stretched, on either side of the Tramp, until he was only a tattered scrap between his lifting wings. They flapped for a moment above the trees, balancing strongly against the air, then with a sweeping sea-gull movement they bore him up and away.
'Oh, dear! Oh, dear!' the Goose-girl sighed, knitting her brows in a frown. For the Tramp had put her in an awkward predicament. She was almost — if not quite — convinced she was not the daughter of a King, and now — well look at him! All those feathers under his rags! If he was an angel, what was she? A goose-girl — or something grander?
Her mind was whirling. Which was true? Shaking her head in bewilderment, she glanced across the stream at the Swineherd, and the sight of him made her burst out laughing. Really, she couldn't help it.
There he sat, gazing up at the sky, with his curls standing on end with surprise, and his eyes as round as soup-plates.
'Ahem!' She gave a delicate cough. 'Perhaps it will not be necessary to fight the Dragon now!'
He turned to her with a startled look. Then he saw that she was smiling gently and his face suddenly cleared. He laughed and leapt across the stream.
'You shall have your golden crown,' he cried. 'I'll make it for you myself!'
'Gold is too heavy,' she said demurely, behind her ferny fan.
'Not my kind of gold.' The Swineherd smiled. He gathered a handful of buttercups, wove them into a little wreath and set it on her head.
And from that moment the question which was once so grave — were they goose-girl and swineherd, or prince and princess? — seemed to them not to matter. They sat there gazing at each other, forgetting everything else.
The geese, who were also quite amazed, glanced from the fading speck in the sky to their neighbours in the meadow.
'Poor pigs!' they murmured mockingly. 'Roast mutton with onion sauce!'
'You'll look pretty foolish,' the swine retorted, 'on an ornamental lake!'
But though they spoke harshly to each other, they could not help feeling, privately, that the Tramp had put them in a very tight corner.
Then an old goose gave a high-pitched giggle.
'What does it matter?' he cackled gaily. 'Whatever we are within ourselves, at least we
'True!' agreed an elderly pig. 'And
And at that, as though released from a burden, they all began to laugh. The field rang with their mingled cries and the larks looked down in wonder.
'What does it matter — cackle, cackle! What does it matter — ker-onk, ker-onk!'
'Hee-haw!' said the Ass, as he flung up his head and joined in the merry noise.
'Thinking about your fine oasis?' the Toad enquired sarcastically.
'Hee-haw! Hee-haw! I am indeed! What an ass I was, not to see it before. I've only just realised, Natterjack, that my oasis is not in the desert. Hee-haw! Hee-haw! It's under my hoof — here in this very field.'
'Then you're not an Arab steed after all?' the Toad enquired, with a jeer.
'Ah,' said the Ass, 'I wouldn't say that. Butnow' — he glanced at the flying figure—'I'm content with my disguise!'
He snatched at a buttercup hungrily as though he had galloped a long distance through a leafless, sandy land.
The Toad looked up with a wondering eye.
'Could
'That would have stunned a frog,' thought the Toad, 'but I, in my horny coat, felt nothing.' A gratified smile, very large and toothy, split his face in the middle. He thrust out his head and craned it upwards.
'Come on with your pebbles, boy!' he croaked. 'I've got my armour on!'
But the Boy did not hear the puddocky challenge. He was leaning back against the bridge, watching the Tramp on his broad wings flying into the sunset. Not with surprise — perhaps he was not yet old enough to be surprised at things — but his eyes had a look of lively interest.
He watched and watched till the sky grew dusky and the first stars twinkled out. And when the little flying speck was no longer even a speck, he drew a long, contented sigh and turned again to the earth.
That he was Corambo, he did not doubt. He had never doubted it. But now he knew he was other things, as well as a one-eyed pirate. And far above all — he rejoiced at it — he was just a bare-foot boy. And, moreover, a boy who was feeling peckish and ready for his supper.
'Come on!' he called to the Toy Monkey. He tucked it comfortably under his arm, with its tail around his wrist. And the two of them kept each other warm as they wandered home together.
The long day fell away behind him to join his other days. All he could think of now was the night. He could sense already the warmth of the kitchen, the sizzling pancakes on the stove and his mother bending above them. Her face, framed in its ring of curls, would be ruddy and weary — like the sun. For, indeed, as he had many times told her, the sun has a mother's face.
And presently, there he was on the doorstep and there was she as he had pictured her. He leaned against her checked apron and broke off a piece of pancake.
'Well, what have you been doing?' she smiled.
'Nothing,' he murmured contentedly.
For he knew — and perhaps she knew it too — that nothing is a useful word. It can mean exactly what you like — anything — everything….
The end of the story died away.
Mary Poppins sat still and silent.
Around her lay the motionless children, making never a sound. Her gaze, coming back from the far horizon, flickered across their quiet faces and over the head of the Park Keeper, as it nodded dreamily.
'Humph!' she remarked, with a haughty sniff. 'I recount a chapter of history and you all fall fast asleep!'
'I'm not asleep,' Jane reassured her. 'I'm thinking about the story.'
'I heard every word,' said Michael, yawning.
The Park Keeper rocked, as if in a trance. 'A Nexplorer in disguise,' he murmured, 'sittin' in the midnight sun and climbin' the North Pole!'
'Ouch!' cried Michael, starting up. 'I felt a drop on my nose!'
'And I felt one on my chin,' said Jane.
They rubbed their eyes and looked about them. The syrupy sun had disappeared and a cloud was creeping over the Park. Plop! Plop! Patter, patter! The big drops drummed on the leaves.
The Park Keeper opened his eyes and stared.
'It's rainin'!' he cried in astonishment. 'And me with no umbrella!'
He glanced at the dangling shape on the bough and darted towards the parrot.
'Oh, no, you don't!' said Mary Poppins. Quick as a needle, she grasped the handle.
'I've a long way to go and me chest is bad and I oughtn't to wet me feet!' The Park Keeper gave her a pleading glance.
'Then you'd better not go to the North Pole!' She snapped the parrot umbrella open and gathered up Annabel. 'The Equator — that's the place for you!' She turned away with a snort of contempt.
'Wake up, John and Barbara, please! Jane and Michael, take the rug and wrap it round yourselves and the Twins.'
Raindrops bigger than sugar-plums were tumbling all about them. They drummed and thumped on the
