togo or to hurry her up a little if she were jogging along toodeliberately.
It was a pretty drive--indeed, Mary thought that all the drives aboutthere were pretty--and quite in a different direction from the way theyhad come the day before. And when Miss Verity went in to see her friendwho was ill, Mary strolled about the garden by herself. It was a nicegarden, but not to be compared with the one at Dove's Nest, Marythought, and there did not seem to be nearly so many birds hoppingabout, or chirping in the trees. She felt very glad that her godmotherdid not stay long, as, though she tried not to be impatient, she wasvery eager indeed to go back for the promised walk in the forest.
And Magpie seemed to understand, or so Mary fancied, though most likelyit was that she knew she was going home, for she did not require anysort of cheering up to go quickly, but trotted along as fast as MissVerity would let her.
The man-servant was waiting for them at the door, so Mary jumped out atonce and glanced up at her godmother.
"Yes, dear," said Miss Verity, in reply to the unspoken words, "yes, Ihave not forgotten. Tell Myrtle,"--Myrtle was the parlour-maid--"tohave tea ready for us in an hour," she added, turning to the man. Shelooked up at the sky as she spoke. "Yes," she went on, "I think we cansafely stay out three-quarters of an hour or so before it gets toochilly. And it is not going to rain."
Mary trotted along beside her godmother in silent satisfaction, thoughbeneath her quiet appearance she was bubbling over with excitement.
To get into the forest--into a real big forest!--and above all, theforest where her Cooies lived--she could imagine nothing moreinteresting. And though she had felt disappointed at not getting thereearlier in the day, she could not help agreeing with Miss Verity when,after a minute or two's silence on her side too, she said,--
"The forest, to my mind, is always fascinating, but after all, I don'tknow that you could make acquaintance with it better than on anafternoon like this. The autumn feeling, this sort of almost solemnquiet, without wind, and the light already beginning to fade--all addsto the mystery of it. And the mystery is one of the greatest charms ofa forest." She stood still for a moment. They had entered the trees'home by the little path from the garden--a private way of Miss Verity's,though there was a gate which could be locked when she thought well, incase of tramps, though one of the nice things about Dove's Nest was thattramps very seldom came that way--and by which you found yourself inquite a thick part of the wood almost at once. Mary stood still too,listening and gazing. I think her godmother had forgotten that she wastalking to a child, but it did not matter--Mary understood.
And when she did speak, her words showed this. "Mystery means secrets,doesn't it?" she said. "Nice secrets. Yes, it does feel like that.The trees look as if they talked to each other when there is nobodythere."
Her godmother smiled.
"And when there is a little wind," she said as they walked on again, "upamong their tops, it looks still more as if they were talking andnodding to each other over their secrets. It is really quite comical.Then another charming thing in a forest is when the sunshine comesthrough in quivering rays, lighting up the green till it looks likeemeralds. That is more in the spring-time--when the new leaves arecoming out. But there is no end to the beauties of a forest. It isnever two days quite the same. I daresay you will always remember thisgrey day the best--one seldom forgets the first impression, as it iscalled, of a place, however many different feelings one may come to haveabout it afterwards, and--"
But a sudden little joyful exclamation from Mary interrupted her.
"Look, godmother, look!" she cried, and she pointed before them; "justwhat you were saying."
The sun was setting, and some very clear rays had pierced through thegrey, and right in front made a network of the branches against thebrightness. It was very pretty, and rare too, so late in the day and inthe year. They both stood still to admire.
"How dark the trees look where the light stops," said Mary. "Are theythicker there?"
"Yes," Miss Verity replied. "That is a part that I call to myself oneof the forest's secrets. For some reason the trees are allowed to growvery thick there, and it is impossible to get in among them withouttearing one's clothes and scratching one's face and hands. But it is afavourite haunt of the birds. I often stand near there to watch themflying in and out--pigeons especially. I could fancy it was a veryfavourite meeting-place for them. You can hear their murmuring voiceseven now."
Mary held her breath to listen. They were at some little distance fromthe spot her godmother was speaking of, and though the cooing was to beheard, it sounded muffled and less distinct than she had ever noticed itbefore. The foliage, of which a good deal still remained on the trees,dulled the sound.
"It seems as if they were talking in whispers," she said to hergodmother, smiling.
"Or as if they were all half asleep," Miss Verity added, "which Idaresay they are. It is getting late, Mary; the light will soon begone, and we have walked farther than you would think. We had betterturn."
They did so. Mary took good notice, by her godmother's wish, of thepaths they came by. Not that there was any real fear of her gettinglost in the forest, but it was better for her to know her way about.
"That dark place can be seen so far off," said Mary, "that I shouldalways know pretty well whereabouts I was."
"I think," said Miss Verity, "I think I shall tell Pleasance to ring thebig bell for you, if you are strolling about alone, and it is gettingtime for you to come in. You can hear it a long way off--farther offthan you would ever care to go: sounds carry far in the forest."
"That would be a very good plan," said Mary, thinking to herself that itwould be lovely to get the "run" of the forest, so as sometimes to meether Cooies without fear of interruption.
They walked on, not speaking much. Mary was thinking of her featheredfriends, and her godmother, from living so much alone, perhaps, was atno times a great talker. And the evening feeling in the air--the_autumn_ evening feeling--seemed to make one silent. The feeling thatchildren sometimes describe as being "as if we were in church."
And then through the cool clear air came a soft rushing sound--nearerand nearer. There is no sound quite like it--the soft rush of manylittle wings. Without saying anything to each other, Mary and MissVerity stood still and listened, looking upwards.
"It is the wood-pigeons," said Miss Verity; "but what a quantity! Ihave often seen them flying together in the evening--going home, Isuppose, but never so many together. And they are coming from the darkplanting, as it is called. I have often wondered if they roosted there,but it does not look like it."
Mary gazed still--even after her godmother had walked on a few paces;and just as she was turning to run after her, a sound still nearer athand stopped her again. One of the birds had swooped downwards, and itsmurmured "coo-coo" made her stop.
"Mary," said the little voice, "be at your window early to-morrowmorning. We want to talk to you."
"Yes," whispered Mary in return; "yes, Cooie, dear, I will be there."
And then, full of pleasure, she hastened to overtake her godmother.
"You are not cold, dear, at all, are you?" Miss Verity asked.
"Oh no, not the least, thank you," said Mary. "I'm just--" and she gavea little skip.
"What?" asked her godmother, smiling.
"As happy as _anything_" replied Mary, with another hop.
Miss Verity smiled with pleasure.
"I think Levinside is the beautifulest place in the world," said Mary."And oh, godmother, I do hope you will let me go about here in theforest by myself. I _know_ I won't get lost."
"I don't think you would," said Miss Verity. "I have a feeling that theforest is half a fairy place. I don't think any harm could come to youin it."
CHAPTER SEVEN.
"THERE ARE RULES, YOU SEE, MARY."
There was a red glow in the sky where the sun had disappeared, as Maryand her godmother came out from the shade of the trees,
and stood for amoment or two on the lawn at the side of the house, before goingindoors. I think one is often inclined to do this in the country,especially when it is no longer summer, and the evenings are less warmand mild--it is a sort of "good-night" to the outside world before youhave to close the doors and windows of your own nest, hoping that allthe furred and feathered friends are snug and cosy in theirs.
"It will be fine to-morrow, I feel pretty sure," said Miss Verity, "andperhaps milder. I hope so, for my own sake as well as yours, Mary, forI have to drive rather a long way. Now run upstairs and take off yourthings quickly, for tea will be quite ready, I am