Ahead of them, beyond the line of cherry trees, lights began to appear – not so bright as the ones above but, for all that, bright enough. It seemed as though each house in the Lane, leaning so closely to the next, had lit itself from its neighbour. There were constellations both below and above, the earth and the sky were next door to each other.
“Now, no more day-dreaming, Professor. We want our supper. So do the dogs.” Miss Lark seized the arm of her friend, who was raptly gazing into the darkness.
“My dear Miss Wren, I am not day-dreaming. I am looking at a fallen star. See! Over there, on that lady’s hat.” He swept the newspaper from his head and bowed to Mary Poppins.
Miss Lark put on her lorgnette.
“Nonsense, Professor! Falling stars just fizzle out. They never reach the earth. That’s just a common pigeon feather – covered with luminous paint, or something. Magicians use things like that for their tricks.”
And she whisked him through the Lane Gate.
“Is that you, Professor?” called Mr Banks, racing full tilt along the Lane, with Mrs Banks at his heels.
The Professor looked uncertain. “I suppose it is. People tell me so. I’m never quite sure myself.”
“Well, I’ve glorious news. I’ve found a new star!”
“You mean the one on that hat? I’ve seen it.”
“No, no! On the Belt, my dear chap. Up till now it has had just three – a trio of shiners in a row. But, tonight, I’ve distinctly seen a fourth.”
“Miss Partridge says it’s just luminous paint.”
“Paint? Absurd! You can’t put paint on the sky, man! It’s there, as large as life – and solid. I’ve verified it. So has Admiral Boom. We’ve looked at it through his telescope. And who’s Miss Partridge, anyway?”
“Lark!” said Miss Lark. “Do remember, Professor!”
“No, no, it’s not just a lark! He means it. He’s seen it through a telescope and telescopes don’t lie.”
“Of course they don’t. They reveal facts. So, we’re off to the Planetarium. The news must be spread abroad.”
“But, George, the children!” Mrs Banks broke in.
“Don’t worry. They’re all right, I tell you. Put on a hat and I’ll change my tie.” Mr Banks was panting with excitement. “Perhaps they’ll call it after me. Imagine it! Fame at last! A heavenly body by the name of Banks!”
And the happy astronomer dashed away, dragging Mrs Banks by the hand, to the door of his own house.
“Why Banks, I wonder? I always thought his name was Cooper. And I could have sworn it was hat, not belt. But my memory is not what it was – if, indeed, it was ever what it was.” Vague and perplexed, yet still hopeful, the Professor looked round for his fallen star.
But Miss Lark was having no more nonsense. She took her friend firmly by the arm and hurried him off to supper.
The Professor, however, need not have worried. His memory was what it had been. His fallen star, even now, was making its way towards the Lane Gate. The feather glowed among the daisies and its light was reflected in the pairs of cherries that hung below the hat brim.
Jane and Michael looked up at it and then from the feather to the sky. Half dazzled by the resplendent light, they searched for, and found, what they sought. Ah, there! They needed no telescope to tell them.
Among the celestial ornaments, Orion’s Belt gleamed on its unseen wearer – three large stars in a slanting line, and beside them, small, modest, but bright as a glow-worm, a fourth piece of bric-a-brac!
Neither the feather nor the extra star had been there when they set out. Their adventure had, indeed, been true. At last they could not believe it. And, meeting Mary Poppins’ eyes, they knew that she knew what they knew. All things, indeed, were possible – sky-light upon an earthy hat-brim, earth-light on a skyey girdle.
They craned their necks as they straggled beside her, and gazed at the conflagration. How was the party going, they wondered. Was someone strutting in his new-found sparkle; another boasting of his elegant mittens; the other displaying their treasure-trove? And was there anyone up there to remind them, with a toss of the head, that handsome was as handsome did? No! There was only one such person and she was walking between them.
Behind them, Mr Twigley’s bird burst into song again. Before them lay the Lane Gate. And as the perambulator creaked towards it they could see a necklace of shining windows beyond the cherry trees. The front door of Number Seventeen, left open by their excited parents, threw a long light down the garden path, as if to welcome them.
“Mary Poppins,” said Jane, as they pushed their way on the last lap of the day’s excursion. “What will you do with your earrings?”
“Eat them,” said Mary Poppins promptly. “Along with a cup of strong tea and a slice of buttered toast.” What else were cherries for, after all?
“And what about my string bag?” Michael hugged her sleeve.
“Kindly do not swing on my arm. I am not a garden gate, Michael!”
“But where is it? Tell me!” he demanded. Was Pegasus, even now, he wondered, munching a meal of Coltsfoot?
Her shoulders went up with their characteristic shrug.
“String bags – pooh! – they’re two a penny. Lose one and you can get another.”
“Ah! But perhaps it’s not lost!” He gave her a darting, sidelong glance. “And neither will you be, Mary Poppins, when you skedaddle off.”
She drew herself up, insulted.
“I’ll thank you, Michael Banks, to mind your manners. I am not in the habit of skedaddling.”
“Oh, yes, you are, Mary Poppins,” said Jane. “One day here and the next day gone, without a Word of Warning.”
“But she’s not nowhere, even so. And neither is my string bag,” said Michael. “But where? Where, Mary Poppins?” Every place, surely, had a name! “How shall we know how to find you?”
They held their breaths, waiting for an answer. She looked at them for a long time and her blue eyes sparkled with it. They could see it dance on to her tongue, all agog to make its disclosure. And then – it danced away. Whatever the secret was, she would keep it.
“Ah!” she said. And smiled.
“Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!” repeated the Nightingale from its branch.
And above, from every quarter of the sky, there came an echoing “Ah!” The whole world was ringing with the riddle. But nothing, and nobody, answered it.
They might have known! She would not tell them. If she had never explained before, why should she do so now?
Instead, she gave them her haughty glance.
“I know where you two will be in a minute. And that’s into bed, spit-spot!”
They laughed. The old phrase made them feel warm and secure. And even if there was no answer, there had been a reply. Earth and sky, like neighbours chatting over a fence, had exchanged the one same word. Nothing was far. All was near. And bed, they now realised, was exactly where they wanted to be, the safest place in the world.
Then Michael made a discovery.
“Well, bed’s somewhere!” he exclaimed, surprised at his own cleverness. Plain, ordinary bed was Somewhere. He had never thought of that before! Everything had to be somewhere.
“And so will you be, Mary Poppins, with your carpet-bag and parrot umbrella, sniffing and being important!”