"My feet are cold, that's why! Now, not another word!"
He looked at Jane. Jane looked at him. They knew it was only half an answer. What was she up to tonight, they wondered. But Mary Poppins never explained. You might as well ask the Sphinx.
"Tick!" said the clock on the mantelpiece.
They were warm as toast inside their beds. And their beds were warm inside the nursery. And the nursery was warm inside the house. And the howling of the wind outside made it seem warmer still.
They leaned their cheeks upon their palms and let their eyelids fall.
"Tock!" said the clock on the mantelpiece.
But neither of them heard….
"What is it?" Jane murmured sleepily. "Who's scratching my nose?"
"It's me!" said Michael in a whisper. He was standing at the side of her bed with a wrinkled leaf in his hand.
"I've been scratching it for ages, Jane! The front door banged and woke me up and I found this on my pillow. Look! There's one on yours, too. And Mary Poppins' bed is empty and her coat and hat have gone!"
Jane took the leaves and ran to the window.
"Michael," she cried, "there was a message. One leaf says 'Come' and the other 'Tonight.'"
"But where has she gone? I can't see her!" He craned his neck and looked out.
All was quiet. The wind had dropped. Every house was fast asleep. And the full moon filled the world with light.
"Jane! There are shadows in the garden — and not a single person!"
He pointed to two little dark shapes — one in pyjamas, one in a nightgown — that were floating down the front path and through the garden railings.
Jane glanced at the nursery walls and ceiling. The night-light glowed like a bright eye. But in spite of that steady, watchful gleam there was not a single shadow!
"They're ours, Michael! Put something on. Quick — we must go and catch them!"
He seized a sweater and followed her, tip-toeing down the creaking stairs and out into the moonlight.
Cherry Tree Lane was calm and still, but from the Park came strains of music and trills of high-pitched laughter.
The children, clutching their brown leaves, dashed through the Lane Gate. And something, light as snow or feathers, fell upon Michael's shoulder. Something gentler than air brushed against Jane's cheek.
"Touched you last!" two voices cried. And they turned and beheld their shadows.
"But why did you run away?" asked Jane, gazing at the transparent face that looked so like her own.
"We're guests at the Party." Her shadow smiled.
"What party?" Michael demanded.
"It's Hallowe'en," his shadow told him. "The night when every shadow is free. And this is a very special occasion. For one thing, there's a full moon — and it falls on the Birthday Eve. But come along, we mustn't be late!"
And away the two little shadows flitted, with the children solidly running behind them.
The music grew louder every second, and as they darted round the laurels they beheld a curious sight.
The whole playground was thronged with shadows, each of them laughing and greeting the others and hopping about in the moonlight. And the strange thing was that, instead of lying flat on the ground, they were all standing upright. Long shadows, short shadows, thin shadows, fat shadows, were bobbing, hobnobbing, bowing, kowtowing, and passing in and out of each other with happy cries of welcome.
In one of the swings sat a helmeted shape, playing a concertina. It smiled and waved a shadowy hand, and Jane and Michael saw at once that it belonged to the Policeman.
"Got your invitations?" he cried. "No human beings allowed in without a special pass!"
Jane and Michael held up their leaves.
"Good!" The Policeman's shadow nodded. "Bless you!" he added, as a shape beside him was seized with a fit of sneezing.
Could it be Ellen's shadow? Yes — and blowing a shadowy nose!
"Good evening!" murmured a passing shape. "If any evening's good!"
Its dreary voice and long face reminded Jane of the Fishmonger. And surely the jovial shadow beside it belonged to the Family Butcher! A shadowy knife was in his hand, a striped apron about his waist, and he led along an airy figure with horns upon its head.
"Michael!" said Jane in a loud whisper. "I think that's the Dancing Cow!"
But Michael was too absorbed to answer. He was chatting to a furry shape that was lazily trimming its whiskers.
"My other part," it said, miaowing, "is asleep on the mantelpiece. So, of course — this being Hallowe'en — I took the evening off!" It adjusted a shadowy wreath of flowers that was looped about its neck.
"The Cat that looked at the King!" exclaimed Jane. She put out a hand to stroke its head, but all she felt was the air.
"Well, don't let him come near me!" cried a voice. "I've quite enough troubles as it is, without having cats to deal with."
A plump, bird-like shape tripped past, nodding abstractedly at the children.
"Poor old Cock Robin — and his troubles!" The shadowy Cat gave a shadowy yawn. "He's never got over that funeral and all the fuss there was."
"Cock Robin? But he's a Nursery Rhyme. He doesn't exist!" said Jane.
"Doesn't exist? Then why am I here?" The phantom bird seemed quite annoyed. "You can have a substance without a shadow, but you can't have a shadow without a substance — anyone knows that! And what about them — don't they exist?"
It waved a dark transparent wing at a group of airy figures — a tall boy lifting a flute to his mouth, and a bulky shape, with a crown on its head, clasping a bowl and a pipe. Beside them stood three phantom fiddlers holding their bows aloft.
A peal of laughter burst from Michael. "That's the shadow of Old King Cole. It's exactly like the picture!"
"And Tom, the Piper's son, too!" Cock Robin glared at Jane. "If they're shadows, they must be shadows of something—deny it if you can!"
"Balloons and balloons, my deary ducks! No arguing tonight!" A cosy little feminine shape, with balloons bobbing about her bonnet, whizzed through the air above them.
"Have the goodness, please, to be more careful. You nearly went through my hat!"
A trumpeting voice that was somehow familiar sounded amid the laughter. The children peered through the weaving crowd. Could it be? — yes, it was — Miss Andrew! Or rather, Miss Andrew's shadow. The same beaked nose, the same small eyes, the grey veil over the felt hat and the coat of rabbit fur.
"I haven't come from the South Seas to have my head knocked off!"
Shaking its fist at the Balloon Woman, Miss Andrew's shadow protested loudly. "And who's that pulling my veil?" it cried, turning on two little dark shapes, who dashed away, screaming with terror.
Jane and Michael nudged each other. "Ours!" they whispered, giggling.
"Make way! Move on! The Prime Minister's comin'!" A shadow in a peaked cap waved the children aside.
"Oh, it's you, is it? Well, remember the Bye-laws! Don't get in anyone's way." The phantom face — moustache and all — was exactly like the Park Keeper's.
"I thought you'd have been too frightened to come. You said it was spooky!" Jane reminded him.
"Oh, I'm not frightened, Miss — it's 'im. My body, so to speak. A very nervous chap 'e is — afraid of 'is own shadow. Ha, ha! Excuse my little joke! Make room! Move on! Observe the rules!"
The Prime Minister's shadow floated by, bowing to right and left.
"Greeting, friends! What a wonderful night. Dear me!" He stared at Jane and Michael. "You're very thick and lumpish!"
"Hsssst!" The shadow of the Park Keeper muttered in his ear. "Invitation… special occasion… friends of… whisper, whisper."