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He clutched the bed-clothes for support.
“Don’t say any more, Michael!” Jane whispered warningly across from her bed. But he had gone too far now to stop.
“Then – where’s my Kite—” he said recklessly. “If you didn’t come down – er, in the way I said – where’s my Kite? It’s not on the end of the string.”
“O-ho? And I am, I suppose?” she enquired with a scoffing laugh.
He saw then that it was no good going on. He could not explain. He would have to give it up.
“N-no,” he said, in a thin voice. “No, Mary Poppins.”
She turned and snapped out the electric light.
“Your manners,” she remarked tartly, “have not improved since I went away! On the end of a string, indeed! I have never been so insulted in my life. Never!”
And with a furious sweep of her arm, she turned down her bed and flounced into it, pulling the blankets right over her head.
Michael lay very quiet, still holding his bed-clothes tightly.
“She did, though, didn’t she? We saw her,” he whispered presently to Jane.
But Jane did not answer. Instead, she pointed towards the Night-Nursery door.
Michael lifted his head cautiously.
Behind the door, on a hook, hung Mary Poppins’ overcoat, its silver buttons gleaming in the glow of the nightlight. And, dangling from the pocket, were a row of paper tassels, the tassels of a green-and-yellow Kite.
They gazed at it for a long time.
Then they nodded across to each other. They knew there was nothing to be said, for there were things about Mary Poppins they would never understand. But – she was back again. That was all that mattered.
The even sound of her breathing came floating across from the camp bed. They felt peaceful and happy and complete.
“I don’t mind, Jane, if it has a purple tail,” hissed Michael presently.
“No, Michael!” said Jane. “I really think a red would be better.”
After that there was no sound in the Nursery but the sound of five people breathing very quietly. . .
“P-p! P-p!” went Mr Banks’ pipe.
“Click-click!” went Mrs Banks’ knitting-needles.
Mr Banks put his feet up on the study mantelpiece and snored a little.
After a while, Mrs Banks spoke.
“Do you still think of taking a long sea-voyage?” she asked.
“Er – I don’t think so. I am rather a bad sailor. And my hat’s all right now. I had the whole of it polished by the Shoe-Black at the corner and it looks as good as new. Even better. Besides, now that Mary Poppins is back, my Shaving-Water will be just the right temperature.”
Mrs Banks smiled to herself and went on knitting.
She felt very glad that Mr Banks was such a bad sailor and that Mary Poppins had come back. . .
Down in the Kitchen, Mrs Brill was putting a fresh bandage round Ellen’s ankle.
“I never thought much of her when she was here,” said Mrs Brill. “But I must say that this has been a different house since this afternoon. As quiet as a Sunday and as neat as Ninepence. I’m not sorry she’s back.”
“Neither am I, indeed!” said Ellen thankfully.
“And neither am I!” thought Robertson Ay, listening to the conversation through the wall of the broom cupboard. “Now I shall have a little peace!”
He settled himself comfortably on the upturned coal-scuttle and fell asleep again with his head against a broom.
But what Mary Poppins thought about it nobody ever knew, for she kept her thoughts to herself and never told anyone anything. . .
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