Every day, even if they didn't speak—if Katie Nana kept too sharp an eye on Jane, or Jack was behind on his leerie duties and had to rush by—the two children, street and posh, would wave at one another. At least once. It wasn't ever at dawn, because Jane was always asleep (though Jack would pause at the lamp beneath the nursery window in hopes she might be up after all). But at night, if she could get away, Jane would peek out to see him turn on the lamp. She always seemed to find it fascinating when they were young. And he would catch her at it, hardly ever missed, and immediately his dazzle-smile would spring up and so would his hand.

Michael was Jane's brother, and once he learned that the lamps did not come on by themselves every night, nor turn off by themselves every day, he too would appear at the window or on the balcony and wave with Jane. Jack only spoke to Michael once in between years or months. It would always go something like this:

"Hello, Jack."

"Hullo, Master Michael."

"How many lamps has it been today?"

Jack would respond accordingly.

"Can I light the lamp tonight, Jack?"

"Better not, Master Michael." Or, "Not tonight, I don't think." Or, "It takes a careful 'and, you know!"

"But why not?"

The reason was simple, and it was the same every time. When the two boys had officially met one afternoon, when Jack was on his way to tea with Bert, Michael had at first made fun of Jack's profession. But when Jack showed him the specifics of the job, Michael had a sudden change of heart, deemed it his life's calling, and asked to be shown how to do it also. They were just getting to the part about the wick and the gas and the magic when Katie Nana arrived on the scene. She was so distressed by Michael's association with the ladder and the flame that she called Jack a "wretched and informal influence, I'm sure", which sounded bad. Then she threatened to have a policeman stationed beside the lamppost until nightfall, so that Michael would not be tempted to meet Jack on his rounds and assist him in a job that was apparently very dangerous, and not suitable for Mr. Banks' only son.

After that, Jack always found some way to deter Michael from helping him. He did not want his position as an apprentice leerie to Cherry Tree Lane taken from him, and worse, given to someone else at Katie Nana's request. Then the Banks family would be closed off to him forever, and so would Admiral Boom's cannons, and so would the cherry blossoms. Secretly, both boys understood Michael could never light the lamp, though they never talked about Katie Nana's interference. Michael simply behaved as though it had not happened, and Jack followed suit, and this led to the same unnecessary conversation whenever the two met. Jack didn't mind; he liked talking to Michael as much as he liked talking to anyone.

By and by, the Banks children stopped appearing so often at the window. Sometimes they would pass by it on the way downstairs, or to wash up, and if Jack saw them there the wave would take place and that would be all. It was enough for Jack, who was very busy as Bert's apprentice and could not stay on Cherry Tree Lane for long—too many lamps around London, too many side jobs to be taught by the Match-Man. It must have been enough for Jane, too, because they hardly had any real time talking together for a good while after that first spring. And it was certainly enough for Michael; he seemed to regard Jack in the same way he regarded the nest of robins in the tree outside the house. Something constant, something he was too used to to really pay much attention to after a few months.

Despite business on both sides of the lamppost, Jack always made sure he waved. And the Banks siblings always waved back.

It was Jane Jack looked for first. He did like Michael. But Michael looked almost nothing like the angels in cathedral windows, and Jack could not forget the sparkling feeling Jane had given him the night he had first seen her. By the time he was ten, he was positively leaping off of his bike to reach Number Seventeen's lamp. He would linger on the ladder far longer than he would at any of the other posts, waiting for a glimpse of blonde hair, waiting to raise a hand in greeting. Bert saw all of this and did not seem to think it as funny as some of the other handymen did, if they ever noticed. Bert only tilted his head to one side, smiled at the ground, and whistled ever louder, loftier, carrying on without mentioning Jack's zeal. Jack had even begun to associate the stars (when they were out) with Jane, because the second time they spoke, she had told him all about where stars were said to have come from, and it was the first time in his young life he had won an argument. But he didn't really think of it as an argument.

"Katie Nana says they're balls of gas," she had explained, staying safely inside the nursery and calling to him from the window, holding a wooden horse and no intention of putting it away when she had finished with it. "Like the gas in the lamps."

"Only gas?" Jack's eyes had screwed up and he crossed both arms comfortably over the top of the lamp, lounging on the ladder. "Now that don't seem likely," he had replied, trying not to sound scornful.

"Well, that's what she says." Jane fiddled with the horse's yarn mane. "But," she added, raising her voice to be sure he could still hear her, "how can she be wrong? She's a grown-up. Grown-ups know all sorts of things!"

"I know a grown-up wot says stars are magic, too, like lamps is magic. Not little bits of gas. Here, how does gas get all the way up there?" Jack's head twisted round to the gloomy sky above.

Jane had pursed her lips. "I don't know. It's just what Katie Nana said."

He didn't like to quarrel with anyone, but it especially prickled and prodded him to argue with the lovely creature on the balcony. He was a tender little thing, and he liked Jane too much to press his side. He simply shrugged his shoulders a tiny bit and resumed wiping down the lamp's glass door. Stalling so that he could stay beneath Number Seventeen a while longer.

Then Jane shrugged too. "All right," she decided slowly. "I suppose they could be magic—really."

So sometimes, when Bert navigated through the rooftops of London, teaching Jack the jungles of the air, the leerie boy would check that there were stars out and be sure to smile for Jane. She wouldn't see the smile, but he could smile at a star and hope that the star saw it, and would pass it on to Jane because of their shared belief in its magic. Bert always said that believing in magic was a very important thing, and yielded its own rewards. His eyes got especially twinkly whenever he said this.

When Jack was eleven, bordering on twelve, Bert taught him a new trick. And it wasn't a Sweep trick, either, or a leerie trick, or a sidewalk-chalk or one-man-band trick. It was a special trick, something he said Jack would only have found useful now that he was "nigh-twelve".

Bert had taught Jack how to sing a tune for any occasion, how to dance even when it was too dark to see your feet, and had given him pockets full of stories to tell and remember for years to come. This tip was simpler. It held a different purpose. And it was the sort of silly thing a boy didn't need, but that he never forgot once he found it worked.

The two of them were having their supper while sitting in the Park. Supper was a corned beef sandwich each, from the market, and a special jar of marmalade they'd sweet-talked out of an older gent at his booth. Jack was saving the jar of marmalade; it was orange-flavored and he wanted it for dessert before bed that night.

Really, it was just Jack having supper by now. Bert was playing his harmonica, cap on the ground, almost six copper pieces deep. He had finished his sandwich early and seemed restless.

"No idle hands 'ere," Bert had told Jack cheerily, springing up. "Or idle lips." And the harmonica began a low, sweet evening tune.

A pair of ladies approached them, skirts swishing. As Jack watched, one of them glanced Bert's way, and she almost smiled. Bert had told him that a smile was half the battle of receiving a copper piece for your efforts. Once you got the smile, you could start on eye contact, and once you had both of those, the Sweep seemed to think there was very little chance the audience would be able to resist dropping a coin.

But the lady's mouth remained straight instead of turning up. The other woman didn't even notice the boys by the bench. They got closer, and Bert caught the first girl's eye for a second time, still playing away.

He winked at her. It was like he'd handed her a new gown—the lady's face sparkled to life and she beamed at Bert. From her hand-purse she retrieved the sacred metal and it tumbled affectionately into the upturned cap.

Unable to thank them aloud and continue playing, Bert dipped his head and played louder, higher, happier.

Jack watched them walk away. He even heard the second lady chuckling. Turning in awe to his mentor, he said, "How'd you manage that?"

Bert tucked the harmonica jauntily into a back pocket and sat beside him. "It's me own sort o' special magic, you might say. If ever someone's having a rough go of it—ladies and children alike, mind—a kind wink'll make a world o' difference, that's what I say."

"That's brilliant." Jack grinned. "Does it always work?"

"Aw, some days it's a bit of a chore," Bert admitted. "But once you've got it, it's like carrying a candle through the streets on Christmas night. People can't help bein' pulled in. 'Course, it works best on the ladies." He swiped at his nose with a thumb, feigning nonchalance.

Jack, chortling, chewed thoughtfully for a moment.

"An' something else," added the Sweep, with a sideways look at his apprentice. "Winks are fine for gettin' yourself a smile, but it's the gen-u-wine character afterwards wot keeps 'em engaged, so to speak."

"How d'you mean?" Jack left his sandwich's wrapper on the bench beside him, unconsciously leaning in.

"Mannerisms. Charm goes a long way, Master Jack." Bert spread his hands. "Song and dance to woo a lady's a treat indeed, but if you ask me, it's all in the little things. A wink here, a joke there. Carryin' her things for her, walkin' her to the market, liftin' your hat—"

"Liftin' your hat?" Jack's eyebrows rose.

Bert's smile grew cheeky, and he snatched his cap from the ground quick as blinking. Putting the coins in Jack's fist, he yanked the cap on tight, turned around, and strolled down the path, away from the bench. Then he made an exaggerated whirl and began positively strutting back down toward Jack, acting as though he had been coming from this direction all along. He was whistling his favorite One-Man-Band tune, and his eyes were twinklier than ever.

Jack sat on the back of the bench with his feet on its seat, making sure a policeman wasn't watching him do it. He'd been kicked off of benches for less, but this was the best way to sit. Arms slung over his knees, he couldn't keep his smile away as his mentor put on a show of stepping past him.

When Bert came fully in front of the boy, he turned and offered his hand. "A right fine evenin' to ya, sir!"

Jack took his hand, masterfully resisting the urge to laugh. "Lovely night it is, guvnor!"

"I hope the missus is well?"

The boy drew his eyebrows down seriously. "Got a bit of a cough, I'm afraid, but I daresay she'll bounce back."

"Sorry to hear it, I am," Bert pouted. "Well, 'ere's to her and good luck with it!"

"Thank you, sir, and you!"

After many more hearty shakes of the hand, Bert took off his cap, rolled it down one arm and back up again, caught it in midair, and fastened it firmly upon its original perch. It happened so quickly, so artfully, Jack leaped to his feet. The fancy maneuver brought such a light to his face, he wondered if Bert hadn't brought his wick with him. Their pretend identities melted away as he let out a low whistle of his own.

"I wouldn't mind learnin' that, Bert," he told the other man earnestly.

"Oh, I can teach ya, 'course I can," Bert sniffed, straightening his lapels. "But best start with a simple tip of the hat, don't you think?"

"I could do it, I know I could!"

"One step at a time, Master Jack, proper way to begin—"

So he taught Jack how to tip his cap, not obscuring his vision or making the hat crooked when he'd finished, and doing it quickly and neatly too. It wasn't a difficult thing to learn; the real trick was to make it look as if you were doing it accompanied by a jolly little song, a beat only you could hear. Lifting the cap was similar, and at first Jack was self-conscious of his hair when the cap came off after a long day of wearing it. But it was such a fun thing to do, over and over, and so satisfying to preform once you really got the knack of it, he stopped worrying.

"That's the ticket!" Bert cheered after Jack's best go at both. "Add a wink now an' again an' no frown stands a chance against you, my boy!"

"D'you think tomorrow," Jack pleaded as they left the Park, "I could learn the rolling bit?"

"Oh, depends."

"On what?"

"You plannin' on sharin' that marmalade there?"

"Got yourself a bargain!"

A day or so later, Jack got the chance to try out his new trick on a proper audience.

"Say now," Bert had said as they came out of the Admiral's ship-home one afternoon, filthy from cleaning out the chimney. "Isn't that the girl wot smiles at us from her window now an' again?" He gestured discreetly to the other side of the street.

Jane Banks was walking obediently behind Katie Nana, her brother nowhere in sight. A ladies' outing. They had come home from the grocer's; both were laden with paper bags and parcels. Katie Nana was looking more and more harassed by the Banks children every time the handymen saw her. Jane seemed to be carrying a particularly heavy brown package. At age eleven, her hair had gotten much longer than when Jack had last laid eyes on her, and her dress today was pale peach-colored. He marveled at how tall she'd become, though he was sure that her eyes would be the same.

There was only one way to find out.

He started down the street, opened his mouth giddily to call a greeting to his old acquaintance, but Bert's strong hand was on his arm in an instant.

Jack turned to his fellow Sweep, face screwed up in a question.

Bert nodded sagely in Katie Nana's direction, mouth drawn. "Might be best comin' at it from a different perspective," he suggested in a low voice. "Natural-like. Take it slow."

Jack caught his meaning right away; good friends didn't need too many words. Stepping off of the road, he resumed his spot on the street opposite Jane's, sliding his hands into his pockets. He meandered down until he was parallel to the girls, the cobblestones between them.

He fixed his eyes on a cherry tree in the distance, heading toward Number Four and adopting a perfectly unassuming expression. Always out of his peripherals, he checked that Jane's head was up, and that Katie Nana's nose was up more still. Out of the way.

The nanny's stiff voice drifted over. "Miss Jane, kindly pick up your feet; I'll not have us late for tea. Your Father likes things precisely on schedule."

Then the magic moment came. His companion's gaze lifted—she noticed him! And there was the frown, no doubt brought on by a stressed governess.

Jack didn't miss a beat. As soon as she seemed to recognize him, he tossed her a wink and lifted his hat to her.

The effect was delicious. Jane's eyes widened and her lips parted in the most surprised, lovely smile. She almost giggled, as she was so inclined to do, but she appeared to pull it back just in time. Both were mindful of Katie Nanna, whose stride was so determined and whose expression was so pointed. If she so much as smelled the beginnings of a friendship or the steady thrum of joy, her charge would no doubt pay the price.

Jane dropped her gaze to the sidewalk, but Jack had reached his tree now, and leaned against it, grinning away at her. As if she felt it, she kept looking up, and then, as they got closer to Number Seventeen, looking back at him. The sight of the child Sweep, dirty as he was, had clearly turned her around, and not just her head. Her nanny's company had been hard and shut up, but here was the brief presence of someone sweeter, someone to remind the little girl that the day would not all be Katie Nana. She no longer dragged, though she larked more than ever in those last few moments before they reached the front door.

After Miss Banks and her supervisor had gone inside, Bert joined Jack at the tree. He pulled the hat playfully down so that the tip touched the lad's nose. "Taught 'im everythin' he knows, didn't I!"

Jack adjusted his hat, dazzling smirk threatening to make his brown eyes disappear altogether. "It really worked," he observed excitedly. "Did you see her smile?"

"An' a right pretty smile it was, too!" Bert handed Jack his brush. "You're a natural, that's what you are. Lit her right up from the inside." The senior handyman clapped him on the back. "As I live an' breathe—you'll put me out of a job, Jackie!"