The Wood-Pigeons and Mary
shook her head.
"I doubt if you could," she said. "And I do not even know if it camefrom a shop long ago. It was given to my mother for me when I was onlya baby by some friend of _her_ mother's, and it came `from abroad,'which was all I ever knew about it. But we must be quick, dear; Jackdawand Magpie are not fond of waiting at the door."
Nor were they; as Mary ran downstairs she heard their bells tinklingimpatiently. And when she called out cheerfully--
"We're coming, ponies, we're coming," it seemed as if the littlesatisfied toss of their heads meant that they were pleased that she wascoming too!
It was a cold day, but dry and crisp, and Mary felt very cosy with thesoft grey cape on the top of her own little scarlet cloth jacket. MissVerity drove quickly, though, as she told Mary, they had not so very farto go.
"But I shall have to stay half-an-hour or so at Crook Edge, the house Iwant to call at," she added. "I am going to say good-bye to two girls,who have lived there for some years with their father. He died lastyear, and now they are leaving for good. Blanche, the elder, is goingto be married, and her younger sister, who is scarcely grown-up, is tolive with her. They are very sweet girls."
"Are you very sorry to say good-bye to them?" Mary asked.
Miss Verity hesitated.
"For my own sake, yes. But I am glad for them. It would have been tooquiet a life at Crook Edge. It is an out-of-the-way place, at the sideof the loneliest part of the forest."
"Everywhere about here seems to have to do with the forest, doesn't it?"said Mary.
"Yes, it never lets itself be forgotten," her godmother replied,glancing as she spoke at the dark green line a little distance off,which seemed as it were to follow them as they went, "and we who love itand almost feel as if we were its children, don't want ever to forgetit."
"No, no, of course not," said Mary eagerly. "I feel like that too,though I haven't been very long here. I know quite how you mean."
Miss Verity smiled, the very pleased kind of smile that, as Mary hadlearnt to know, told of her liking to feel that her little god-daughterunderstood and sympathised in feelings that some children would not havebeen able to share.
They did not talk much more till they reached Crook Edge, where MissVerity's young friends were looking out for them. The elder of the twogirls, whose name was Blanche, was very pretty, almost the prettiestperson, Mary thought, that she had ever seen. She was tall and slightand very fair; perhaps the black dress she still wore made her seemtaller and slighter and fairer than if she had been in colour, and herexpression was very sweet. She looked so lovingly at her youngersister, who was also pretty, though not as pretty as Blanche, that Marycould not help thinking to herself that it must be very nice to have akind grown-up sister! And also felt very pleased when both the girlskissed her as she sprang out of the pony-carriage.
"What a delicious cloak," said Blanche, as she was helping her visitorsto take off some of their wraps in the hall. "It suits your house, MissVerity. It is really like a dove's mantle."
"Yes," Miss Verity replied, "it is a rather remarkable cloak, and theodd thing is that though I have had it nearly all my life, I do notreally know its history, and there is no one who can tell it to me."
"I have never seen a cloak the least like it," said Blanche, strokingthe soft feathers as she spoke. "But then," she went on,half-laughingly, "it only suits Dove's Nest. Nothing there seems quitelike anywhere else: don't you think so, Mary?"
"Yes," said Mary. "Everything is prettier and funnier than anywhereelse."
"I always envy the name," said Blanche. "_Our_ name is so ugly andrough--Crook Edge; but it doesn't matter now, as it will so soon be ourhome no longer," and she gave just a little sigh.
"Are you sorry to go away?" asked Mary, looking up gently with herwistful hazel eyes.
"One is always sorry to go away from what has been a home," saidBlanche. "And Milly and I love the forest. By the bye, Miss Verity, wehave had the white dove here again since I saw you,--the large whitedove."
"Have you, my dear?" said Miss Verity, looking interested. "That meansgood luck, I feel sure."
"Good luck and good-bye," said Blanche. "Yes, she came and perched on atree in the garden, and cooed so sweetly. The gardener says she is toolarge for a dove; that she must be some kind of wood-pigeon only."
"Unless," added Milly, "unless, as he says, `she's one as has strayedfrom furrin parts.' But I don't think so. She looks quite at home, andnot at all cold or starved. Anyway Blanche and I always call her thewhite dove. She _is_ so pretty, and one day we thought we saw somethinggleaming on her neck, like a tiny gold chain--that almost seems as ifshe was a pet bird, doesn't it?"
"Or a fairy one?" said Miss Verity, smiling.
They had lingered at Crook Edge rather longer than Mary's godmother hadintended, and though the day was still fine, it was beginning to getdark and the clouds were massing as if rain might be not very far off.Mary gave a little shiver, and Miss Verity looked a trifle uneasy.
"You are not cold, dear?" she said.
"Oh no," said the little girl, "I don't think I _could_ be, with thiscloak. It was just a sort of feeling, you know, when the night seems tobe coming."
All the same, she said to herself, though Miss Verity whipped up theponies and they went along at a good pace:
"I wish we were at home."
And, wonderful to tell, before she had time to wish it again, there theywere! For the next words Mary heard were,--
"Wake up, dear. We are at Dove's Nest."
And when she opened her eyes, there was Miss Verity's face smiling downon her, as she half-lay, half-sat in her place with her head on hergodmother's shoulder, and Myrtle and Pleasance looking a littleconcerned, as "the ladies" had been later of returning than usual, butrather amused too, and both quite ready to lift "Miss Mary" out andcarry her to the warmth and brightness indoors.
How Miss Verity had managed to drive with her godchild peacefully makinga pillow of her arm is a puzzle I cannot explain.
But as Mary slipped off the feather cloak, feeling as warm as a toast,she looked at it rather curiously, for she had her own thoughts aboutit.
"Shall I keep it in my room, godmother?" she asked. "That is to say, ifyou mean to lend it me again."
"You may count it yours as long as you are here," Miss Verity replied."I am sure you will take care of it. And--then we shall see."
"Thank you very much," said Mary, adding, "I don't think I should liketo take it away with me. It would get dirty in a town, and that wouldmake me unhappy. I have one drawer upstairs with nothing in. I shouldlike to keep it in there."
"Very well, you may, and Pleasance will give you some nice tissue-paperto cover it with."
Pleasance did not forget to do so. Mary found two or three large sheetsof pale-blue paper lying ready on her bed late that evening, in whichshe carefully wrapped the mantle.
Perhaps it was because she did this the last thing before going tosleep, that she had strange dreams that night, in which the cloak, andthe wood-pigeons, and pretty Blanche and her cousin Michael and hergodmother all seemed to be mixed up together, though in the morning shecould not distinctly remember anything except that the dreams had beeninteresting and pleasant.
"I wonder if my Cooies could tell anything about the feather cloak," shethought, "and oh, I do wonder if the white dove is any relation oftheirs, or if they know her."
And this morning too she jumped out of bed the very moment Pleasancecame to call her, so that she might dress quickly and have a minute ortwo to stand at the window before the bell rang, so that if thewood-pigeons were anywhere near, they could come to talk to her.
CHAPTER TEN.
"YOU CANNOT HAVE READ MANY FAIRY STORIES."
But no, she stood there, opening the window a little, though it wasdecidedly cold, in vain. There was no sign or sound of her friends, andMary felt disappointed and rather cross when the bell rang, and she hadto hasten downstairs without even the pret
ty greeting, she loved sowell, reaching her from the neighbouring trees.
"They are really rather unkind," she thought. "I do believe they knoweverything, or at least most things about me. I am sure they know Iwant to see them this morning. I daresay I shall hear nothing more ofthem--ever--or perhaps they'll come, but after I am gone; very likelythe white dove will come back to Crook Edge after Blanche and Milly aregone. I don't believe birds have got any hearts, whether they're halffairies or not."
"Mary," said Miss Verity, who noticed Mary's moods more than the littlegirl