Mary Poppins Comes Back

scales for three hours every morning before breakfast and Mr. Banks did not care for music.

'And then,' sobbed Mrs. Banks to her handkerchief, 'there was Jane's attack of measles, and the bath-room geyser bursting and the Cherry Trees ruined by frost and—'

'If you please, m'm—!' Mrs. Banks looked up to find Mrs. Brill, the cook, at her side.

'The kitchen flue's on fire!' said Mrs. Brill gloomily.

'Oh, dear. What next?' cried Mrs. Banks. 'You must tell Robertson Ay to put it out. Where is he?'

'Asleep, m'm, in the broom-cupboard. And when that boy's asleep, nothing'll wake him — not if it's an Earthquake, or a regiment of Tom-toms,' said Mrs. Brill, as she followed Mrs. Banks down the kitchen stairs.

Between them they managed to put out the fire but that was not the end of Mrs. Banks' troubles.

She had no sooner finished luncheon than a crash, followed by a loud thud, was heard from upstairs.

'What is it now?' Mrs. Banks rushed out to see what had happened.

'Oh, my leg, my leg!' cried Ellen, the housemaid.

She sat on the stairs, surrounded by broken china, groaning loudly.

'What is the matter with it?' said Mrs. Banks sharply.

'Broken!' said Ellen dismally, leaning against the banisters.

'Nonsense, Ellen! You've sprained your ankle, that's all!'

But Ellen only groaned again.

'My leg is broken! What will I do?' she wailed, over and over again.

At that moment the shrill cries of the Twins sounded from the nursery. They were fighting for the possession of a blue celluloid duck. Their screams rose thinly above the voices of Jane and Michael, who were painting pictures on the wall and arguing as to whether a green horse should have a purple or a red tail. And through this uproar there sounded, like the steady beat of a drum, the groans of Ellen the housemaid. 'My leg is broken! What shall I do?'

'This,' said Mrs. Banks, rushing upstairs, 'is the Last Straw!'

She helped Ellen to bed and put a cold water bandage round her ankle. Then she went up to the Nursery.

Jane and Michael rushed at her.

'It should have a red tail, shouldn't it?' demanded Michael.

'Oh, Mother! Don't let him be so stupid. No horse has a red tail, has it?'

'Well, what horse has a purple tail? Tell me that!' he screamed.

'My duck!' shrieked John, snatching the duck from Barbara.

'Mine, mine, mine!' cried Barbara, snatching it back again.

'Children! Children!' Mrs. Banks was wringing her hands in despair. 'Be quiet or I shall Go Mad!'

There was silence for a moment as they stared at her with interest. Would she really? They wondered. And what would she be like if she did?

'Now,' said Mrs. Banks. 'I will not have this behaviour. Poor Ellen has hurt her ankle, so there is nobody to look after you. You must all go into the Park and play there till Tea-time. Jane and Michael, you must look after the little ones. John, let Barbara have the duck now and you can have it when you go to bed. Michael, you may take your new kite. Now, get your hats, all of you!'

'But I want to finish my horse—' began Michael crossly.

'Why must we go to the Park?' complained Jane. 'There's nothing to do there!'

'Because,' said Mrs. Banks, 'I must have peace. And if you will go quietly and be good children there will be cocoanut cakes for tea.'

And before they had time to break out again, she had put on their hats and was hurrying them down the stairs.

'Look both ways!' she called as they went through the gate, Jane pushing the Twins in the perambulator and Michael carrying his kite.

They looked to the right. There was nothing coming.

They looked to the left. Nobody there but the Ice Cream Man who was jingling his bell at the end of the Lane.

Jane hurried across.

Michael trailed after her.

'I hate this life,' he said miserably to his kite. 'Everything always goes wrong always.'

Jane pushed the perambulator as far as the Lake.

'Now,' she said, 'give me the duck!'

The Twins shrieked and clutched it at either end. Jane uncurled their fingers.

'Look!' she said, throwing the duck into the Lake. 'Look, darlings, it's going to India!'

The duck drifted off across the water. The Twins stared at it and sobbed.

Jane ran round the Lake and caught it and sent it off again.

'Now,' she said brightly, 'it's off to Southampton!'

The Twins did not appear to be amused.

'Now to New York!' They wept harder than ever.

Jane flung out her hands. 'Michael, what are we to do with them? If we give it to them they'll fight over it and if we don't they'll go on crying.'

'I'll fly the Kite for them,' said Michael. 'Look, children, look!'

He held up the beautiful green-and-yellow Kite and began to unwind the string. The Twins eyed it tearfully and without interest. He lifted the Kite above his head and ran a little way. It flapped along the air for a moment and then collapsed hollowly on the grass.

'Try again!' said Jane encouragingly.

'You hold it up while I run,' said Michael.

This time the Kite rose a little higher. But, as it floated, its long tasselled tail caught in the branches of a lime tree and the Kite dangled limply among the leaves.

The Twins howled lustily.

'Oh, dear!' said Jane. 'Nothing goes right nowadays.'

'Hullo, hullo, hullo! What's all this?' said a voice behind them.

They turned and saw the Park Keeper, looking very smart in his uniform and peaked cap. He was prodding up stray pieces of paper with the sharp end of his walking stick.

Jane pointed to the lime tree. The Keeper looked up. His face became very stern.

'Now, now, you're breaking the rules! We don't allow Litter here, you know — not on the ground nor in the trees neither. This won't do at all!'

'It isn't litter. It's a Kite,' said Michael.

A mild, soft, foolish look came over the Keeper's face. He went up to the lime tree.

'A Kite? So it is. And I haven't flown a Kite since I was a boy!' He sprang up into the tree and came down holding the Kite tenderly under his arm.

'Now,' he said excitedly, 'we'll wind her up and give her a run and away she'll go!' He put out his hand for the winding-stick.

Michael clutched it firmly.

'Thank you, but I want to fly it myself.'

'Well, but you'll let me help, won't you?' said the Keeper humbly. 'Seeing as I got it down and I haven't flown a Kite since I was a boy?'

'All right,' said Michael, for he didn't want to seem unkind.

'Oh, thank you, thank you!' cried the Keeper gratefully. 'Now, I take the Kite and walk ten paces down the green. And when I say 'Go!', you run. See!'

The Keeper walked away, counting his steps out loud.

'Eight, nine, ten.'

He turned and raised the Kite above his head. 'Go!'

Michael began to run.

'Let her out!' roared the Keeper.