Mary Poppins in the Park. P. Travers L.

never wanted to be a tiger. I liked playing bus-conductors and keeping things neat and tidy.”

      “Like ’er!” The Park Keeper waved to a distant fountain where Mary Poppins was leaning over to admire the set of her hat.

      “Like her,” agreed the Policeman, nodding. “Or,” he said, grinning, “that nice Miss Ellen.”

      “Ellen’s not neat,” protested Michael. “Her hair straggles and her feet are too big.”

      “And when they grew up,” demanded Jane, “what did Herbert and Albert do?” She liked to hear the end of a story.

      “Do?” said the Policeman, very surprised. “What one triplet does, the others do. They joined the police, of course!”

      “But I thought you were all so different!”

      “We were and we are!” the Policeman argued. “Seeing as how I stayed in London, and they went off to distant lands. Wanted to be near the jungle, they said, and mix with giraffes and leopards. One of ’em – Herbert – he never came back. Just sent a note saying not to worry. ‘I’m happy,’ he said, ‘and I feel at home!’ And after that, never a word – not even a card at Christmas.”

      “And what about Albert?” the children prompted.

      “Ah – Albert – yes! He did come back. After he met with his accident.”

      “What accident?” they wanted to know. They were burning with curiosity.

      “Lorst his foot,” the Policeman answered. “Wouldn’t say how, or why or where. Now he works on the traffic signals. Sits in his box and pines away. And sometimes,” The Policeman lowered his voice. “Sometimes he forgets the lights. Leaves them at red for a whole day till London’s at a standstill!”

      Michael gave an excited skip. “He must be the one we passed this morning, in the box by the Far Gate!”

      “That’s him all right!” The Policeman nodded.

      “But what is he pining for?” asked Jane. She wanted every detail.

      “For the jungle, he keeps on telling me. He says he’s got a friend there!”

      “A funny place to ’ave a friend!” The Park Keeper glanced around the Park to see that all was in order.

      “T’chah!” he exclaimed disgustedly. “That’s Willerby up to ’is tricks again! Look at ’im sittin’ up there on the wall! Come down out of that! Remember the Bye-laws! No dogs allowed on the Park Wall. I shall ’ave to speak to Miss Lark,” he muttered, “feedin’ ’im all that dainty food! ’E’s twice the size he was yesterday!”

      “That’s not Willoughby!” said Michael. “It’s a much, much larger dog.”

      “It isn’t a dog at all!” cried Jane. “It’s a—”

      “Lumme! You’re right!” The Policeman stared. “It’s not a dog – it’s a lion!”

      “Oh, what shall I do?” wailed the Park Keeper. “Nothing like this ever ’appened before, not even when I was a boy!”

      “Go and get someone from the Zoo – it must have escaped from there! Here, you two—” the Policeman cried. He caught the children and swung them up to the top of a nearby fountain. “You stay there while I head off!”

      “Observe the Rules!” shrieked the Park Keeper. “No lions allowed in the Park!” He gave one look at the tawny shape and ran in the opposite direction.

      The Lion swung his head about, glancing along Cherry Tree Lane and then across the lawns. Then he leapt from the wall with a swift movement and made for the Long Walk. His curly mane blew out in the breeze like a large lacy collar.

      “Take care!” cried Jane to the Policeman, as he darted forward with arms outspread. It would be sad indeed, she felt, if that manly figure were gobbled up.

      “Gurrrr!” the Policeman shouted fiercely.

      His voice was so loud and full of warning that everyone in the Park was startled.

      Miss Lark, who was knitting by the Lake, came hurrying to the Long Walk with her dogs in close attendance.

      “Such a commotion!” she twittered shrilly. “Whatever is the matter? Oh!” she cried, running round in a circle. “What shall I do? It’s a wild beast! Send for the Prime Minister!”

      “Get up a tree!” the Policeman yelled, shaking his fist at the Lion.

      “Which tree? Oh, how undignified!”

      “That one!” screamed Michael, waving his hand.

      Gulping and panting, Miss Lark climbed up, her hair catching in every twig and her knitting wool winding around her legs.

      “Andrew and Willoughby, come up, please!” she called down anxiously. But the dogs were not going to lose their heads. They composed themselves at the foot of the tree and waited to see what would happen.

      By this time everyone in the Park had become aware of the Lion. Terrified shouts rang through the air as people swung themselves into the branches or hid behind seats or statues.

      “Call out the Firemen!” they all cried. “Tell the Lord Mayor! Send for a rope!”

      But the Lion noticed none of them. He crossed the lawn in enormous leaps, making direct for the blue serge shape of the Officer of the Law.

      “Gurrrr, I said!” the Policeman roared, taking out his baton.

      The Lion merely tossed his head and flung himself into a crouching position. A ripple ran through all his muscles as he made ready to spring.

      “Oh, save him, somebody!” cried Jane, with an anxious glance at the manly figure.

      “Help!” screamed a voice from every tree.

      “Prime Minister!” cried Miss Lark again.

      And then the Lion sprang. He sped like an arrow through the air and landed beside the big black boots.

      “Be off, I say!” the Policeman shouted, in a last protesting cry.

      But as he spoke a strange thing happened. The Lion rolled over on his back and waved his legs in the air.

      “Just like a kitten,” whispered Michael. But he held Jane’s hand a little tighter.

      “Away with you!” the Policeman bellowed, waving his baton again.

      But as though the words were as sweet as music, the Lion put out a long red tongue and licked the Policeman’s boots.

      “Stop it, I tell you! Get along off!”

      But the Lion only wagged its tail and, springing up on its hind legs, it clasped the blue serge jacket.

      “Help! Oh, help!” the Policeman gasped.

      “Coming!” croaked a hoarse voice, as the Park Keeper crawled to the edge of the Walk with an empty Litter-basket over his head.

      Beside him crept a small thin man with a butterfly net in his hand.

      “I brought the Keeper of the Zoological Gardens!” the Park Keeper hissed at the Policeman. “Go on!” he urged the little man. “It’s your property – take it away!”

      The Keeper of the Zoological Gardens darted behind a fountain. He took a careful look at the Lion as it hugged the dark blue waist.

      “Not one of ours!” He shook his head. “It’s far too red and curly. Seems to know you!” he called to the Policeman. “What are you – a lion-tamer?”

      “Never saw him before in my life!” The head in the helmet turned aside.

      “Oh, wurra! wurra!” the Lion growled, in a voice that held a note of reproach.

      “Will