The Wood-Pigeons and Mary

"it's tea--and nurse come to fetch me. Whatshall we do?"--"Yes, yes, nurse," in a louder voice, "I'm coming in onemoment," and this seemed to satisfy nurse, for her steps sounded goingdownstairs again. "She needn't open the door without tapping," thelittle girl went on, speaking half to herself and half to her visitorson the window-sill, "I'm not one of the nursery children now. But oh,Cooies, what shall we do? It would take me ever so long to explainabout Michael and to plan something to put it all right."

  "Must you go downstairs at once?" asked Mr Coo. "If you told it to usvery quickly."

  But Mary shook her head.

  "No--I must go. If I don't, she'll be coming up again, or sending forme, and I don't want any one to hear us talking. They would laugh at meso, and say it was all nonsense. They are always calling me sofanciful."

  "I see," said Mr Coo, thoughtfully.

  But Mrs Coo did more than think.

  "Of course," she said, "there's only one thing to be done. We must comeback again to-morrow."

  She spoke just a tiny bit sharply.

  "We are very busy," said Mr Coo, "getting settled, you see, andchoosing where our new nest is to be, and returning our neighbours'calls, and so on."

  "All that can stand over," said Mrs Coo. "Just say, my dear, what timeto-morrow will be best."

  "I _think_" said Mary, "the best time will be when we come in from ourwalk in the morning. The little ones go to bed then for an hour, andI've had my lessons, and nurse generally tells me to take a book and sitstill, and if it isn't cold she lets me come up to my room, and shestays in the night nursery to keep Fritz and Twitter and baby fromjumping out of their cots or teasing each other. Yes, please come abouttwelve o'clock, and would you like anything to eat?"

  "You are very kind," said Mr and Mrs Coo together. "A few crumbs anda little fresh water, perhaps," and then off they flew.

  Mary gazed after them for a moment or two, till their pearly grey wingswere almost out of sight. She felt very happy--it was lovely to haveseen them again; still more lovely to find that the wonderful, rare giftof being able to understand and talk to them had come to her.

  "I won't tell _any one_ about it," she decided, as she ran downstairs."They would only laugh and call me fanciful that horrid way. PerhapsFritz and Twitter wouldn't; they'd just think it was a sort of fairystory I was making up for them--and it is a sort of fairy story, onlyit's true! But they're too little, they'd repeat it all to nurse, andof course it would be very wrong to tell them anything they _weren't_ totell nurse. _Michael_ wouldn't have laughed at me; at least he wouldn'thave _before_, but now that he thinks I tell what isn't true, he'd doworse than laugh at me. He'd look shocked again--oh dear!"

  And Mary's face, which had been so bright a minute or two ago, grew sadand grave, but just as she opened the nursery door another thoughtstruck her.

  The Cooies were coming again to-morrow, and she would tell them allabout it, and _they_ would plan something to make it all right; she feltsure they would.

  The three little ones were already seated at the tea-table, and nursewas filling their cups and helping them to bread-and-butter.

  "Maly, Maly," said Fritz, "sit by me."

  "No, no, 'aside _me_," said Twitter, a funny little girl with short,dark hair and bright dark eyes.

  "Thide Baba," added "baby," another little fat, fair boy like Fritz.

  It was rather nice to be welcomed like this, and Mary's spirits, alwaysvery ready to go up or down, rose again.

  "I can't sit `'aside' you all three," she said, drawing in her chair,"so as Baba-boy has to be next nurse, I'll sit between Fritz andTwitter."

  "And 'mile at Baba ac'oss the table," said the baby.

  "Yes, darling, of course I will," said Mary, kindly.

  After all, it was easy to forgive Fritz and him for being so fat, whenyou found how good-natured they were, though Mary did not think it_pretty_! Twitter, whose real name was Charlotte, was good-natured,too, in her own way, but she had a quick temper, and though she was sucha little girl, she was very fond, dreadfully fond, of arguing.

  "Once start Miss Twitter," nurse used to say, "and you never know whenshe'll stop," and it was much the same with her if she began to cry. Itwould go on and on till everybody's patience was worn out, and worst ofall when you thought it had really come to an end, some tiny word orlook even would begin it all again.

  Still, on the whole, Mary cared the most for Twitter of her three littlecousins. She was certainly the cleverest, and the most ready tounderstand what had come to be called "Miss Mary's fancifulness."

  Perhaps, as I have spoken of the children as her cousins, I had betterexplain a little about the family in the Square. Mary herself had nobrothers or sisters, and no father or mother; "no nobody," she once saidof herself very pitifully when she was _very_ little, and before shecame to live with her kind relations, who at that time were not inEngland. But she had always been very well taken care of by a lady wholong ago had been Mary's own mother's governess, and _now_ she hadseveral "somebodies," her uncle and aunt and the three little ones, andbest of all, perhaps, Michael, the big brother of sixteen, who had beenher first great friend in her new home. He was then a boy of twelve andMary was eight, and boys of twelve sometimes look down on little girlswho are four or five years younger than they are. Not so with Michael,he _was_ so good and kind. He tried to make the shy little cousin, withher curly red hair and soft brown eyes, feel "at home" and happy, byevery means in his power, and Mary had never forgotten this, and oftensaid to herself that she never, never would (and I don't think she everwill).

  Nurse looked at Mary rather curiously as she handed her her tea-cup.

  "Was there any one in the room with you, Miss Mary, my dear, when I wentupstairs to fetch you?"

  "No," said Mary, but her own tone was perhaps not quite as usual, forshe was thinking to herself if the "no" was quite truthful. Yes it was,she decided, the Cooies were not in the room, and besides, nurse meantany _person_--wood-pigeons were not people. So "No," she repeated, morepositively, "why do you ask, nurse?"

  "Oh," said nurse, "I may have been mistaken, but I thought I heard youspeaking as I opened the door."

  "I daresay I was," said Mary.

  Nurse said something indistinct--a sort of "humph."

  "It is not a very good habit to get into--that speaking to yourself,"she said. "It makes one seem silly-like."

  "Perhaps I _am_ silly," answered Mary, half mischievously. "You know,nurse, you are always calling me full of fancies."

  "They's very nice fancies," said Twitter, "Maly tells we lubly failystolies, dudn't her, Flitz?"

  Fritz's mouth was full, and the nursery rules for good behaviour atmeals were strict, so he only nodded.

  "Fairy tales are all very well in their proper place," said nurse.

  "What is their proper place?" asked Mary, and I am afraid she spokerather pertly.

  "Pretty picture-books and such like," nurse replied, for she was verymatter-of-fact. "Just like nursery rhymes and songs--`Little Boy Blue'and `Bo-peep,' and all the rest of them. But it would be very silly foryoung ladies and gentlemen to go on with babyish things like that, whenthey can read quite well and learn beautiful verses like `Old FatherWilliam,' and `The Battle of --' no, I don't rightly remember the name,but it's a fine piece of poetry if ever there was one, and I recollectmy brother Tom saying it at a prize-giving at our school at home, andthe squire's lady had her handkerchief at her eyes, and the squirehimself shook him by the hand, and Tom and me was that proud."

  This was interesting, and Mary could not resist asking a number ofquestions about Tom, as to how old he had been then, and how old he wasnow, to which nurse was only too pleased to reply, adding that he wasnow a schoolmaster himself, with little Toms of his own, whom she wentto see when she had her holiday once a year.

  So the conversation turned into pleasant directions, and nothing morewas said about Mary's fancifulness.

  When she woke the next morning Mary's first glance, a
s usual, wastowards the window. She never had the blinds drawn down at night, forshe loved the morning light, and it did not wake her: she slept toosoundly for that. And as there were, as I have told you, gardens--largegardens--at the back of the house, where her room was, there was no oneto overlook her window.

  Ah--it was a dull morning--a dull, grey, early autumn morning, and "Ihope it's not going to rain," thought