But now in the crook of Florimond’s arm there lay a bunch of roses; a little circlet of coloured stones gleamed on Veritain’s wrist; Amor was wearing a paper hat perched on the back of his head and from the pocket of his jerkin there peeped a lace-edged handkerchief.
Jane and Michael smiled down on the page. And the three Princes smiled up from the book and their eyes seemed to twinkle in the lamplight.
“They remember us!” declared Jane in triumph.
“And we remember them!” crowed Michael. “Even if Mary Poppins doesn’t.”
“Oh, indeed?” her voice enquired behind them.
They glanced up quickly and there she stood, a pink-cheeked Dutch Doll figure, as neat as a new pin.
“And what have I forgotten, pray?”
She smiled as she spoke, but not at them. Her eyes were fixed on the three Princes. She nodded complacently at the picture and then at the Match Man who nodded back.
And suddenly Michael understood. He knew that she remembered. How could he and Jane have dared to imagine that she would ever forget!
He turned and hid his face in her skirt.
“You’ve forgotten nothing, Mary Poppins. It was just my little mistake.”
“Little!” She gave an outraged sniff.
“But tell me, Mary Poppins,” begged Jane, as she looked from the coloured picture-book to the confident face above her. “Which are the children in the story – the Princes, or Jane and Michael?”
Mary Poppins was silent for a moment. She glanced at the children before her. Her eyes were as blue as the Unicorn’s, as she took Jane’s hand in hers.
They waited breathlessly for her answer.
It seemed to tremble on her lips. The words were on the tip of her tongue. And then – she changed her mind. Perhaps she remembered that Mary Poppins never told anyone anything.
She smiled a tantalising smile.
“I wonder!” she said.
Chapter Five
THE PARK IN THE PARK
“ANOTHER SANDWICH, PLEASE!” said Michael, sprawling across Mary Poppins’ legs as he reached for the picnic basket.
It was Ellen’s Day Out and Mrs Brill had gone to see her cousin’s niece’s new baby. So the children were having tea in the Park, away by the Wild Corner.
This was the only place in the Park that was never mown or weeded. Clover, daisies, buttercups, bluebells, grew as high as the children’s waists. Nettles and dandelions flaunted their blossoms, for they knew very well that the Park Keeper would never have time to root them out. None of them Observed the Rules. They scattered their seeds across the lawns, jostled each other for the best places, and crowded together so closely that their stems were always in shadowy darkness.
Mary Poppins, in a sprigged cotton dress, sat bolt upright in a clump of bluebells.
She was thinking, as she darned the socks, that pretty though the Wild Corner was, she knew of something prettier. If it came to a choice between, say, a bunch of clover and herself, it would not be the clover she would choose.
The four children were scattered about her.
Annabel bounced in the perambulator.
And not far off, among the nettles, the Park Keeper was making a daisy-chain.
Birds were piping on every bough, and the Ice Cream Man sang cheerfully as he trundled his barrow along.
The notice on the front said:
THE DAY IS HOT
BUT ICE CREAM’S NOT
“I wonder if he’s coming here,” Jane murmured to herself.
She was lying face downwards in the grass, making little Plasticine figures.
“Where have those sandwiches gone?” cried Michael, scrabbling in the basket.
“Be so kind, Michael, as to get off my legs. I am not a Turkey carpet! The sandwiches have all been eaten. You had the last yourself.”
Mary Poppins heaved him on to the grass and took up her darning needle. Beside her, a mug of warm tea, sprinkled with grass seed and nettle flowers, sent up a delicious fragrance.
“But, Mary Poppins, I’ve only had six!”
“That’s three too many,” she retorted. “You’ve eaten your share and Barbara’s.”
“Takin’ the food from ’is sister’s mouth – what next?” said the Park Keeper.
He sniffed the air and licked his lips, just like a thirsty dog.
“Nothin’ to beat a ’ot cup o’ tea!” he remarked to Mary Poppins.
With dignified calm she took up the mug. “Nothing,” she answered, sipping.
“Exactly what a person needs at the ’eight of the h’afternoon!” He gave the teapot a wistful glance.
“Exactly,” she agreed serenely, as she poured herself another cup.
The Park Keeper sighed and plucked a daisy. The pot, he knew, was not empty.
“Well – another sponge cake, then, Mary Poppins!”
“The cakes are finished too, Michael. What are you, pray – a boy or a crocodile?”
He would have liked to say he was a crocodile, but a glance at her face was enough to forbid it.
“John!” he coaxed, with a crocodile smile. “Would you like me to eat your crusts?”
“No!” said John, as he gobbled them up.
“Shall I help you with your biscuit, Barbara?”
“No!” she protested through the crumbs.
Michael shook his head in reproach and turned to Annabel.
There she sat, like a queen in her carriage, clutching her little mug. The perambulator groaned loudly as she bounced up and down. It was looking more battered than ever today. For Robertson Ay, after doing nothing all the morning, had leant against it to take a rest and broken the wooden handle.
“Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” Mrs Banks had cried. “Why couldn’t he lean on something stronger? Mary Poppins, what shall we do? We can’t afford a new one!”
“I’ll take it to my cousin, ma’am. He’ll make it as good as new.”
“Well – if you think he really can. . .” Mrs Banks cast a doubtful eye on the bar of splintered wood.
Mary Poppins drew herself up.
“A member of my family, ma’am—” Her voice seemed to come from the North Pole.
“Oh, yes! Indeed! Quite so! Exactly!” Mrs Banks nervously backed away.
“But why,” she silently asked herself, “is her family so superior? She is far too vain and self-satisfied. I shall tell her so some day.”
But, looking at that stern face and listening to those reproving sniffs, she knew she would never dare.
Michael rolled over among the daisies, hungrily chewing a blade of grass.
“When are you going to take the perambulator to your cousin, Mary Poppins?”
“Everything comes to him who waits. All in my own good time!”
“Oh! Well, Annabel isn’t taking her milk. Would you like me to drink it for her?”
But at that moment Annabel lifted her mug and drained the last drop.
“Mary Poppins!” he wailed. “I’ll starve to death – just like Robinson Crusoe.”
“He didn’t starve to death,” said Jane. She was busily clearing a space in the weeds.
“Well, the Swiss Family Robinson, then,” said Michael.
“The Swiss Family always had plenty to eat. But I’m not hungry, Michael. You can have my cake if you like.”