The children leapt like puppies about him as he went down the garden path. Mrs Banks sat down for two minutes’ rest on one of the sheet-covered chairs. The Starling looked in at her for a moment. Then he shook his head disappointedly and flew away again…
Daylight was fading as they crossed the road. By the Park railings Bert, the Match Man, was spreading out his tray. He lit a candle with one of his matches and began to draw pictures on the pavement. He nodded gaily to the children as they hurried through the Gates.
“Now, all we need,” the Sweep said fussily, “is a clear patch of grass—”
“Which you won’t get!” said a voice behind them. “The Park is closed at 5.30.”
Out from the shadows came the Park Keeper, looking very belligerent.
“But it’s Guy Fawkes’ Day – the Fifth of November!” the children answered quickly.
“Orders is orders!” he retorted, “and all days are alike to me.”
“Well, where can we let off the fireworks?” Michael demanded impatiently.
A greedy look leapt to the Keeper’s eyes.
“You got some fireworks?” he said hungrily. “Well, why not say so before!” And he snatched the parcel from the Sweep and began to untie the string. “Matches – that’s what we need!” he went on, panting with excitement.
“Here,” said the Match Man’s quiet voice. He had followed the children into the Park and was standing behind them with his lighted candle.
The Park Keeper opened a bundle of Squibs.
“They’re ours, you know!” Michael reminded him.
“Ah, let me help you – do!” said the Keeper. “I’ve never ’ad fun on Guy Fawkes’ Day – never since I was a boy!”
And without waiting for permission, he lit the Squibs at the Match Man’s candle. The hissing streams of fire poured out, and pop, pop, pop went the crackers. The Park Keeper seized a Catherine Wheel and stuck it on a branch. The rings of light began to turn and sparkled on the air. And after that he was so excited that nothing could stop him. He went on lighting fuse after fuse as though he had gone mad.
Flower Pots streamed from the dewy grass and Golden Rain flowed down through the darkness. Top Hats burned for a bright short moment; Balloons went floating up to the branches; and Firesnakes writhed in the shadows. The children jumped and squeaked and shouted. The Park Keeper ran about among them like a large frenzied dog. And amid the noise and the sparkling lights the Match Man waited quietly. The flame of his candle never wavered as they lit their fuses from it.
“Now!” cried the Keeper, who was hoarse with shouting. “Now we come to the rockets!”
All the other fireworks had gone. Nothing remained in the knobbly parcel except three long black sticks.
“No you don’t!” said the Sweep, as the Keeper snatched them. “Share and share. That’s fair!” He gave the Keeper one rocket and kept the others for himself and the children.
“Make way, make way!” said the Keeper importantly, as he lit the fuse at the candle flame and stuck the stick in a hole in the ground.
Hissing and guttering, the spark ran along like a little golden thread. Then – whoop! went the rocket as it shot away. Up in the sky the children heard a small far-away bang. And a swirl of red-and-blue stars broke out and rained upon the Park.
“Oh!” cried the children. And “Oh!” cried the Sweep. For that is the only word anyone can say when a rocket’s stars break out.
Then it was the Sweep’s turn. The candle-light gleamed on his black face as he lit the fuse of his rocket. Then came a whoop and another bang and white-and-green stars spread over the sky like the ribs of a bright umbrella. And again the watchers all cried “Oh!” and sighed for sheer joy.
“It’s our turn now!” cried Jane and Michael. And their fingers trembled as they lit the fuse. They pressed the stick down into the earth and stepped back to watch. The golden fire ran up the fuse. Whe-e-e-ew! Up went the rocket with a singing sound, up to the very top of the sky.
And Jane and Michael held their breath as they waited for it to burst.
At last, far away and very faint, they heard the little bang.
Now for the stars, they thought to themselves.
But – alas! – nothing happened.
“Oh!” said everyone again – not for joy this time, but for disappointment. For no stars broke from the third rocket. There was nothing but darkness and the empty sky.
“Tricksy – that’s what they are!” said the Sweep. “There are some as just doesn’t go off! Well, come on ’Ome, all. There’s no good staring. Nothing will come down now!”
“Closing Time! Everyone out of the Park!” cried the Park Keeper importantly.
But Jane and Michael took no notice. They stood there watching, hand in hand. For their hopeful eyes had noticed something that nobody else had seen. Up in the sky a tiny spark hovered and swayed in the darkness. What could it be? Not the rocket, for that must have burnt itself out long ago. And certainly not a star, they thought, for the little spark was moving.
“Perhaps it’s a special kind of rocket, that has only one spark,” said Michael.
“Perhaps,” Jane answered quietly, as she watched the tiny light.
They stood together, gazing upwards. Even if there was only one spark they would watch till it went out. But, strangely enough, it did not go out. In fact, it was growing larger.
“Let’s get a move on!” urged the Sweep. And again the Park Keeper cried:
“Closing Time!”
But still they waited. And still the spark grew ever larger and brighter. Then suddenly Jane caught her breath. And Michael gave a gasp. Oh, was it possible? Could it be? they silently asked each other.
Down came the spark, growing longer and wider. And as it came, it took on a shape that was strange and also familiar. Out of the glowing core of light emerged a curious figure – a figure in a black straw hat and a blue coat trimmed with silver buttons – a figure that carried in one hand something that looked like a carpet bag, and in the other – oh, could it be true? – a parrot-headed umbrella.
Behind them the Match Man gave a cry and ran through the Park Gates.
The curious figure was drifting now to the tops of the naked trees. Its feet touched the highest bough of an oak and stepped down daintily through the branches.
It stood for a moment on the lowest bough and balanced itself neatly.
Jane and Michael began to run and their breath broke from them in a happy shout.
“Mary Poppins! Mary Poppins! Mary Poppins!” Half-laughing, half-weeping, they flung themselves upon her.
“You’ve c-come b-back, at l-last!” stammered Michael excitedly, as he clutched her neatly shod foot. It was warm and bony and quite real and it smelt of Black Boot-polish.
“We knew you’d come back. We trusted you!” Jane seized Mary Poppins’ other foot and dragged at her cotton stocking.
Mary Poppins’ mouth crinkled with the ghost of a smile. Then she looked at the children fiercely.
“I’ll thank you to let go of my shoes!” she snapped. “I am not an object in a Bargain Basement.”
She shook them off and stepped down from the tree, as John and Barbara, mewing like kittens, rushed over the grass towards her.
“Hyenas!” she said with an