"But shadows are so much nicer!" his shadow said with a giggle.
"Fred! Fred!" hissed an anxious voice, as a head in an old-fashioned nightcap came round the edge of a laurel.
"Benjamin!" the Park Keeper cried. "What do you think you're doin'?"
"Searching for my shadow, Fred," said the Keeper of the Zoological Gardens. "It ran away when I wasn't looking. And I dare not face the Head Keeper unless I have it with me! A-a-ah!" He made a swoop with his net.
"Got you!" he cried, triumphantly, as he scooped up a flying shape.
His shadow gave a ghostly laugh, clear and high and tinkling.
"You've got me, Benjamin!" it trilled. "But you haven't got my treasures. You shan't have them to put in a cage—they're going where they belong!"
Out of the net came an airy hand. And a cluster of tiny flitting shapes sped away through the sky. One alone fluttered over the dancers as though looking for something. Then it darted down towards the grass and settled on the left shoulder of Mary Poppins' shadow.
"A birthday gift!" piped a voice from the net, as the Keeper of the Zoological Gardens carried his shadow home.
"A butterfly for a birthday!" The friendly shadows whooped with delight.
"That's all very well," said a cheerful voice. "Butterflies is all right in their place—but what about my birdies?"
Along the path came a buxom woman, with a tossing, cooing crowd of doves tumbling all about her. There was one on her hat, one on her shawl; a dove's bright eye peered out from her pocket and another from under her skirt.
"Mum!" said the Park Keeper, anxiously. "It's late for you to be out."
Keeping a firm hold of his shadow, he hurried to her side.
"I know it, lad. But I 'ad to come. I don't so much mind about my own—but my birdies 'ave lost their shadders!"
"Excuse me, lovies!" said the Bird Woman's shadow, as she smiled at Jane and Michael. "But I 'ave to go where I belong—that's the law, you know. Hey, old dear!" it called softly. "Lookin for me, I wonder?"
"I shouldn't wonder if I was!" The Bird Woman gave her shadow a calm and humorous glance. "I got the birds, you got the shadders. And it's not for me to say which is best—but they ought to be together."
Her shadow lightly waved its hand and the Bird Woman gave a contented chuckle. For now, beneath each grey dove, a dark shadow was flying.
"Feed the birds!" she shouted gaily.
"Tuppence a bag!" said her shadow.
"Tuppence, fourpence, sixpence, eightpence—that makes twenty-four. No, it doesn't. What's the matter? I've forgotten how to add!"
Mr. Banks came slowly across the Park with his bathrobe over his shoulders. His arms were stretched out straight before him and he walked with his eyes closed.
"We're here, daddy!" cried Jane and Michael. But Mr. Banks took no notice.
"I've got my bag and the morning paper—and yet there's something missing——"
"Take him home, someone!" the shadows cried. "He's walking in his sleep!"
And one of them—in a shadowy coat and bowler hat—sprang to Mr. Banks' side.
"There, old chap! I'll do the counting. Come along back to bed."
Mr. Banks turned obediently and his sleeping face lit up.
"I thought there was something missing," he murmured. "But it seems I was mistaken!" He took his shadow by the arm and sauntered away with it.
"Seeking's finding—eh, ducky?" The Bird Woman nudged her shadow. "Oh, beg pardon, Your Worship." She bobbed a curtsey. "I wasn't addressin' you!"
For the Lord Mayor and two Aldermen were advancing along the Walk. Their big cloaks billowed out behind them and their chains of office jingled.
"I 'ope I find Your Honour well?" the Bird Woman murmured politely.
"You do not, Mrs. Smith," the Lord Mayor grumbled. "I am feeling very upset."
"Upset, my boy?" shrieked Mrs. Corry, dancing past with the Cow. "Well, an apple a day keeps the doctor away, as I used to remind my great-great-grandson who was thrice Lord Mayor of London. Whittington, his name was. Perhaps you've heard of him?"
"Your great-great-grandfather you mean——" The Lord Mayor looked at her haughtily.
"Fiddlesticks! Indeed, I don't. Well, what's upsetting you?"
"A terrible misfortune, ma'am. I've lost——" He glanced around the Park and his eyes bulged in his head.
"That!" he cried, flinging out his hand. For there, indeed, was his portly shadow, doing its best to conceal itself behind Fannie and Annie.
"Oh, bother!" it wailed. "What a nuisance you are! Couldn't you let me have one night off? If you knew how weary I am of processions! And as for going to see the King——"
"Certainly not!" said the Lord Mayor, "I could never agree to appear in public without a suitable shadow. Such a suggestion is most improper and, what is more, undignified."
"Well, you needn't be so high and mighty. You're only a Lord Mayor, you know—not the Shah of Baghdad!"
"Hic-Hic!" The Park Keeper stifled a snigger and the Lord Mayor turned to him sternly.
"Smith," he declared, "this is your fault. You know the rules and you break them all. Giving a party in the Park! What next, I wonder? I'm afraid there's nothing for it, Smith, but to speak to the Lord High Chancellor!"
"It's not my party, Yer Worship—please! Give me another chance, Yer Honour. Think of me pore old——"
"Don't you worry about me, Fred!" The Bird Woman snapped her fingers sharply.
And at once the doves clapped their wings and swooped towards the Lord Mayor. They sat on his head, they sat on his nose, they tucked their tail-feathers down his neck and fluttered inside his cloak.
"Oh, don't! I'm a ticklish man! Hee, hee!" The Lord Mayor, quite against his will, burst into helpless laughter.
"Remove these birds at once, Smith! I won't be tickled—oh, ha, ha!"
He laughed, he crowed, he guffawed, he tittered, ducking and whirling among the dancers as he tried to escape the doves.
"Not under my chin!—Oh, oh!—Have mercy! Oof! There's one inside my sleeve. Oh, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, hee! Dear me! Is that you, Miss Mary Poppins? Well, that makes all the—tee-hee!—difference. You're so re—ho, ho!—spectable." The Lord Mayor writhed as the soft feathers rustled behind his ears.
"What a wonderful party you're having!" he shrieked. "Ha, ha! Ho, ho! I should have come sooner. Listen! I hear my favourite tune—'Over the hills and far away!' Hee, hee! Ha, ha! And far away!"
"Is there anything the matter, your honour?" The Policeman, with Ellen on his arm, strode towards the revels.
"There is!" The Lord Mayor giggled wildly. "I'm ticklish and I can't stop laughing. Everything seems so terribly funny—and you in particular. Do you realise you've lost your shadow? It's over there on a swing—hee, hee!—playing a concertina!"
"No shadow, sir? A concertina?" The Policeman gaped at the Lord Mayor as though he had lost his wits. "Nobody's got a shadow, your honour. And shadows don't play on concertinas—at least, not to my knowledge."
"Don't be so—tee-hee!—silly, man. Everyone's got a shadow!"
"Not at this moment they haven't, your worship! There's a cloud coming over the moon!"
"Alas! A cloud! It came too soon! When shall we meet again?"
A shadowy wailing filled the air. For even as the Policeman spoke, the bright moon veiled her face.
Darkness dropped like a cloak on the scene and before the eyes of the watching children every shadow vanished. The merry music died away. And as silence fell upon the Park the steeples above the sleeping city rang their midnight chime.
"Our time is up!" cried the plaintive voices. "Hallowe'en's over! Away, away!"
Light as a breeze, past Jane and Michael, the invisible shadows swept.
"Farewell!" said one.
"Adieu!" another.
And a third at the edge of Jane's ear piped a note on his flute.
"Feed the birds, tuppence a bag!" The Bird Woman whistled softly. And the doves crept out of th
e Lord Mayor's sleeve and from under the brim of his hat.
Nine! Ten! Eleven! Twelve! The bells of midnight ceased.
"Farewell! Farewell!" called the fading voices.
"Over the hills and far away!" came the far-off fluting echo.
"Oh, Tom, the Piper's son," cried Jane. "When shall we see you again?"
Then something softer than air touched them, enfolded them and drew them away.
"Who are you?" they cried in the falling night. They seemed to be floating on wings of darkness, over the Park and home.
And the answer came from without and within them.
"Your other selves—your shadows..."
"Hrrrrrumph!" The Lord Mayor gave himself a shake as though he were coming out of a dream.
"Farewell!" he murmured, waving his hand. "Though who—or what—I'm saying it to, I really do not know. I seemed to be part of a beautiful party. All so merry! But where have they gone?"
"I expect you're over-tired, your worship!" The Policeman, closely followed by Ellen, drew him away to the Long Walk and the gate that led to the City.
Behind them marched the Aldermen, solemn and disapproving.
"I expect I am," the Lord Mayor said. "But it didn't feel like that..."
The Park Keeper glanced around the Park and took his mother's arm. Darkness filled the sky like a tide. In all the world, as far as his watchful eyes could see, there were only two points of light.
"That there star," he said, pointing, "and the night-light in Number Seventeen—if you look at 'em long enough, mum, you can 'ardly tell which is which!"
The Bird Woman drew her doves about her and smiled at him comfortably.
"Well, one's the shadder of the other! Let's be goin', lad..."
Michael came slowly in to breakfast, looking back over his shoulder. And slowly, slowly, a dark shape followed him over the floor.
"My shadow's here—is yours, Jane?"
"Yes," she said, sipping her milk. She had been awake a long time, smiling at her shadow. And it seemed to her, as the sun shone in, that her shadow was smiling back.
"And where else would they be, pray? Take your porridge, please."
Mary Poppins, in a fresh white apron, crackled into the room. She was carrying her best blue coat and the hat with the crimson tulip.
"Well—sometimes they're in the Park," said Jane. She gave the white apron a cautious glance. What would it say to that? she wondered.
The coat went on to its hook with a jerk and the hat seemed to leap to its paper bag.
"In the Park—or the garden—or up a tree! A shadow goes wherever you go. Don't be silly, Jane."
"But sometimes they escape, Mary Poppins." Michael reached for the sugar. "Like ours, last night, at the Hallowe'en Party!"
"Hallowe'en Party?" she said, staring. And you would have thought, to look at her, she had never heard those words before.
"Yes," he said rashly, taking no notice. "But your shadow never runs away—does it, Mary Poppins?"
She glanced across at the nursery mirror and met her own reflection. The blue eyes glowed, the pink cheeks shone and the mouth wore a small complacent smile.
"Why should it want to?" she said, sniffing. Run away? The idea!
"Not for a thousand pounds!" cried Michael. And the memory of the night's adventure bubbled up inside him. "Oh, how I laughed at the Lord Mayor!" He spluttered at the very thought. "And Mrs. Corry! And Goosey Gander!"
"And you, Mary Poppins," giggled Jane. "Hopping about all over the Park—and the butterfly on your shadow's shoulder!"
Michael and Jane looked at each other and roared with mirth. They flung back their heads and held their sides and rolled around in their chairs.
"Oh, dear! I'm choking! How funny it was!"
"Indeed?"
A voice as sharp as an icicle brought them up with a jerk.
They stopped in the middle of a laugh and tried to compose their faces. For the bright blue eyes of Mary Poppins were wide with shocked surprise.
"Hopping about? With a butterfly? At night? In a public place? Do you sit there, Jane and Michael Banks, and call me a kangaroo?"
This, they could see, was the last straw. The camel's back was broken.
"Sitting on Goosey Gander's shoulder? Hopping and flying all over the Park—is that what you're trying to tell me?"
"Well, not like a kangaroo, Mary Poppins. But you were hopping, I think——" Michael plunged for the right word as she glared at him over the teapot. But the sight of her face was too much for him. Out of the corner of his eye he looked across at Jane.
"Help me!" he cried to her silently. "Surely we did not dream it?"
But Jane, from the corner of her eye, was looking back at him. "No, it was true!" she seemed to say. For she gave her head a little shake and pointed towards the floor.
Michael looked down.
There lay Mary Poppins' shadow, neatly spread out upon the carpet. Jane's shadow and his own were leaning up against it, and upon its shoulder, black in the sun, was a shadowy butterfly.
"Oh!" cried Michael joyfully, dropping his spoon with a clatter.
"Oh, what?" said Mary Poppins tartly, glancing down at the floor.
She looked from the butterfly to Michael and then from Michael to Jane. And the porridge grew cold on their three plates as they all gazed at each other. Nothing was said—there was nothing to say. There were things, they knew, that could not be told. And, anyway, what did it matter? The three linked shadows on the floor understood it all.
"It's your birthday, isn't it, Mary Poppins?" said Michael at last, with a grin.
"Many happy returns, Mary Poppins!" Jane gave her hand a pat.
A pleased smile crept about her mouth, but she pursed her lips to prevent it.
"Who told you that?" she enquired, sniffing. As if she didn't know!
But Michael was full of joy and courage. If Mary Poppins never explained, why, indeed, should he? He only shook his head and smiled.
"I wonder!" he said, in a priggish voice exactly like her own.
"Impudence!" She sprang at him. But he darted, laughing, away from the table, out of the nursery and down the stairs, with Jane close at his heels.
Along the garden path they ran, through the gate and over the Lane and into the waiting Park.
The morning air was bright and clear, the birds were singing their autumn songs, and the Park Keeper was coming towards them with a late rose stuck in his cap....
Chelsea, London March 1952
G. I. E. D.
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P. L. TRAVERS (1906–1996) was a drama critic, travel essayist, reviewer, lecturer, and the creator of Mary Poppins. Travers wrote eight Mary Poppins books altogether, including Mary Poppins (1934), Mary Poppins Comes Back (1935), Mary Poppins Opens the Door (1943), and Mary Poppins in the Park (1952), all from Harcourt Brace. Ms. Travers wrote several other children's books as well as adult books, but it is for the character of Mary Poppins that she is best remembered.
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P. L. Travers, Mary Poppins in the Park
(Series: # )
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