Mary Poppins in the Park. P. Travers L.

what have you been doing?” she smiled.

      “Nothing,” he murmured contentedly.

      For he knew – and perhaps she knew it too – that ‘nothing’ is a useful word. It can mean exactly what you like – anything – everything …

      The end of the story died away.

      Mary Poppins sat still and silent.

      Around her lay the motionless children, making never a sound. Her gaze, coming back from the far horizon, flickered across their quiet faces and over the head of the Park Keeper, as it nodded dreamily.

      “Humph!” she remarked, with a haughty sniff. “I recount a chapter of history and you all fall fast asleep!”

      “I’m not asleep,” Jane reassured her. “I’m thinking about the story.”

      “I heard every word,” said Michael, yawning.

      The Park Keeper rocked, as if in a trance. “A Nexplorer in disguise,” he murmured, “sittin’ in the midnight sun and climbin’ the North Pole!”

      “Ouch!” cried Michael, starting up. “I felt a drop on my nose!”

      “And I felt one on my chin,” said Jane.

      They rubbed their eyes and looked about them. The syrupy sun had disappeared and a cloud was creeping over the Park. Plop! Plop! Patter, patter! The big drops drummed on the leaves.

      The Park Keeper opened his eyes and stared.

      “It’s rainin’!” he cried in astonishment. “And me with no umbrella!”

      He glanced at the dangling shape on the bough and darted towards the parrot.

      “Oh, no, you don’t!” said Mary Poppins. Quick as a needle, she grasped the handle.

      “I’ve a long way to go and me chest is bad and I oughtn’t to wet me feet!” The Park Keeper gave her a pleading glance.

      “Then you’d better not go to the North Pole!” She snapped the parrot umbrella open and gathered up Annabel. “The Equator – that’s the place for you!” She turned away with a snort of contempt.

      “Wake up, John and Barbara, please! Jane and Michael, take the rug and wrap it round yourselves and the Twins.”

      Raindrops bigger than sugar-plums were tumbling all about them. They drummed and thumped on the children’s heads as they wrapped themselves in the rug.

      “We’re a parcel!” cried Michael excitedly. “Tie us up with string, Mary Poppins, and send us through the post!”

      “Run!” she commanded, taking no notice. And away they hurried, stumbling and tumbling, over the rainy grass.

      The dogs came barking along beside them and, forgetting their promise to Mary Poppins, shook themselves over her skirts.

      “All that sun and all this rain! One after another! Who’d ’ave thought it?” The Park Keeper shook his head in bewilderment. He could still hardly believe it.

      “An explorer would!” snapped Mary Poppins. She gave her head a satisfied toss. “And so would I – so there!”

      “Too big for your boots – that’s what you are!” The Park Keeper’s words were worse than they sounded. For he whispered them into his coat-collar in case she should overhear. But, even so, perhaps she guessed them, for she flung at him a smile of conceit and triumph as she hurried after the children.

      Off she tripped through the streaming Park, picking her way among the puddles. Neat and trim as a fashion-plate she crossed Cherry Tree Lane and flitted up the garden path of Number Seventeen …

      Jane emerged from the plaid bundle and patted her soaking hair.

      “Oh, bother!” she said. “I’ve lost my feather.”

      “That settles it, then,” said Michael calmly. “You can’t be Minnehaha!”

      He unwound himself and felt in his pocket. “Ah, here’s my ant! I’ve got him safely!”

      “Oh, I don’t mean Minnehaha, really – but somebody,” persisted Jane, “somebody else inside me. I know. I always have the feeling.”

      The black ant hurried across the table.

      “I don’t,” Michael said, as he gazed at it. “I don’t feel anything inside me but my dinner and Michael Banks.”

      But Jane was thinking her own thoughts.

      “And Mary Poppins,” she went on. “She’s somebody in disguise too. Everybody is.”

      “Oh, no, she’s not!” said Michael stoutly. “I’m absolutely certain!”

      A light step sounded on the landing.

      “Who’s not what?” enquired a voice.

      “You, Mary Poppins!” Michael cried. “Jane says you’re somebody in disguise. And I say you aren’t. You’re nobody!”

      Her head went up with a quick jerk and her eyes had a hint of danger.

      “I hope,” she said, with awful calmness, “that I did not hear what I think I heard. Did you say I was nobody, Michael?”

      “Yes! I mean – no!” He tried again. “I really meant to say, Mary Poppins, that you’re not really anybody!”

      “Oh, indeed?” Her eyes were now as black as a boot-button. “If I’m not anybody, Michael, who am I – I’d like to know!”

      “Oh, dear!” he wailed. “I’m all muddled. You’re not somebody, Mary Poppins – that’s what I’m trying to say.”

      Not somebody in her tulip hat! Not somebody in her fine blue skirt! Her reflection gazed at her from the mirror, assuring her that she and it were an elegant pair of somebodies.

      “Well!” She drew a deep breath and seemed to grow taller as she spoke. “You have often insulted me, Michael Banks. But I never thought I would see the day when you’d tell me I wasn’t somebody. What am I, then, a painted portrait?”

      She took a step towards him.

      “I m-m-mean …” he stammered, clutching at Jane. Her hand was warm and reassuring and the words he was looking for leapt to his lips.

      “I don’t mean somebody, Mary Poppins! I mean not somebody else! You’re Mary Poppins through and through! Inside and outside. And round about. All of you is Mary Poppins. That is how I like you!”

      “Humph!” she said disbelievingly. But the fierceness faded away from her face.

      With a laugh of relief he sprang towards her, embracing her wet blue skirt.

      “Don’t grab me like that, Michael Banks. I’m not a Dutch doll, thank you!”

      “You are!” he shouted. “No, you’re not! You only look like one. Oh, Mary Poppins, tell me truly! You aren’t anybody in disguise? I want you just as you are!”

      A faint, pleased smile puckered her mouth. Her head gave a prideful toss.

      “Me! Disguised! Certainly not!”

      With a loud sniff at the mere idea, she disengaged his hands.

      “But, Mary Poppins,” Jane persisted. “Supposing you weren’t Mary Poppins, who would you choose to be?”

      The blue eyes under the tulip hat turned to her in surprise.

      There was only one answer to such a question.

      “Mary Poppins!” she said.