The Wood-Pigeons and Mary

knew, "will you gather some fir-cones for me this afternoon? Ishall not be going a drive, as the ponies need shoeing, and besidesthat, I have some long letters to write. So you can amuse yourself inthe forest if you like." Somehow Mary's spirits rose when she heardthis; for though feeling, as she was, rather offended with thewood-pigeons, it made her, all the same, hopeful that she might comeacross them.

  And as soon as possible after her early dinner she set off, carrying thebasket that Pleasance had given her to fill with fir-cones.

  "I think I must look like a rather big Red-Riding-Hood," she thought, asshe passed through the wicket between Dove's Nest and the forest;"though my basket is empty and hers was full, and _I_ am hoping to meetthe Cooies and not fearing to meet a wolf! And though my coat is redlike hers, it is a jacket and not a cloak."

  But she walked a good way without meeting anything, and again she beganto feel rather cross with her little friends.

  "I shall just not think any more about them," she said to herself. "Ineed not go farther; there are lots of nice cones here. I will justfill the basket and go home, and I will tell godmother that I don't careto come to the forest after all. It is too dull."

  It did seem very silent that afternoon; all the summer and even autumnsounds had gone, only the wintry ones of a branch snapping and falling,or leaves softly dropping, their little lives over. And now and thensome faint strange bird's note or cry, as the winged traveller passedrapidly overhead, which sounded to Mary's fancy like a farewell.

  "It's going away," she thought, "to some lovely warm place for thewinter. Perhaps it has come from far north, where it is still colderthan here, and is just only passing. I don't think I like the winterafter all, I wish you would take me with you, birdie," and she gave alittle shiver, for she had been standing about, as she picked up thecones. And the cold feeling reminded her of the soft, bright warmth ofthe secret part of the forest, and made her again reproach the Cooies inher heart, for she felt sure there would be no use in trying to find thewhite gate or to pass through it, if she did find it, without theirhelp.

  But patience is generally rewarded in the end, and Mary had shownpatience in her actions if not in her thoughts, for she had by this timewell filled her basket. And as she dropped into it the last cone or twoit would hold, she heard the murmur that she had, though scarcely owningit to herself, been listening for all the afternoon.

  "Coo-coo,"--very faint and distant at first, then clearer and nearer,till, on to each shoulder there came a rustle and a tiny weight, and--they were there! In rather a teasing mood, however!

  "Mary, Mary, quite contrary," they cooed. "How is your basket filled?"

  Mary shrugged her shoulders, but she only heard a "cooey" laugh.

  "No, no, you can't shake us off," they said.

  "Quite contrary, indeed," quoted Mary. "_I_ should say it to you, notyou to me. You know how I've been wanting you and watching for you atmy window, and now you've let half the afternoon go without coming nearme. It's too late now for anything."

  "You are quite mistaken," was the reply. "There is plenty of time.Business first and pleasure afterwards. You have got a nice basketfulof cones, so now you can come with us with a clear conscience."

  "I wish you wouldn't bother about my conscience; it's all right," saidMary, rather crossly still, though in her heart she quite trusted theCooies, and was delighted to go with them. "What shall I do with thebasket?" she went on.

  "Leave it here--on the path. It will be quite safe. You are close tothe white gate, though you did not know it," said Mr Coo. "Turnround."

  So Mary did, putting down her basket, and feeling rather like a big shipsteered by a very small person at the helm. And sure enough, the tinypath, or passage rather, scarcely to be called a path, was there at herside, though she had not seen it when busy gathering the cones.

  It seemed less of a scramble this time, and only a very few paces to go,before they were at the gate. Mary had no grey feather in her cap thistime as an "open sesame," and no need for one apparently, for the whitegate opened of itself as soon as they reached it, "without the leastfuss. I suppose it is because the Cooies are on my shoulders," thoughtshe.

  And just as they got to the other gate the wood-pigeons hopped down, andactually, with their beaks, or feet, or _somehow_, pushed it open,without any difficulty, holding it back till Mary had passed through,when it gently closed.

  The little girl stood still, looking round her in expectation of seeingthe crowds of birds as before. But not one was there! The place,though lovelier that ever, she thought, as she glanced at the beautifullight, flickering and filtering through the interlacing bushes, andrested her eyes on the fresh green, and felt the soft warmth creepingcaressingly round her, was quite deserted. And as she turned to herlittle friends in surprise, they answered, as now often happened, herunspoken question.

  "No," they said, "you will not meet any of our relations to-day. Theyare very busy elsewhere, as you will hear. But that will make it allthe easier to show you the arbours you so much want to see."

  "Thank you," said Mary, not sorry to hear this, for the crowds of birdshad just a little worried her, and she was feeling rather stiff andtired with the cold and with stooping so much to pick up the cones.

  "But in the first place," said one of the Cooies--I think it was MrCoo--"you must rest a little and get warm."

  He looked at her as he spoke, with his head on one side. He and MrsCoo were not on her shoulders now, as I said, but on the ground a littlein front of her. "You have not got on your new cloak to-day," he said."It would have kept you warm."

  "Of course I couldn't wear it to run about the forest in," said Mary."Well, to pick up cones in--I've not had much running about to-day,certainly. But how did you know about it?"

  "Never mind just now," was the reply. "Sit down," and glancing round,Mary saw her mossy chair there as before, though she felt sure that amoment or two ago its place had been empty. But she was very glad tosettle herself in it all the same, and before she had sat still for twominutes she felt rested and refreshed.

  "It is a nice chair," she said, patting the arms, on which the Cooieswere now perched, approvingly. "Now tell me, please, where are all yourhundreds of relations to-day? What are they busy about?"

  "They are preparing for a great ceremony," said Mr Coo, solemnly. "Theday after to-morrow is fixed for it to take place. Our Queen--QueenWhite Dove--every year gives--"

  "Your Queen," exclaimed Mary. "I never heard of her before--I did notknow you had a Queen! Queen White Dove," and something seemed to comeinto her mind as she spoke, as if she _did_ remember--what was it?

  "Are you sure you never heard of her before?" asked the wood-pigeons,their heads very much on one side. "But it does not matter. You will,I hope, see her for yourself, as I will explain, if you will notinterrupt. She gives a prize every year for some special thing, thefinding or making of which calls for skill and perseverance on the partof her subjects. This year the prize is promised to the bringer of thewhitest feather. It must be as white as her own plumage, which I musttell you has never yet been matched. So there has been a great deal ofsearch for such a feather, and work too, as some of us have endeavouredin various ways to whiten to great perfection some of our own feathers,though it remains to be seen if we have succeeded. Myself, I doubt it,"he went on (for Mr Coo had taken up the thread of the discourse), "andas the ceremonial will be a very great and beautiful sight, we haveobtained leave for you, Mary, to be present at it, provided--thiscondition cannot be avoided--you yourself are one of the competitors."

  "I don't know what that means," said Mary. "Please explain. I should_so_ like to come, and you would manage somehow, wouldn't you, for me toget leave from godmother."

  "One question at a time, _if_ you please," said Mr Coo, in the tonewhich rather provoked Mary always. "Being a competitor simply meansthat you too will try to win the prize."

  Mary's face fell.

  "Oh then it's no good,"
she said. "I can't possibly find the whitest ofwhite feathers."

  Neither of the wood-pigeons spoke for a moment or two. They only lookedat each other. Then said Mr Coo,--

  "You are not a stupid child, Mary, yet you are rather slow and dullsometimes. How about your feather cloak?"

  "Oh," said Mary again, "_that's_ no good. If you know about the cloak,and I suppose you do, in some queer way, for _I've_ never told you whatit's like, you must know that it isn't white at all. It's made up ofall sorts of shades of