Mary Poppins Comes Back. P. Travers L.

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      They looked to the left. There was 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 the Duck 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.

      There was a tug at the string as the winding-stick turned in his hand.

      “She’s afloat!” cried the Keeper.

      Michael looked back. The Kite was sailing through the air, plunging steadily upwards. Higher and higher it dived, a tiny wisp of green-and-yellow bounding away into the blue. The Keeper’s eyes were popping.

      “I never saw such a kite. Not even when I was a boy,” he murmured, staring upwards.

      A light cloud came up over the sun and puffed across the sky.

      “It’s coming towards the Kite,” said Jane in an excited whisper.

      Up and up went the tossing tail, darting through the air until it seemed but a faint, dark speck on the sky. The cloud moved slowly towards it. Nearer, nearer …

      “Gone!” said Michael, as the speck disappeared behind the thin grey screen.

      Jane gave a little sigh. The Twins sat quietly in the perambulator. A curious stillness was upon them all. The taut string running up from Michael’s hand seemed to link them all to the cloud, and the earth to the sky. They waited, holding their breaths, for the Kite to appear again.

      Suddenly Jane could bear it no longer.

      “Michael,” she cried. “Pull it in! Pull it in!”

      Michael turned the stick and gave a long, strong pull. The string remained taut and steady. He pulled again, puffing and panting.

      “I can’t,” he said. “It won’t come.”

      “I’ll help!” said Jane. “Now – pull!”

      But, hard as they tugged, the string would not give, and the Kite remained hidden behind the cloud.

      “Let me!” said the Keeper importantly. “When I was a boy we did it this way.”

      And he put his hand on the string, just above Jane’s, and gave it a short, sharp jerk. It seemed to give a little.

      “Now – all together – pull!”

      The Keeper tossed off his hat, and planting their feet firmly on the grass, Jane and Michael pulled with all their might.

      “It’s coming!” panted Michael.

      Suddenly the string slackened, and a small whirling shape shot through the grey cloud and came floating down.

      “Wind her up!” the Keeper spluttered, glancing at Michael.

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