And the Lord Mayor, with another ceremonious bow to Mary Poppins, swept majestically away, humbly followed by the two Aldermen.
The Park Keeper, looking as though he were not sure if he were on his head or his heels, stared after them. Then he turned his popping eyes to the statue and stared again at that. The Marble Boy and his marble fish gazed thoughtfully down at the Lake. If they heard anything they gave no sign. They were as still and quiet and silent as they had always been.
“Now home again, home again, jiggety-jog!” Mary Poppins raised a beckoning finger and the children followed without a word. The Half-crown lay in Michael’s palm, burning and bright and solid. And cold as the marble hand of Neleus was the book beneath Jane’s arm.
Along the Walk they marched in silence thinking their secret thoughts. And presently, on the grass behind them, there came the thud of feet. They turned to find the Park Keeper running heavily towards them. He had taken off his coat and was waving it, like a blue-and-red flag, at the end of his walking-stick. He pulled up, panting, beside the perambulator and held out the coat to Mary Poppins.
“Take it!” he said breathlessly. “I just been looking at that Boy back there. He’s wearin’ yours – with the four pink buttons. And you’ll need one when it gets chilly.”
Mary Poppins calmly took the coat and slipped it over her shoulders. Her own reflection smiled conceitedly at her from the polished brass buttons.
“Thank you,” she said primly, to the Park Keeper.
He stood before her in his shirt-sleeves, shaking his head like a puzzled dog.
“I suppose you understand what it all means?” he said wistfully.
“I suppose I do,” she replied smugly.
And without another word, she gave the perambulator a little push and sent it bowling past him. He was still staring after her, scratching his head, as she passed through the gate of the Park.
* * *
Mr Banks, on his way home from the Office, whistled to them as they crossed the Lane.
“Well, Mary Poppins,” he greeted her. “You’re very smart in your blue-and-red jacket! Have you joined the Salvation Army?”
“No, sir,” she replied primly. And the look she gave him made it quite clear she had no intention of explaining.
“It’s the Park Keeper’s coat,” Jane told him hurriedly.
“He gave it to her just now,” added Michael.
“What – Smith? He gave her the jacket of his uniform? Whatever for?” exclaimed Mr Banks.
But Jane and Michael were suddenly silent. They could feel Mary Poppins’ gimlet eyes making holes in the backs of their heads. They dared not go on with the story.
“Well, never mind!” said Mr Banks calmly. “I suppose she did something to deserve it!”
They nodded. But they knew he would never know what she had done, not even if he lived to be fifty. They walked up the garden path beside him, clasping the coin and the book.
And as they went they thought of the child who had given them those gifts, the Marble Boy who for one short hour had danced and played in the Park. They thought of him standing alone on his pedestal, with his arm flung lovingly round his Dolphin – for ever silent, for ever still and the sweet light gone from his face. Darkness would come down upon him and the stars and the night would wrap him round. Proud and lonely he would stand there, looking down upon the waters of the little Lake, dreaming of the great sea and his home so far away. . .
Chapter Five
PEPPERMINT HORSES
“HI!” SHOUTED Mr Banks angrily, as he rattled the umbrellas in the Elephant’s Leg that stood in the front hall.
“What is it now, George?” called Mrs Banks, from the foot of the kitchen stairs.
“Somebody’s taken my walking-sticks!” Mr Banks sounded like a wounded tiger.
“Here they are, sir!” said Mary Poppins, as she tripped down from the Nursery. In one hand she carried a silver-headed ebony cane. From the other swung a grey ash-stick with a curved knobbly handle. Without another word, and looking very superior, she handed the sticks to Mr Banks.
“Oh!” he said, rather taken aback. “Why did you want them, Mary Poppins? I hope you haven’t got a bad leg!”
“No, thank you, sir!” she said with a sniff. And you knew by the haughty tone of her voice that Mr Banks had insulted her. A bad leg, indeed! As if her legs, as well as every other part of her, were not in perfect condition!
“It was us!” said Jane and Michael together, peering out at their Father from behind Mary Poppins.
“You! What’s the matter with your fat legs? Are they lame, or crippled, or what?”
“Nothing’s the matter,” said Michael plaintively. “We wanted the sticks for horses.”
“What! My Great-Uncle Herbert’s ebony cane and the stick I won at the Church Bazaar! Are you mad?” Mr Banks could hardly believe his ears.
“Well, we’ve nothing to ride on!” grumbled Jane.
“Why not the rocking-horse – dear old Dobbin?” called Mrs Banks from the kitchen.
“I hate old Dobbin. He creaks!” said Michael, and he stamped his foot at his Mother.
“But Dobbin doesn’t go anywhere. We want real horses!” protested Jane.
“And I’m to provide them, I suppose!” Mr Banks strode, fuming, down the hall. “Three meals a day are not enough! Warm clothes and shoes are merely trifles! Now you want horses! Horses, indeed! Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a camel?”
Michael looked at his Father with a pained expression. Really, he thought, what shocking behaviour! But aloud he said patiently:
“No, thank you. Just horses!”
“Well, you’ll get them when the moon turns blue! That’s all I can say!” snapped Mr Banks.
“How often does that happen?” Jane enquired.
Mr Banks looked at her angrily. What stupid children I’ve got, he thought. Can’t understand a figure of speech!
“Oh – every thousand years or so. Once in a lifetime – if you’re lucky!” he said crossly. And, stuffing the cane into the Elephant’s Leg, he hooked the ash-stick over his arm and started for the City.
Mary Poppins smiled as she watched him go. A curious, secret smile it was, and the children wondered what it meant.
Mrs Banks came bustling up the kitchen stairs. “Oh, dear! Mary Poppins, what do you think! Miss Lark’s dog, Willoughby, has just been in and eaten a tyre off the perambulator!”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Mary Poppins calmly, as though nothing that Willoughby ever did could possibly surprise her.
“But what shall we do about the shopping?” Mrs Banks was almost in tears.
“I really couldn’t say, I’m sure.” Mary Poppins gave her head a toss, as though neither dogs nor perambulators were any concern of hers.
“Oh, must we go shopping?” grumbled Jane.
“I’m sick of walking,” said Michael crossly. “I’m sure it’s bad for my health.”
Mrs Banks took no notice of them. “Perhaps, Mary Poppins,” she suggested nervously, “you could leave Annabel at home today and take Robertson Ay to carry the parcels.”
“He’s asleep in the wheelbarrow,” Jane informed them. She had looked through the window, just after breakfast, and seen him taking his morning rest.