The Wood-Pigeons and Mary

of the forest."

  And Mary felt still surer of this when, after a little silence, MissVerity said quietly--

  "I shall never feel uneasy about you when you are in the forest--evenquite alone--now that I see that you are obedient and thoughtful aboutkeeping promises, my little Cinderella," and she smiled the pretty smilethat made her face look quite young again.

  "But Cinderella _did_ forget," said Mary, laughing; "at least she onlyremembered _just_ in time, didn't she?"

  "She had no Pleasance to ring a big bell," replied her godmother."Still, she did not mean to disobey, and the very moment she found howlate it was, she ran off, even at the risk of offending the prince. Ihave always thought that one of the nicest parts of the story. For somany would have said to themselves, `Oh, I'm sure to be too late, soI'll just stay on and enjoy myself a little longer.' If I had notsatisfied myself that you are to be trusted, my Mary, I could not letyou stay alone in the forest, though for a good dutiful child there canbe no safer place." Mary felt very pleased. And--was it fancy--justthen a tiny "coo-coo!" seemed to breathe itself across the room from theside where the window on to the lawn was.

  "How brightly the fire is burning!" Miss Verity went on, after a littlepause. "I wonder if there is frost in the air."

  "I don't know," said Mary, adding merrily, "but I can tell you,godmother, these are fir-cones in the fire! Perhaps it is that."

  "No doubt of it," said Miss Verity. "I might have guessed it. Did youbring any in with you?"

  "Not to-day, but I brought some, a few at a time, before. And I thinksome of the servants have been gathering them. I saw Myrtle with somein her apron, and I have scented them several times about the house. Itis such a nice smell."

  "Yes, and they burn so beautifully. I have never known any fir-coneslike those in our forest, not even in Germany," replied her godmother.

  "They're like everything else about here, I think," said Mary.

  Miss Verity looked pleased.

  "Do look, godmother," Mary added quickly. "There _are_ such funnypictures in the fire. There, over at your side, do you see? It is likethe edge--what should I call it?--of a ship, and somebody looking up asif he was watching something. I know what it makes me think of; it isMichael, I wonder if it is the middle of the night just now where he is,and if perhaps he is standing at the side of his ship looking up at thestars?"

  "And thinking of home and the dear ones there, and of his little cousinMary," added Miss Verity. "Perhaps so, though I think sailors aregenerally too busy, or too glad to go to sleep when their busy time isover, to have much leisure for star-gazing."

  "But I am sure Michael is _always_, nearly, thinking of home," saidMary, with a touch of reproach in her voice. "You don't know,godmother, how very loving and kind he is."

  "I am sure of it," said Miss Verity, quickly. "Do not mistake me, dear.The brother I loved best of all, long ago, was a sailor, and it is veryrarely that sailors have not loving faithful hearts, I think. DoesMichael know that you are here with me?"

  "Oh yes," said Mary. "He knew it before he went away. He was very gladI was coming. He was sure I would be happy here. You see it is alittle lonely sometimes at auntie's when Michael's away for such a longtime. The little ones are so little."

  "Yet here you haven't even little ones," said her godmother, smiling."How is it you are not lonely then?"

  "I have _you_" said Mary, "and--and the forest, and you let me go aboutby myself. And I like the country much better than a town."

  "Even in winter?" asked Miss Verity.

  Mary hesitated.

  "Yes, I think so," she said, "though the shops are _very_ pretty aboutChristmas time, and the streets lighted up when it begins to get dark inthe afternoons, do look so nice. But I daresay, godmother, _here_ it isnever dull or gloomy, even in winter. The forest must look lovely withsnow on the branches, and shiny icicles, and I should think it's alwaysrather dry to walk about there, on the fir needles."

  "It is never wet for very long, certainly, in the forest," said hergodmother, "but still we have dull gloomy days, and days when it neverleaves off raining at all, and one is glad to stay at home beside abright cheery fire like this."

  Mary glanced at the fire again--the picture she had seen in it hadmelted or changed by this time, but in another corner she saw whatseemed to her like a sort of arbour, with a bird at the entrance. Thisreminded her of the secret of the forest, and she wondered to herselfwhat it was like inside the white gate on a dull rainy day such as MissVerity had been speaking of. Was it _always_ warm and bright there?Yes, she could not remember if the wood-pigeons had said so, but shefelt sure it must be so.

  "Otherwise," she thought, "it would not be even the edge of fairy-land."

  Then her mind strayed to other things. She began wondering if she wouldsoon have a letter from Michael, and if the picture in the fire couldhave been a sort of fairy message from him, and she quite started whenher godmother spoke again.

  "The next time you are in the forest, Mary dear," she said, "or thefirst time you feel at a loss for anything to amuse yourself with, Ishould be very glad of more fir-cones. I like to make a provision ofthem while they are still perfectly dry and crisp."

  "Yes, I am very fond of picking them up," said Mary. "I might havebrought some in already, if I had had a basket with me."

  "Pleasance has one or two nice light ones on purpose," said Miss Verity."She will show you where she keeps them. If to-morrow is fine again,like to-day," she went on, "I should like you to go a drive with me. Ithink Jackdaw and Magpie were very surprised at my not taking youto-day: I often fancy they go along with more spirit when there is someone with me; they like to hear our voices, and little Thomas and Iseldom converse." Little Thomas was the small groom who sat in the backseat, and he was noted for his silence, an uncommon quality in a boy!

  Mary laughed.

  "No," she said, "I couldn't fancy you having much conversation withlittle Thomas, certainly."

  She felt in her heart just a tiny bit disappointed that there was nolikelihood of her going to the forest again the next day. But then hergodmother was so good to her that she knew it would be very wrong andungrateful not to be glad to do all she wished. And besides--

  "If I wasn't quite good, or at least trying to be so," she said toherself, "the Cooies wouldn't care for me, or make plans for me or showme things or anything. I am quite sure they would not."

  This was her last waking thought that night, and almost, I think, herfirst the next morning.

  And when she was dressed, and stood for a moment or two at the casementwindow, which she had opened a little to have a breath of the forestair, there seemed to come an answer to her thought.

  "Coo-coo, coo," sounded softly from the direction of the trees, and Maryjust at first hoped that it would be followed by the rustle of littlewings and a morning visit from her two friends. But no, only the sweetvoices again, this time a little farther off, and Mary, who was gettingwonderfully quick at understanding her Cooies' ways, knew that thismeant they were not coming to visit her to-day, but that they werepleased with what she meant to try to do and feel.

  The morning passed pleasantly, and the sky, which had been rather greyand overcast early in the day, cleared up about noon and promised to bebright and sunny for the remaining hours.

  So Mary felt quite light-hearted when, shortly after luncheon, MissVerity sent her to get ready for their drive.

  "Wrap yourself up warmly," her godmother said. "It gets chilly in theafternoon--or stay--I have an idea," and with a smile on her kind faceMiss Verity went upstairs, and Mary heard her talking to Pleasance.

  In a few minutes she came back, carrying something over her arm whichlooked to Mary as if her Cooies and all their numerous relations hadhelped to make it! It was a little cape--made, not of fur, but of tinyfeathers, too soft and small to bristle or break, of every shade ofbluey-grey, and lined with white, still quite clean, though the cape wasevidently old, and the white ha
d grown rather creamy-coloured throughlying by for many years.

  "It was mine when I was a little girl like you," said her godmother."It was considered my very best, and somehow it never got dirty orseemed to need cleaning, though some of the shades are very delicate, asyou see. It will be just the thing for you to wear when you drive withme these chilly afternoons."

  Mary eyed the cloak with great interest and approval.

  "It is lovely," she said, "and wonderful I don't think you could get onelike it in any shop now, godmother, could you?"

  Miss Verity