“My!” she exclaimed, as her arms went round them. “You’re solid and no mistake!”
“That’s because we’re real,” said Jane.
“Bones and toe-nails and hair and blood,” Michael kindly informed her.
“Ah!” The Bird Woman’s shadow nodded. “I expect you ’ad a Special Ticket. It isn’t everyone gets the chance. But you’re not tellin’ me – are you, lovies? – that shadders isn’t real?”
“Well – they go through things. And they’re made of nothing,” Jane tried to explain.
The Bird Woman shook her shadowy head.
“Nothin’s made of nothin’, lovey. And that’s what they’re for – to go through things. Through and out on the other side – it’s the way they get to be wise. You take my word for it, my loves, when you know what your shadder knows – then you know a lot. Your shadder’s the other part of you, the outside of your inside – if you understand what I mean.”
“Don’t explain! It’s no use. They don’t understand anything!”
The portly shadow of Cock Robin came tripping past the bench.
“They told me only a moment ago that Cock Robin never existed. Well, who was buried, I’d like to know! And why were the birds a-sighing and a-sobbing? Take care, Bo-peep! Do look where you’re going. Those lambs of yours nearly knocked me over!”
A shadow carrying a crook was skimming through the crowd. And behind her a flock of curly shapes gambolled on the lawn.
“But I thought Bo-peep had lost her sheep!” cried Michael in surprise.
“That’s right!” The Bird Woman’s shadow chuckled. “But ’er shadder always finds them.”
“We’ve been looking for you everywhere!” a trio of voices grunted. Three furry shadows scattered the sheep and bore Bo-peep away.
“Oh!” exclaimed Jane. “They’re the Three Bears. I hope they’ll do nothing to hurt her.”
“Hurt her? Bless you, why should they? A shadder never did anyone harm – at least, not as I know of. See! The four of ’em – dancin’ together as friendly as can be!”
The Bird Woman’s shadow surveyed the scene, beating time to the Piper’s flute. Then suddenly the music changed and she started up with a cry.“’Ere they are at last, lovies! Get up on the bench and look!”
“Who are here?” demanded Michael. But even as he spoke, he knew.
The music of the concertina had changed to a stately march. The shadows were clearing a path in their midst. And down between the waving lines came a pair of familiar figures.
One of them was small and old, with elastic-sided boots on her feet and threepenny bits on her coat.
And the other – oh, how well they knew it – was carrying a parrot-headed umbrella and wearing a tulip-trimmed hat.
Tum! Tum! Tee-um, tum, tum! the concertina boomed.
On they came, the two figures, graciously bowing to all spectators and followed by the bulky forms of Fannie and Annie Corry. Solid flesh and bone they were amid the transparent shapes, and the children saw that their four shadows were firmly attached to their heels.
A shout of rapture rose from the throng.
And the sleepers in Cherry Tree Lane shuddered and thrust their heads under their pillows.
“A Hallowe’en welcome, Mary Poppins! Three cheers for the Birthday Eve!”
“’Ip, ’Ip, ’Ooray!” yelled the Bird Woman’s shadow.
“Whose birthday is it?” Jane enquired. She was standing on tiptoe on the bench, trembling with excitement.
“It’s ’ers – Miss Mary Poppins’ – tomorrer! ’Allowe’en falls on the day before, so of course we make a night of it. Feed the Birds! Tuppence a bag!” she shouted to Mary Poppins.
The rosy face beneath the tulip smiled at her in acknowledgement. Then it glanced up at the two children and the smile disappeared.
“Why aren’t you wearing a dressing-gown, Michael? And, Jane, where are your slippers? A fine pair of scarecrows you are – to come to an evening party!”
“Aha! You were cleverer than I thought! Taking care of your shadows, I hope!” Mrs Corry grinned.
But before the children had time to reply, the music changed from a solemn march to a reeling, romping dance.
“Choose your partners! Time’s running out! We must all be back on the stroke of twelve!” The voice of the Policeman’s shadow rose above the laughter.
“Pray give me the pleasure, dearest friend!” The shadow of the Father Bear bowed to Mrs Corry.
“A-a-away, you rolling river!” The Admiral’s shadow grasped Miss Andrew’s and whirled it through a litter-basket.
The Fishmonger’s shadow raised its hat to another that looked like Mrs Brill; the shadow of the Mother Bear floated to Old King Cole. The Prime Minister’s shadow and Aunt Flossie’s jumped up and down in the fountain. And Cock Robin propelled a languid shape whose head hung down on its chest.
“Wake up, wake up, my good shadow! Who are you? Where do you live?”
The shadow gave a loud yawn and slumped against Cock Robin. “Mumble, mumble. Broom cupboard. Over across the Lane.”
Jane and Michael glanced at each other.
“Robertson Ay!” they said.
Round and round went the swaying shapes, hand reaching out to hand. And the children’s shadows were everywhere – darting after the Baby Bear or hugging the Dancing Cow.
“Really!” Mrs Corry trilled. “I haven’t had such an evening out since the days of Good Queen Bess!”
“How frivolous she is!” said her daughters, as they lumbered along together.
As for Mary Poppins, she was whirling like a spinning-top from one pair of arms to another. Now it would be the Admiral’s shadow and next it would be Goosey-Gander’s turn. She danced a polka with Cock Robin’s shadow and a waltz with the Park Keeper’s. And when the transparent Butcher claimed her, they broke into a mad gallop, while her own shadow stuck to her shoes and capered after her.
Twining together and interlacing, the vaporous shapes went by. And Jane and Michael, watching the revels, began to feel quite giddy.
“I wonder why Mary Poppins’ shadow isn’t free – like the others? It’s dancing beside her all the time. And so is Mrs Corry’s!” Jane turned with a frown to the Bird Woman’s shadow.
“Ah, she’s cunning – that Mrs Corry! She’s old and she’s learnt a lot. Let ’er shadder escape – not she! Nor Fannie’s and Annie’s either. And as for Mary Poppins’ shadder –” a chuckle shook the broad shape– “It wouldn’t leave ’er if you paid it – not for a thousand pound!”
“My turn!” cried the shadow of Old King Cole, as he plucked Mary Poppins from the Butcher’s arms and bore her off in triumph.
‘Mine too! Mine too!” cried a score of voices. “Haste, haste, no time to waste!”
Faster and faster the music played as the fateful hour drew nearer. The merriment was at its peak – when suddenly, above the din, came a shrill cry of distress.
And there, at the edge of the group of dancers, stood a small white-clad figure. It was Mrs Boom, in her dressing-gown, with a lighted candle in her hand, looking like an anxious hen as she gazed at the lively scene.