Mary Poppins Opens the Door. P. Travers L.

half-finished musical boxes. “And I’ve got a rush order that must be finished – a music box playing ‘A Day in the Park’.”

      “A Day in the Park?” The children stared.

      “The Band, you know!” Mr Twigley explained. “And the sound of fountains. And gossiping ladies. Rooks caw-cawing, and children laughing, and the slow, soft murmur of trees as they grow.”

      Mr Twigley’s eyes glowed behind his spectacles as he thought of all the lovely things he would put in the musical box.

      “But you can’t hear trees growing,” protested Michael. “There’s no music for that!”

      “Tut!” said Mr Twigley impatiently. “Of course there is! There’s a music for everything. Didn’t you ever hear the earth spinning? It makes a sound like a humming-top. Buckingham Palace plays ‘Rule Britannia’; the River Thames is a drowsy flute. Dear me, yes! Everything in the world – trees, rocks and stars and human beings – they all have their own true music.”

      As he spoke, Mr Twigley tripped across the floor and wound up a musical box. Immediately the little platform at the top began to turn. And from within came a clear high piping like the sound of a penny whistle.

      “That’s mine!” said Mr Twigley proudly, as he cocked his head to listen. He wound up another musical box and a new tune fell on the air.

      “That’s ‘London Bridge is Falling Down!’ It’s my favourite song!” cried Michael.

      “What did I tell you?” smiled Mr Twigley, as he turned another handle. The tune broke gaily from the box.

      “That’s mine!” said Jane, with a crow of delight. “It’s ‘Oranges and Lemons’.”

      “Of course it is!” twinkled Mr Twigley.

      And gaily seizing the children’s hands he swept them away across the attic. The three little platforms turned and spun and the three tunes mingled in the air.

      “London Bridge is Falling Down,

      Dance over, my Lady Leigh!”

      sang Michael.

      “Oranges and Lemons,

      Said the Bells of St Clements,”

      sang Jane.

      And Mr Twigley whistled like a happy blackbird.

      The feet of the children were light as wings as they danced to their own true music. Never before, they told themselves, had they felt so light and merry.

      Bang! The front door slammed and shook the house. Mr Twigley paused on one toe and listened. Thump! Thump! came the footsteps on the stairs. A loud voice rumbled across the landing.

      Mr Twigley gave a gasp of horror, and swung his coat-tails over his ears.

      “She’s coming!” he shrieked. “Oh, dear! Oh, my! I wish I were in a nice safe place!”

      A blast of music came from the trumpets. And then a strange thing happened.

      Mr Twigley, as though by an unseen hand, was snatched from the floor of the attic. Off he went, hurtling past the children, like a seed of thistledown tossed by the wind. Then choking and gasping, shaking and panting, he landed upon his musical box. He did not seem to have grown smaller nor the box larger. Yet, somehow, they fitted perfectly together.

      Round and round Mr Twigley spun and upon his face spread a smile of triumph.

      “I’m safe!” he yelled, as he waved to the children. “She’ll never catch me now!”

      “Hooray!” they were just about to shout, but the word was caught in their throats, like a hiccup. For something had seized them by the hair and was flinging them both across the attic. Their arms and legs went sprawling wildly as they landed upon their musical boxes. They wobbled a little for a moment, but soon they were steadily whirling round.

      “Oh!” panted Jane. “What a lovely surprise!”

      “I feel like a spinning top!” shouted Michael.

      Mr Twigley gave a little start and stared at them in astonishment.

      “Did I do that? Good Gracious me! I’m getting quite clever at wishing.”

      “Clever!” said Mary Poppins, sniffing. “Ridiculous – that’s what I call it!”

      “Well, at least it’s safe,” said Mr Twigley. “And rather pleasant. Why don’t you try it!”

      “Wish!” urged Michael, with a wave of his hand.

      “Ah! She doesn’t need to,” said Mr Twigley, with a curious glance at Mary Poppins.

      “Well, if you insist…” she said with another sniff. And placing her two feet neatly together she rose from the floor and swept past the rafters. Then, without a smile, not even a wobble, she alighted upon a musical box. Immediately, though no one had wound it, the tune broke gaily out.

      “Round and round the Cobbler’s bench,

      The Monkey chased the Weasel,

      The Monkey said it was all in fun –

      Pop goes the Weasel!”

      it sang.

      And round and round went Mary Poppins, as calmly as though she had turned and spun from the very day she was born.

      “Now we’re all together!” Jane cried happily. She glanced at the window and waved her hand to draw Michael’s attention.

      Outside in the street the little houses were revolving on their foundations. Above in the sky spun two white clouds. And the attic itself, like the musical boxes, was turning round and round.

      But loudly though the four tunes rang, another sound could be heard above them. Thump! Thump! The heavy steps came nearer.

      And the next moment somebody banged on the door.

      “Open, I say, in the name of the Law!” cried a voice that was somehow familiar.

      A strong hand twisted the rickety lock. And then, with a crash, the door burst open. On the threshold stood Mrs Clump and the Policeman. They stared. Their eyes popped. Their mouths fell open with astonishment.

      “Well, of all the shameful sights!” cried Mrs Clump. “I never thought to see this house turned into an Amusement Park!” She shook her fist at Mary Poppins. “You’re going to get your reward, my girl. The Policeman here will deal with you! And as for you, Mr Twigley, down you get from that silly razzle-dazzle and comb your hair and put on your hat. We’re going off to be married!”

      Mr Twigley shuddered. But he swung his coat-tails jauntily.

      “Don’t shout and thump

      Please, Mrs Clump,

      It makes me jump!”

      he sang as he sped round. The Policeman took out notebook and pencil.

      “Come on! Stop spinning, all of you. I’m as giddy as a Garden Goat. And I want an Explanation!”

      Mr Twigley gave a gleeful cackle.

      “You’ve come to the wrong place, Officer, dear! I’ve never yet made an Explanation. And what’s more, as I used to say to my boy, Methuselah, I don’t believe in ’em!”

      “Now, now, joking’ll only make things worse. You can’t tell me you’re Methuselah’s father!” The Policeman smiled a knowing smile.

      “Grandfather!” Mr Twigley retorted, as he sailed gracefully round.

      “Now, that’s enough. You just come down! This spinning and twirling is bad for the ’Ealth. And not permitted in Private Dwellings. ’Ere! ’Oo’s