mewed.

"Well," said the Queen hospitably, "a little rest after your journey!"

"Oh, it wasn't much of a journey," said Michael. "Just a big jump and here we were! It's funny," he went on, thoughtfully, "I've never seen this palace before — and I'm always in the Park! It must have been hidden behind the trees."

"In the Park?"

The King and Queen raised their eyebrows. So did all the courtiers. And the three Princesses were so overcome that they took three golden fans from their pockets and hid their smiles behind them.

"You're not in the Park now, I assure you. Far from it!" the King informed him.

"Well, it can't be very far," said Michael. "It only took me a minute to get here."

"Ah!" said the King. "But how long is a minute?"

"Sixty seconds!" Michael replied. Surely, he thought, a King should know that!

"Your minutes may be sixty seconds, but ours are about two hundred years."

Michael smiled at him amiably. A King, he thought, must have his joke.

"Now tell me," continued the King blandly, "did you ever hear of the Dog Star?"

"Yes," said Michael, very surprised. What had the Dog Star to do with it? "His other name is Sirius."

"Well, this," said the King, "is the Cat Star. And its other name is a secret. A secret, may I further add, that is only known to cats."

"But how did I get here?" Michael enquired. He was feeling more and more pleased with himself. Think of it — visiting a star! That didn't happen to everyone.

"You wished," replied the King calmly.

"Did I?" He couldn't remember it.

"Of course you did!" the King retorted.

"Last night!" the Queen reminded him.

"Looking at the first star!" the courtiers added firmly.

"Which happened," said the King, "to be ours. Read the Report, Lord Chamberlain!"

An elderly cat, in spectacles and a long gold wig, stepped forward with an enormous book.

"Last night," he read out pompously, "Michael Banks, of Number Seventeen, Cherry Tree Lane — a little house on the planet Earth — gave expression to three wishes."

"Three?" cried Michael. "I never did!"

"Shush!" warned the King. "Don't interrupt."

"Wish Number One," the Lord Chamberlain read, "was that he could have some luck!"

A memory stirred in Michael's mind. He saw himself on the window-seat, gazing up at the sky.

"Oh, now I remember!" he agreed. "But it wasn't very important."

"All wishes are important!" The Lord Chamberlain looked at him severely.

"Well — and what happened?" the King enquired. "I presume the wish came true?"

Michael reflected. It had been a most unusual day, full of all kinds of luck.

"Yes, it did!" he admitted cheerfully.

"In what way?" asked the King. "Do tell us!"

"Well," began Michael, "I scraped the cake-bowl—"

An elderly cat stepped forward

"Scraped the cake-bowl?" the cats repeated. They stared as though he were out of his wits.

"Fancy!" the three Princesses purred.

The King wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Some people have strange ideas of luck! But do continue, please!"

Michael straightened his shoulders proudly. "And then — because it was hot, you know — the Admiral let me borrow this hat!" What would they say to that? he wondered. They would surely be green with envy.

But the cats merely flicked their tails and silently gazed at the skull-and-crossbones.

"Well, everyone to his own taste," said the King after a pause. "The question is — is it comfortable?"

"Er — not exactly," Michael admitted. For the hat did not fit him anywhere. "It's rather heavy," he added.

"H'm!" the King murmured. "Well, please go on!"

"Then Daddy gave me a shilling this morning. But I lost it in the grass."

"How much use is a lost shilling?" The way the King put the question, it sounded like a conundrum.

Michael wished he had been more careful.

"Not much," he said. Then he brightened up.

"Oh — and Aunt Flossie sent me a bar of chocolate."

He felt for it in his trouser pocket and realised, as he fished it out, that he must have been sitting on it. For now it was only a flattened mass with bits of fluff all over it and a nail embedded among the nuts.

The cats eyed the object fastidiously.

"If you ask me," said the King, looking squeamish, "I much prefer a bat to that!"

Michael also stared at the chocolate. How quickly all his luck had vanished! There was nothing left to show for it.

"Read on, Lord Chamberlain!" ordered the King.

The old cat gave his wig a pat.

"The second wish was" — he turned the page—"that the others would leave him alone."

"It wasn't!" cried Michael uncomfortably.

But he saw himself, even as he spoke, pushing the Twins away.

"Well," he said lamely, "perhaps it was. But I didn't really mean it!"

The King straightened up on his golden cushion.

"You made a wish that you didn't mean? Wasn't that rather dangerous?"

"And did they leave you alone?" asked the Queen. Her eyes were very inquisitive.

Michael considered. Now that he came to think of it, in spite of his luck, the day had been lonely. Jane had played her own games. The Twins had hardly been near him. And Mary Poppins, although she had treated him most politely, had certainly left him alone.

"Yes," he admitted unwillingly.

"Of course they did!" the King declared. "If you wish on the first star it always comes true, especially" — he twirled his whiskers—"if it happens to be ours. Well, what about the third wish?"

The Lord Chamberlain adjusted his glasses.

"He wished to be miles from everybody and somewhere where he could have all the fun."

"But that was only a sort of joke! I didn't even realise I was looking at a star. And I never thought of it coming true."

"Exactly so! You never thought! That's what all of them say." The King regarded him quizzically.

"All?" echoed Michael. "Who else said it?"

"Dear me!" The King gave a dainty yawn. "You don't think you're the only child who has wished to be miles away! I assure you, it's quite a common request. And one — when it's wished on our star — that we find very useful. Very useful indeed!" he repeated. "Malkin!" He waved to a courtier. "Be good enough to draw the curtain!"

A young cat, whom Michael recognised as the one that had accompanied him from the Park, sprang to the back of the hall.

The golden curtain swung aside, disclosing the palace kitchens.

"Now, come along!" cried Malkin sternly. "Hurry up, all! No dawdling!"

"Yes, Malkin!"

"No, Malkin!"

"Coming, Malkin!"

A chorus of treble voices answered. And Michael saw, to his surprise, that the kitchen was full of children.

There were boys and girls of every size, all of them working frantically at different domestic tasks.

Some were washing up golden plates, others were shining the cats' gold collars. One boy was skinning mice, another was boning bats, and two more were down on their knees busily scrubbing the floor. Two little girls in party dresses were sweeping up fish-bones and sardine tins and putting them into a golden dustbin. Another was sitting under a table winding a skein of golden wool. They all looked very forlorn and harassed, and the child beneath the table was weeping.

The Lord Chamberlain looked at her and gave an impatient growl.

"Be quick with that wool, now, Arabella! The Princesses want to play cat's-cradle!"

The Queen stretched out her hind leg to a boy in a sailor suit.

"Come, Robert," she said in a fretful voice. "It's time to polish my claws."

"I'm hungry!" whined the eldest Princess.

"Matilda! Matilda!" Malkin thundered. "A haddock for Princess Tiger-Lily! And Princess Marigold's sugared milk! And a rat for the Princess Crocus!"

A girl in plaits and a pinafore appeared with three golden bowls. The Princesses nibbled a morsel each and tossed the rest to the floor. And several children ran in and began to sweep up the scraps.

The King glanced slyly across at Michael and smiled at his astonishment.

"Our servants are very well trained, don't you think? Malkin insists on them toeing the line. They keep the palace like a new pin. And they cost us practically nothing."

"But—" began Michael in a very small voice. "Do the children do all the work?"

"Who else?" said the King, with the lift of an eyebrow. "You could hardly expect a cat to do it! Cats have other and better occupations. A cat in the kitchen — what an idea! Our duty is to be wise and handsome — isn't that enough?"

Michael's face was full of pity as he gazed at the luckless children.

"But how did they get here?" he wanted to know.

"Exactly as you did," the King replied. "They wished they were miles from everywhere. So here they are, you see."

"But that wasn't what they really wanted!"

"I'm afraid that's no affair of ours. All we can do is to grant their wishes. I'll introduce you in a moment. They're always glad to see a new face. And so are we, for that matter." The King's face wore an expressive smile. "Many hands make light work, you know!"

"But I'm not going to work!" cried Michael. "That wasn't what I wished for."

"Ah! Then you should have been more careful. Wishes are tricky things. You must ask for exactly what you want or you never know where they will land you. Well, never mind. You'll soon settle down."

"Settle down?" echoed Michael uneasily.

"Certainly. Just as the others have done. Malkin will show you your duties presently, when you've had the rest of your wish. We mustn't be forgetting that. There are still the riddles, you know."

"Riddles? I never mentioned riddles!" Michael was beginning to wonder if he were really enjoying this adventure.

"Didn't you wish to have all the fun? Well, what is more fun than a riddle? Especially," purred the King, "to a cat! Tell him the rules, Lord Chamberlain!"

The old cat peered over his glasses.

"It has always been our custom here, when any child wishes for all the fun, to let him have three guesses. If he answers them all — correctly, of course — he wins a third of the Cats' kingdom and the hand of one of the Princesses in marriage."

"And if he fails," the King added, "we find him some other occupation." He glanced significantly at the labouring children.

"I need hardly add," he continued blandly, exchanging a smile with his three daughters, "that no one has guessed the riddles yet. Let the curtain be drawn for the — ahem! — time being. Silence in the hall, please! Lord Chamberlain, begin!"

Immediately, the music ceased. The dancers stood on the tips of their paws and the hoops hung motionless in the air.

Michael's spirits rose again. Now that the children were out of sight, he felt a good deal better. Besides, he loved a guessing game.

The Lord Chamberlain opened his book and read:

Round as a marble, blue as the sea,

Unless I am brown or grey, maybe!

Smile, and I shine my window-pane,

Frown at me and down comes my rain.

I see all things but nothing I hear,

Sing me to sleep and I disappear.

Michael frowned. The cats were all watching him as if he were a mouse.

"A bit of a poser, I'm afraid!" The King leaned back on his cushion.

"No, it isn't!" cried Michael suddenly. "I've got it! An Eye!"

The cats glanced cornerwise at each other. The King's wide gaze grew narrower.

"H'm," he murmured. "Not bad, not bad! Well, now for the second riddle."

"A-hurrrrrum!" The Lord Chamberlain cleared his throat.

Deep within me is a bird

And in that bird another me,

And in that me a bird again—

Now, what am I, in letters three?

"That's easy!" Michael gave a shout. "The answer's an Egg, of course!"

Again the cats swivelled their eyes.

"You are right," said the King unwillingly. He seemed to be only faintly pleased. "But I wonder" — he arched his dappled back—"I wonder what you will make of the third!"

"Silence!" commanded the Lord Chamberlain, though there wasn't a sound in the hall.

Elegant the jungle beast

That lives in field and fold.

He's like the sun when he is young

And like the moon when old.

He sees no clock, he hears no chime

And yet he always knows the time.

"This is more difficult," Michael murmured. "The third is always the worst. H'm, let me see — a jungle beast — he's elegant and he knows the time. Oh, dear, it's on the tip of my tongue. I've got it! Dandelion!"

"He's guessed it!" cried the King, rising.

And at once the cats all leapt to life. They surrounded Michael with fur and whiskers and arched themselves against him.

"You are cleverer than I thought," said the King. "Almost as clever as a cat. Well, now I must go and divide the kingdom. And as to a bride — the Princess Crocus, it seems to me, would be the most suitable choice."

"Oh, thank you," said Michael cheerfully — he was feeling quite himself again—"but I must be getting home now."

"Home!" cried the King in astonishment.

"Home?" the Queen echoed, raising her eyebrows.

"Well, I have to be back for tea," explained Michael.

"Tea?" repeated the courtiers, gaping.

"Fancy!" the three Princesses tittered.

"Are you so certain you still have a home?" said the King in a curious voice.

"Of course I am," said Michael, staring. "What could have happened to it? From the Park to — er — here, it was just a jump. And it only took me a minute."

"You've forgotten, I think," said the King smoothly, "that our minutes last for two hundred years. And as you've been here at least half an hour—"

"Two hundred?" Michael's cheek paled. So it hadn't been a joke after all!

"It stands to reason," the King continued, "that many changes must have occurred since you were on the Earth. Number Seventeen Applebush Avenue—"

"Cherry Tree Lane," the Lord Chamberlain muttered.

"Well, whatever its name, you may be sure it isn't the same as it was. I dare say it's overgrown with brambles—"

"Briars!" added the Queen, purring.

"Nettles," suggested the courtiers.

"Blackberries," murmured the three Princesses.

"Oh, I'm sure it isn't!" Michael gulped. He was feeling such a longing for home that the thought of it made him choke.

"However," the King went blandly on. "If you're certain you can find your way — I'm afraid we can't spare Malkin again — by all means set out!" He waved his paw towards the door.

Michael ran to the entrance. "Of course I'm certain!" he cried stoutly. But his courage ebbed as he looked out.

There were the shining steps of the palace, but below them, as far as he could see, there was nothing but wreathing mist. What if he jumped? he thought to himself. And if he jumped, where would he land?

He bit his lip and turned back to the hall. The cats were softly creeping towards him, gazing at him mockingly from black-and-yellow eyes.

"You see!" said the King of the Cats, smiling — and not a kindly smile either. "In spite of being so clever at guessing, you do not know the way back! You wished to be miles from everywhere, but you foolishly neglected to add that you would also like to return home. Well! Well! Everyone makes mistakes at times — unless, of course, they are cats! And think how fortunate you are! No kitchen work — you have solved the riddles. Plenty of rats and bats and spiders. And you can settle down with the Princess Crocus and live happily ever after."

"But I don't want to marry the Princess Crocus! I only want to go home!"

A low growl came from every throat. Every whisker bristled.

"You… don't… want… to… marry… the… Princess… Crocus?"

Word by word the King came nearer, growing larger at every step.

"No I don't!" declared Michael. "She's only a cat!"

"Only a cat!" the cats squealed, swelling and rearing with rage.

Black-and-yellow shapes swarmed round him. "Only a cat!" They spat out the words.

"Oh, what shall I do?" He backed away, shielding his eyes from their gaze.

"You wissshed!" they hissed at him, padding closer. "You sssought our ssstar! You mussst take the consssequencesss!"

"Oh, where shall I go?" cried Michael wildly.

"You will ssstay bessside usss," the King whispered with a terrible cat-like softness. "You guesssed our riddlesss, you ssstole our sssecretsss. Do you think we would let you go?"

A wall of cats was all about him. He flung out an arm to thrust it away. But their arching backs were too much for him. His hand dropped limply to his side and fell upon the rigid shape of Mary Poppins' whistle.

With a cry, he snatched it from his pocket and blew it with all his might.

A shrill peal sounded through the Hall.

"Sssilence him! Ssseize him! He mussstn't esss-cape!" The furious cats pressed closer.

In desperation he blew again.

A whining caterwaul answered the blast as a wave of cats rolled forward.

He felt himself enveloped in fur — fur in his nose, fur in his eyes. Oh, which of them had leapt at him — or was it all the cats together? With their screeches echoing in his ears, he felt himself borne upwards. A fur-covered arm, or perhaps a leg, was clasped about his waist. And his face was crushed to a furry something — a breast or a back, he could not tell.

Wind was blowing everywhere, sweeping him wildly on, with cat to the right of him, cat to the left of him, cat above him and cat below. He was wrapped in a cocoon of cats and the long furry arm that held him was as strong as an iron band.

With an effort he wrenched his head sideways and blew the whistle so violently that his hat fell off his head.

The strong arm drew him closer still.

"Whee — ee!" cried the wind, with a hollowvoice.

And now it seemed that he and the cats were falling through the air. Down, down, down in a furry mass. Oh, where were they taking him?

Again and again he blew the whistle, struggling madly against the fur and kicking in all directions.

"Oo's making all that dreadful rumpus? Mind what you're doin'! You knocked off me cap!"

A wonderfully familiar voice sounded in Michael's ears.

Cautiously he opened an eye and saw that he was drifting down past the top of a chestnut tree.

The next minute his feet touched the dewy grass of the Park and there, on the lawn, was the Park Keeper, looking as though he had seen a ghost.

"Now, now! Wot's all this. Wot 'ave you two been up to?"

You two! The words had a cheerful ring. He was

The next minute his feet touched the dewy grass

held, it seemed, by only one cat and not, after all, by the whole tribe. Was it the Lord Chamberlain? Or, perhaps, the Princess Crocus!

Michael glanced from the Park Keeper to the furry arm around him. It ended, to his great surprise, not in a paw — but a hand. And on the hand was a neat glove — black, not tortoiseshell.

He turned his head enquiringly and his cheek encountered a bone button that was nestling in the fur. Surely he knew that piece of bone! Oh, was it possible—? Could it be—?

His glance slid upwards past the button till it came to a neat fur collar. And above the collar was a circle of straw topped with a crimson flower.

He gave a long-drawn sigh of relief. Cats, he was glad to realise, do not wear tulip hats on their heads, nor kid gloves over their claws.

"It's you!" he cried exultantly, pressing his face to her rabbit-skin jacket. "Oh, Mary Poppins — I was up in the star — and all the cats came snarling at me — and I thought I'd never find the way home — and I blew the whistle and—"

Suddenly he began to stammer, for her face, beneath the brim of her hat, was cold and very haughty.

"And here I am—" he concluded lamely.

Mary Poppins said never a word. She bowed to him in a distant manner as though she had never met him before. Then in silence she held out her hand.

He hung his head guiltily and put the whistle into it.

"So that's the reason for the hullabaloo!" The Park Keeper spluttered with disapproval. "I warn you, this is your last chance. Blow that whistle once again and I'll resign — I promise!"

"A pie-crust promise!" scoffed Mary Poppins, as she pocketed the whistle.

The Park Keeper shook his head in despair.

"You ought to know the rules by now. All litter to be placed in the baskets. No climbin' of trees in the Park!"

"Litter yourself!" said Mary Poppins. "And I never climbed a tree in my life!"

"Well, might I enquire where you came from, then? Droppin' down from the sky like that and knockin' off me cap?"

"There's not a law against enquiring, so far as I am aware!"

"Been up in the Milky Way, I suppose!" The Park Keeper snorted sarcastically.

"Exactly," she said, with a smile of triumph.

"Huh! You can't expect me — a respectable man — to believe that tarradiddle!" And yet, he thought uneasily, she had certainly come from somewhere.

"I don't expect anything," she retorted. "And I'll thank you to let me pass!"

Still holding Michael close to her side, she gave her head a disdainful toss, pushed the Park Keeper out of the way and tripped towards the Gate.

An outraged cry sounded behind them as the Park Keeper wildly waved his stick.

"You've broken the rules! You've disturbed the peace! And you don't even say you're sorry!"

"I'm not!" she called back airily, as she whisked across the Lane.

Speechless at so many broken bye-laws, the Park Keeper bent to pick up his cap. There it lay on the rainy grass. And beside it sprawled a strange dark object on which was painted, in gleaming white, a design of skull-and-crossbones.

"When will they learn," he sighed to himself, "what to do with their litter?"

And because he was so upset and flustered, he mistakenly put his cap in the basket and walked home wearing the pirate's hat….

Michael glanced eagerly at Number Seventeen as they hurried across the Lane. It was easy to see — for the mist had cleared — that there wasn't a bramble near it. The cats had not been right, after all.

The hall light flooded him with welcome and the stairs seemed to run away beneath him as he bounded up to the nursery.

"Oh, there you are," cried Jane gaily. "Wherever have you been?"

He had not the words to answer her. He could only gaze at the well-known room, as though he had been away for years. How could he explain, even to Jane, how precious it seemed to him?

The Twins ran in with open arms. He bent and hugged them lovingly and, putting out his hand to Jane, he drew her into the hug.

A light footstep made him glance up. Mary Poppins came tripping in, buttoning on her apron. Everything about her tonight — the darting movements, the stern glance, even the way her nose turned up — was deliciously familiar.

"What would you like me to do, Mary Poppins?" He hoped she would ask for something tremendous.

"Whatever you like," she answered calmly, with the same extravagant courtesy she had shown him all day long.

"Don't, Mary Poppins! Don't!" he pleaded.

"Don't what?" she enquired, with annoying calm.

"Don't speak to me in that elegant way. I can't bear any more luck!"

"But luck," she said brightly, "was what you wanted!"

"It was. But it isn't. I've had enough. Oh, don't be polite and kind."

The cool smile faded from her face.

"And am I not usually polite? Have you ever known me to be unkind? What do you take me for — a hyena?"

"No, not a hyena, Mary Poppins. And you are polite and you are kind! But today I like you best when you're angry. It makes me feel much safer."

"Indeed? And when am I angry, I'd like to know?"

She looked, as she spoke, very angry indeed. Her eyes flashed, her cheeks were scarlet. And for once, the sight delighted him. Now that her chilly smile was gone, he didn't mind what happened. She was her own familiar self and he no longer a stranger.

"And when you sniff — that's when I like you!" he added with stupendous daring.

"Sniff?" she said, sniffing. "What an idea!"

"And when you say 'Humph'—like a camel!"

"Like a what?" She looked quite petrified. Then she bristled wrathfully. She reminded him of the wave of cats as she crossed the nursery like an oncoming storm.

"You dare to stand there," she accused him sternly, taking a step with every word, just as the King had done, "and tell me I'm a dromedary? Four legs and a tail and a hump or two?"

"But, Mary Poppins, I only meant—"

"That is enough from you, Michael, One more piece of impertinence and you'll go to bed, spit-spot."

"I'm in it already, Mary Poppins," he said in a quavering voice. For by now she had backed him through the nursery and into his room.

"First a hyena and then a camel. I suppose I'll be a gorilla next!"

"But—"

"Not another word!" she spluttered, giving her head a proud toss as she stalked out of the room.

He knew he had insulted her, but he couldn't really be sorry. She was so exactly like herself that all he could feel was gladness.

Off went his clothes and in he dived, hugging his pillow to him. Its cheek was warm and friendly now as it pressed against his own.

The shadows crept slowly across his bed as he listened to the familiar sounds — bath-water running, the Twins' chatter and the rattle and clink of nursery supper.

The sounds grew fainter… the pillow grew softer…

But, suddenly, a delicious something — a scent or a flavour — filled the room, and made him sit up with a start.

A cup of chocolate hovered above him. Its fragrance came sweetly to his nose and mingled with the fresh-toast scent of Mary Poppins' apron. There she stood, like a starched statue, gazing calmly down.

He met her glance contentedly, feeling it plunging into him and seeing what was there. He knew that she knew that he knew she was not a camel. The day was over, his adventure behind him. The Cat Star was far away in the sky. And it seemed to him, as he stirred his chocolate, he had everything he wanted.

"I do believe, Mary Poppins," he said, "that I've nothing left to wish for,"

She smiled a superior, sceptical smile.

"Humph!" she remarked. "That's lucky!"