“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 consssequencessses!”
“Oh, where shall I go?” cried Michael wildly.
“You will ssstay bessside usss,” the King whispered with a terrible catlike softness. “You guessed 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 essscape!”
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 hollow voice.
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 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 never said a word. She bowed to him in a distant manner as though she had never seen 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.