The Wood-Pigeons and Mary
bluey-grey--like your feathers--evenpinky-looking here and there."
"Ah," said Mr Coo. "Yes, I am aware of that." Mary opened her eyes.
"Then what do you mean?" she asked.
This time Mrs Coo replied. She never liked to be left out of theconversation for long.
"You cannot have read or heard many fairy stories, my dear."
"Yes indeed I have, heaps," said Mary, more and more puzzled. "Tell mewhy you think that."
"We cannot explain," said Mrs Coo. "It's against the rules. There are_some_ things that humans must find out for themselves," and Maryunderstood that it would be no use questioning more.
Then, as she was now quite rested, the wood-pigeons proposed that theyshould take her round the bowers. They hopped on in front, Maryfollowing. And oh, how pretty the bowers were! They were alike and yetdifferent. Inside each, hung, quite high up, a little coloured lamp.It did not seem as if anything were burning in it: it was more as ifsome of the wonderful light in the whole place, whose source was one ofthe secrets, had been caught into the lamp and tinted with its exquisitecolour. Such colours as Mary had never dreamt of, even though theysomehow reminded her of the countless shades of her own little cloak.And there were no two lamps the same, nor were there any two bowers thesame, as I have said.
For the varieties of foliage were endless. Some were very fine andsmall--like great masses of what we call "maiden-hair fern"; some largerand richer, like the trees Mary had read of in the tropics of theeveryday world, but all foliage only--no flowers. And in each bowerthere were cosy-looking nests, and silvery-looking perches, andtrickling water, as clear as crystal--everything to make a birds'paradise. No wonder that the Cooies and their countless relations lovedto come for a rest, in the midst of their busy lives, to the secretplace of the great forest.
"Now you have visited all the bowers," said the wood-pigeons at last,and Mary, glancing round, saw that they were back again at the entrance,where stood the mossy chair.
"Not your Queen's one?" she asked. "Has she not one of her very own,even though I suppose in a way the whole place belongs to her. _Our_Queen, you know, Queen Victoria, has several palaces just for herself,though of course all our country is hers too."
"No," was the reply. "This is not our Queen's home. She only visitsit. Even this beautiful place is not beautiful enough for her."
Mary drew a deep breath.
"Then," she said, "I suppose her home is in real real fairy-land, andyou say this is only on the borders. And," as a sudden thought struckher, "she visits outside of here too, sometimes. I remember now why Iseemed to know about her. It must be the Queen who goes now and then tocoo to Blanche and Milly at Crook Edge. A most beautiful, quite,_quite_ white dove, with a ring of gold round her neck."
"You may call it gold," said Mr Coo, "but it is really more beautifulthan any gold you have ever seen. Yes--that is our Queen. Your friendsare highly favoured. They are good, and they have had sorrow--"
"Yes," Mary interrupted, "they are still dressed in black, and I am surethey are good."
"That is reason enough for the Queen's favour," said Mrs Coo, "and nowthey are going to be happy."
"I am so glad," said Mary. "How I _would_ like to see the Queen! Butthere is no use thinking of it I could _never_ find a feather whiteenough, however I searched, and there is no time now. Thank you verymuch, Cooies, for getting leave for me to come; but it is no good, yousee. And--oh there is my bell! Shall I go home by the short-cutagain?" and she glanced at the chair.
"And what about your basket of cones, then?" said Mr Coo. "It isoutside, and you promised to get them."
"Oh I forgot," said Mary. "Well, never mind. I daresay I shan't seeyou again for a good while, so you might come part of the way with me."
They did not answer; but when Mary had passed through the two gates intothe forest, where it was beginning to look quite dark and to feel verychilly, there was the basket, and the Cooies on the handle.
"You sit down on the cones," they said; and as she did so, withoutquestioning, she felt herself uplifted, and glancing at thewood-pigeons, she saw that their wings were outspread for full flight.
It all seemed to pass in a moment; she had not time to think to herselfthat she and the basket and the birds were all flying together in somewonderful way, before there came--no, it could not be called a bump, itwas too gentle for that, but a sudden stop, and there they were all ofthem just at the little wicket-gate leading through into Dove's Nestgarden.
"Thank you, Cooies," said Mary, feeling as if she _should_ be out ofbreath, though she wasn't, "and--and--good-bye."
"For the present," added Mr Coo. "But, Mary, remember, if you want tojoin our great gathering the day after to-morrow, there _is_ a way foryou to do so; you have only to sharpen your wits and remember some ofthe fairy tales."
"There is one," said Mrs Coo softly, "about a prince who had awishing--"
"Hush," said Mr Coo, "it is against the rules to give such _very_ broadhints. But I may tell you this without any hinting at all, Mary. Ifyou come you need only walk through the forest to the place where youfound us--"
"Or you found me," interrupted Mary.
"Where we met to-day," he went on, "and there we shall meet you again";and before Mary had time to say any more, the wood-pigeons were off, outof sight!
And Mary rather slowly made her way to the house, carrying the basket offir-cones and thinking over all she had seen, and wondering what herfriends meant by their curious hints.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
"FROM THE ISLANDS OF GORGEOUS COLOURS."
Miss Verity took Mary a drive again the next day. It was not asinteresting as the last one--the one to Crook Edge, I mean, to seeBlanche and Milly. They did not pay any visits, as Miss Verity hadseveral messages in the little town two or three miles off, where shehad to go once a week or so to the shops.
Mary went into one or two of them with her godmother, and was amused bytheir quaint old-fashionedness; but when it came to a call at thePost-Office, where Miss Verity had some business to see to, she toldMary she had better wait outside in the pony-carriage, as it was abright sunny afternoon, and she was well wrapped up in her feathercloak.
So Mary sat there thinking, and I daresay you can guess what herthoughts were about. She was wondering and wondering what thewood-pigeons had meant by their hints; and just as her godmother cameout again and stepped into the carriage, she had got the length ofsaying to herself--
"Oh, I _can't_ guess, and I'm tired of puzzling about it any more. Ijust wish--oh, how I do wish--that I could find a _perfectly_ whitefeather, the whitest that ever was seen! If only one of those dearlittle fluffy clouds would drop down and turn into one, it would dobeautifully."
She was looking up at the sky as she thought this; it was very blue, andthe scudding cloudlets were very white; and--was it fancy?--just at thatmoment it seemed to Mary that a little quiver went through her cloak, asif it, or something about it, had suddenly "come alive," or as if a tinybreeze had passed through it. But no; there was no wind at all thatafternoon. Miss Verity remarked as they drove home how very still itwas.
Something more than a quiver ran through Mary herself when she got outof the carriage and went into the hall. It was still full daylight, andthere on the table lay a letter--a foreign letter--addressed to herself;and with a thrill of delight Mary saw that the writing was her cousinMichael's!
"Oh, godmother!" she exclaimed, "it is for me--all for myself, not justa scrap inside auntie's, and it has come straight from--from India, isit?"
"From the West Indies, dear," said Miss Verity. "I know his ship was tobe at one of the principal islands there a short time ago. Now justthrow off your cloak and run into the drawing-room and read your letter.It won't do you any harm to keep on your other things for a fewminutes."
Mary did as her godmother said. She put down her feather cloakcarefully on a seat in the hall--somehow she never felt inclined tohandle it carelessly,--and ran i
n to read her precious letter by thefire.
Surprises were not at an end for her to-day.
As she opened the envelope and drew out its contents something fluttereddown to the floor. At first sight she could not believe her eyes; shethought she was dreaming, for when she stooped to pick the little objectup, she saw that it was a small feather--white, _perfectly_ white, "aswhite," thought Mary to herself, with astonished delight, "as white assnow." She scarcely dared to touch it, but slipping it back into theenvelope, she went on to read the letter. It was not a very long one,but most kind and affectionate, as Michael's always were,