places, they were not flyingaway, though all their wings were in motion. And when she glanced roundagain, the Queen had disappeared.
"What--" she was beginning to ask, but before she could say more Mr Coointerrupted her.
"They are clapping their wings to congratulate you and wish you joy," hesaid. "Make a curtsey to them; they will understand."
So Mary turned towards them and curtseyed in her prettiest manner,though she felt rather shy, and then, taking this as her farewell, thegreat flight of birds rose--in every direction the air seemed full ofthem, and again, as had been the case before, the rush and flutter madeher feel confused and giddy. But her own Cooies were perched on hershoulders.
"Shut your eyes and count eleven slowly," one, or both of themwhispered; "then it will be all right, you will see."
Mary did so: before she got to "eleven" she had become rather sleepy,and began to dream that she was the little sister in the fairy story ofthe _Eleven White Swans_, and that it was _their_ wings she heard; thensomething touched her cheek, and she started and opened her eyes, and,she was standing at the gate leading into her godmother's garden, thetwo wood-pigeons on the path in front of her, looking up at her!
"Oh Cooies," she exclaimed, half-laughing, "you _have_ brought me backquickly this time. How _did_ you do it?"
"Never mind about that," they replied. "Here you are all safe andsound."
But it seemed to her that their voices were rather sad.
"Is anything the matter?" she asked.
Their heads were both very much on one side.
"No," was the reply, "it is all quite right. Only saying good-bye isalways rather sad."
"Saying good-bye," Mary repeated.
"Not for always. Come back in the spring, Mary. Run in now, but comeback in the spring," and then in an instant they were up in the air,ever, ever so high, and Mary was standing there alone, Michael's featherstill in her hand, and from above there came the "coo-coo" she hadlearnt to know so well, and the echo of the last words, "come back inthe spring, Mary."
Feeling rather strange, _almost_ as if she were going to cry, Marycrossed the little lawn to the house. And just as she got to the doorshe met Pleasance coming out with the big bell in her hand.
"Oh, Miss Mary," she said, "I am so glad you have come back. I was justgoing to the gate to ring. But it is getting so dark and chillyalready, I am glad you came home earlier, and so will Miss Verity be."
She was right. Mary's godmother drove in a few minutes later, and herfirst words to the little girl were the same as her maid's.
Miss Verity was rather silent that evening, though as kind as ever. Sheseemed to have a good deal to think of.
And the next morning there were several letters for her, which she readcarefully.
After breakfast she called Mary into the drawing-room.
"I think, dear," she said, "we will not have any lessons to-day. I havetwo or three things to tell you--one, rather sad, at least to me it isso, and I fancy you will feel the same about it. And two or threepleasant things--which will you have first?" Mary considered.
"The sad one," she replied, "and then the others will make me feel happyagain."
Miss Verity smiled, and then Mary noticed that she was holding a smallpacket in her hand.
"After all, it is nothing so very bad," she said. "It is only, dear,that your visit must come to an end a few days sooner than I had hoped."
"I believe the Cooies knew it," thought Mary to herself.
"My old friend," continued her godmother, "whom I have been to seeseveral times lately, is failing fast. She is feeling lonely too, andhas begged me to go to stay with her for some weeks as soon as possible.I have promised to do so the day after to-morrow, so _to-morrow_, dear,Pleasance will take you home. I have a letter from your aunt, sayingthey will be very happy to have you back, but--this is the first of thepleasant things, she promises that I shall have you again in the spring.And you will be glad to hear that it is really quite settled thatMichael will be home for Christmas."
"Oh, I _am_ glad!" exclaimed Mary.
"And another nice thing is that Blanche and Milly are going to be yourneighbours in the Square." Mary's face brightened still more.
"Blanche and her husband have taken a house there, and Milly will livewith them, and be a nice companion for you. They hope to see you veryoften. _Thirdly_, I have a rather curious nice thing to tell you and toshow you," and Mary somehow felt sure it had to do with the littleparcel.
"Last night," continued her godmother, "thinking of your leaving, Iopened the drawer in my old cabinet where I keep the feather mantle, andwhere I will again lay it away till I lend it to you some other time. Imeant to tell Pleasance to put fresh paper and lavender in the drawer,if they were needed, and as I was looking in, I noticed a little pieceof crumpled paper, as I thought, in one corner. I picked it up, andfortunately began to smooth it out, before throwing it away. And--look,dear, what was in it."
She held out the paper packet, which she had unfolded, and there lay alittle coil of gold, so fine and thin, it was like a thread of sparklingsilk. It was a very delicately made, but strong, nevertheless, goldchain for the neck, clasped by one pure white pearl, which, as soon asMary saw it, made her think of Queen White Dove.
"Oh!" she murmured breathlessly, "how lovely!"
"Yes," said her godmother, "and it is for you, dear. How it came there,I cannot exactly say, but I feel sure it must have dropped out of thepocket of the feather mantle, where it may have lain for nearly half acentury. I was never allowed to _wear_ the mantle except a very fewtimes, on great occasions, and it got too small for me before long.And," here Miss Verity's face and voice grew rather dreamy, "I have afaint, very faint remembrance of _something_ my mother said about achain lost on its way here from the place where the mantle came from.This chain is certainly of foreign make; it might really be a fairy one,so strong, though so fine."
She clasped it round Mary's neck as she spoke.
"Yes," she said, "it fits you perfectly. I felt sure it would. Ishould like you always to wear it."
"I will," said Mary, and she held up her face to kiss her godmother.
So it was a happy little Mary who went back that day to the friends inthe Square, happy to have her again.
For though there was no wood-pigeons' nest in the gardens, there was thethought in her heart of seeing her Cooies again "in the spring."
And when Michael came home she showed him his feather, safe in its oldplace--the inside of his letter--in her little writing-case.
"It is a pretty feather," he said, "it has such a nice sparkle on ittoo."
Mary smiled. She had her own little secrets, you see!
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The End.
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