The Wood-Pigeons and Mary

I_am_ so sorry you're going away," and her face got rather sad again.

  "But you look ever so much jollier than when I went away on Tuesday,"said Michael.

  "Well, yes, because I'm feeling so," she answered.

  "All the same, Michael, I know it's going to be awfully dull till youcome back again. They say it's so gloomy and dark in the wintersometimes; not like the country. I shall always like the country best,Mike."

  "So should I," said her cousin, "that's to say if it was a choicebetween it and a town, though I like the sea best of all, of course.But don't get melancholy again, Moll. Something may turn up to help youthrough the gloomy months."

  "I shall miss you so," said Mary, "and there's something else I shallmiss too."

  She was thinking of the Cooies, and she was glad to feel that onceMichael had seen them and knew about them, she would be able to tell himof their going away, and that they only came back out of affection forher now and then.

  More than this she felt she must not tell him, as it was a sort ofsecret between her and them. There are fairy secrets sometimes which itwould be almost impossible to tell to _anybody_.

  The rest of that evening and the next morning passed very cheerfully,even though Michael's time was to be so short at home. Nurse provedquite as kind and interested about the Christmas presents as Mary hadexpected. Indeed there was nothing she would _not_ have been interestedabout if it concerned her eldest nursling, as big Michael was, and shewas really fond of Mary too, and pleased to see her happy, though shehad only had the care of _her_ for a much shorter time than the others.

  The two set off for their shopping quite early. They knew prettyexactly what they wanted to buy; which is always a great help when yougo on such an expedition; for after a good deal of thought, nurse haddecided that a new thimble was what "auntie" would like best. It was tobe a really pretty one of a new pattern, and nurse was able to directthem to a jeweller's shop where she had seen some beauties in thewindow, and it was to have his mother's initials engraved on it, Michaelsaid, and to be in a pretty case, lined with velvet. This importantpiece of business was quickly completed, as they found the jeweller'swithout difficulty. Twitter's present took rather longer; it was to bea set of toy tea-things, and as Michael liked china ones with tiny roseson, and Mary preferred some with forget-me-nots, they felt rather at aloss, till luckily the shopwoman, who was very good-natured, found a_third_ pattern, of rosebuds and forget-me-nots together, which was acharming way out of the puzzle.

  Then Michael proposed that they should go to a confectioner's not farfrom their own Square, to get a little luncheon. They kept capital bunsthere, he said, and after eating two of them, and having a glass ofdelicious milk, Mary quite agreed with him, and they were sitting at thelittle round marble-topped table very happily, when she happened toglance at a clock hanging up on the wall, and started to see that it wasalready a quarter to twelve o'clock.

  "Oh Mike," she exclaimed, "we must hurry. It is nearly twelve."

  Michael glanced at his watch.

  "Yes," he said, "but if we're not back quite--oh I forgot--you wanted toshow me something in your room at twelve o'clock. But won't it keep?It's not likely to fly away."

  Mary's face flushed.

  "To fly away," she repeated. "I never spoke of flying."

  "No," said Michael, "it's just a way of speaking," but he looked at herrather oddly. "What are you stuffing into your pocket, child?" he wenton.

  "Only a bit of bun I don't want to eat," she replied, getting stillredder, for it had suddenly struck her that she had got no crumbs readyfor the Cooies, and that she would not have time to ask for any.

  "And if they keep their promise to me," she said to herself, "I mustcertainly keep mine to them."--"Mike, dear," she went on beseechingly,"do let us hurry. What I want to show you won't `keep'--perhaps," in alower voice, "it may fly away."

  Michael had already paid for their luncheon, and fortunately they werenear home, and five minutes' quick walking covers more ground than youmight think. They were soon at their own door, and the moment itopened, up flew Mary to her room.

  "Mike," she had said as they stood on the front steps, "take out yourwatch and look at it, and when the hand gets to five minutes pasttwelve, run up to my room after me. Don't rap at the door, but comestraight in."

  Michael laughed, and repeated to himself, though he did not say italoud--

  "You are a queer child, Moll."

  He waited the few minutes, as she had asked, then made his way upstairsafter her. It was a pretty and unexpected sight that met his eyes, ashe quietly opened the door, without knocking. He felt very curiousabout this secret of his little cousin's--half suspecting she had sometrick preparing for him, and not wishing to be taken unawares, as whatboy would!

  But the moment he caught sight of her, and heard the gentle sounds fromwhere she stood by the window, he "understood"--for he was very quick atunderstanding--and felt ashamed of the doubts he had had of Mary'struthfulness.

  There they were--the wood-pigeons he had almost thought lived only inher imagination--one on her shoulder, one just perching on heroutstretched hand, on the friendliest terms, it was easy to see--cooingin the sweetest way, while Mary murmured some caressing words to them.Nor were they startled away when Michael drew near, stepping softly, itis true, but still not so softly but that the little wood-creatures,well used to notice every tiniest sound in their forest homes, heardhim, and even, it seemed to Michael, glanced towards him, quitefearlessly--quite secure in Mary's protection.

  "Well, Mike?" she said with a smile. "They are very tame, you can comequite close," and then Michael heard again her own little murmur, thoughhe did not know that it meant: "of course he won't harm you, dearCooies."

  Michael drew near.

  "They _are_ sweet," he said, "are they your own, Molly? or have youtamed them?"

  Mary shook her head.

  "They didn't need taming," she replied. "They lived in the tree there,"and she nodded towards it. "They have known me ever since I came tolive in the Square, and I have watched them, as I told you the otherday. The remains of their old nest are still there, but I am sure theyare not going to build there any more. They only fly over here to seeme, and I give them crumbs and water whenever they come."

  "Oh," said Michael, "that was what the bit of bun was stuffed into yourpocket for."

  Mary smiled.

  "But, Mike," she said gravely, "you know--I am afraid you did notbelieve me when I told you about the Cooies."

  It was Michael's turn to redden a little now.

  "The--the what-d'ye-call them?" he said, trying to avoid a reply.

  "The Cooies. It's my name for them," said Mary, "because of the sweetway they coo. But Mike, do tell me--did you believe me?"

  "I don't quite know," answered her cousin, honestly. "I didn't thinkyou were making up a regular story--an untruth, I mean,--I knew youwouldn't do _that_, but I did think perhaps you'd fancied part of it.You might have seen other birds flying about, that you let yourselfimagine were wood-pigeons, and certainly the remains in the treescarcely look like a nest, do they?"

  "No, they don't," said Mary. "The wind tore it to pieces that night itblew so."

  "Yes, I understand it all now," said Michael, "except--it's quitewonderful how you've managed to tame them so. They are like pet doves--I really am afraid I couldn't have believed it, if I hadn't seen it withmy own eyes," and as he spoke, he very gently stroked Mr Coo'sopal-coloured feathers.

  "They have tamed themselves, the darlings," said Mary. "I think wildcreatures would soon learn to know me."

  "It's wonderful," Michael repeated. "I have heard of some people whohave a kind of power over animals, and perhaps you are one of them."

  "Perhaps I am," said Mary. "Then, Michael," she went on, "you haven'ttold any one about the Cooies, have you? not about my telling you ofthem, and your not quite--"

  "Of course not," said Michael, interrupting her, "and please don't sayany mor
e about that part of it."

  "Well, I won't, then," Mary replied, "but I want you not to speak aboutthem at all to any one. You see they are going away--they are not goingto build here any more, and nurse, and even auntie perhaps, wouldscarcely--oh yes, of course they'd believe _you_. But still, I'd ratherno one heard about them. I do so wish they hadn't got tired of thesegardens."

  "It's better than for them to stay to be caught by cats," said Michael.

  This was a possibility which had not struck Mary before, and sheshivered at the thought.

  "Oh dear, yes," she said, "what a dreadful idea!" and when Michael,hearing his mother calling, left the room, she turned to her littlefriends.

  "Thank you _so_ much, dear Cooies," she said, "but I won't ask you everto come back to see me if there is the least fear of anything sodreadful."

  "We did not like to mention it before," said Mr Coo, "but it was in ourminds, and not without reason. Now we must fly off, but--you will see,Mary--we shall meet again before long."

  Mary shook her head. She was very nearly crying.

  "Cheer up," murmured Mrs Coo, who was still perched on her shoulder.

  Then off they flew.

  CHAPTER FOUR.

  "WE SHALL MEET AGAIN BEFORE LONG, MARY."

  It was not easy for either Mary or her aunt to keep up their spiritswhen the two days were over, and from the drawing-room window theywatched their dear Mike driving away.

  "To think," said his mother, almost in a whisper, "to think of the long,long way he is going--and the many, many days and nights that must passbefore we see him again, and all the dangers and risks he must passthrough--" but a tiny sob beside her made her stop short.

  "Mary, dear," she exclaimed, "I did not mean to make you cry," and shekissed the little girl very lovingly.

  They were quite alone, as Mary's uncle, Mike's father, had gone with himto the port from which Michael's ship was to sail.

  Mary wiped her eyes and kissed her aunt in return.

  "I didn't mean to cry," she said, "Mike told me to cheer you up, auntie.And I think he is very happy. If I were a boy like him, I'd love to gosailing all over the world and to see all the strange wonderful placeshe is going to see. I'm _sure_ he likes being a sailor awfully."

  "Yes," her aunt agreed, "I am sure too that he was right in choosing thelife. Most boys have a fancy for it, but with many it goes off, andMichael loves it more and more. And he is growing so strong--you wouldscarcely believe, Mary, that long ago, before you came to us, he wasrather a delicate little boy, not nearly as sturdy as Fritz."

  "I remember hearing that he was very ill, with that fever," said Mary,"when--," but she did not finish the sentence, and her aunt understoodwhy. There had been other children--two dear little daughters werebetween Michael and Fritz, in that family.

  Auntie gave Mary another kiss, and something in Mary's voice made herlook at her.

  "Molly, dear," she said,--she did not often call her by this pet name,but it seemed as if she used it now for Michael's sake,--"you arelooking rather pale, as well as sad. I am afraid town doesn't suit youas well as the country."

  "It is that I can't bear--`people,'" Mary was going to have said, but itstruck her that wood-pigeons were scarcely "people," and she wasthinking of them as well as of Michael, "I can't bear goings away," shesaid.

  "Could you not bear to go away yourself--for a little while?" said heraunt, "for a little change?"

  Mary shook her head.

  "No, auntie, dear," she said, "I'd rather stay with you."

  "But it is dull for you, dear, and I am afraid I shall not be able tohave you with me as much as I would like, while our cousins are here."

  Mary's face fell.

  "I'd forgotten about them," she said.

  The cousins were an elderly lady and gentleman who paid a visit everyyear to Mary's uncle and aunt, and expected a good deal of attention.

  "Never mind, auntie," she went on, after a moment's silence, "I won't bedull. I'll play a lot with the little ones."

  "But wait a minute, dear," said her aunt. "I won't force it upon you,but it is only right I should tell you of an invitation I have for you--from one of your godmothers--Miss Verity, do you remember her?"

  "No," said Mary, "I don't remember _her_, but she always sends me apresent on my birthday, doesn't she?"

  "Yes," said her aunt, "she is very kind and very nice every way. Seehere, dear, this is her letter; I think you can read the writing; it isso clear."

  It was beautiful writing--almost too fine and small, but such perfectlyshaped letters that it was as easy to read as printing.

  ------------------------------------------------------------------------

  "My dear Charlotte," it said--"I have always wished to make theacquaintance of my god-daughter, your little niece, Mary. And now thatwe are such very much nearer neighbours, this could surely be easilyarranged. Will you spare her to me for a few weeks? I think I canalmost promise you that I could make her happy, even though I have noyoung companions for her, and the most beautiful part of the year ispast--though to my thinking, it is always beautiful here. I can send mymaid, Pleasance, whom I daresay you remember, to fetch her, any day nextweek that would be convenient. I daresay a little holiday would do Maryno harm, and indeed she can go on with any of her lessons you like whilewith me, as I am very fond of teaching.--Your affectionate old friend,Felicia Verity."

  Mary read the letter slowly and carefully, but still she shook her headas she gave it back to its owner.

  "No, auntie, dear," she repeated, "I'd rather stay here."

  "It seems a pity," said her aunt, as she slowly folded up the letter."Levinside is such a pretty place, and Miss Verity's house has such apretty name, `Dove's Nest,' doesn't that tempt you, Mary?"

  Mary looked up quickly, "Dove's Nest" was very pretty, but another namehad caught her attention more sharply, through her memory rather thanher fancy.

  "Levinside," she repeated, "Dove's Nest at Levinside."

  "Yes," said her aunt, "close to Levin Forest. You have heard of LevinForest?"

  Mary did not reply directly, but her aunt saw that her cheeks grew pink.

  "May I see the letter again, please, auntie?" she said, and again heraunt unfolded it and handed it to her.

  She did not look at the written part this time. Her eyes were fixed onthe prettily engraved address at the top, printed in a rather peculiarshade of green--

  "Dove's Nest, Levinside."

  Then after gazing at it for a moment or two, she handed the sheet backto her aunt.

  "Yes, auntie," she said quietly, "I think I _would_ like to go to mygodmother's."

  Her aunt was pleased, though rather puzzled at the sudden change.

  "She _is_ a funny child," she thought to herself. "It is some fancyabout the forest that she has got into her head," and Mary's next wordsmade her more sure of this.

  "It is quite close to the forest, isn't it?" the little girl askedrather anxiously.

  "Yes," her aunt replied, "the name `Levinside' almost tells that, andDove's Nest is actually on the edge of the forest. I was there once--some years ago, when your uncle and I were in that neighbourhood for afew weeks, we spent a day there with old Miss Verity. She has livedthere for a long, long time."

  "I _should_ like to go," Mary repeated, and there was quite a sparkle inthe hazel eyes which had been looking rather sad.

  So the letter accepting the invitation was written and posted that veryday, and when Mary stood by her window and looked out at the desertedfairy tree, it was with much happier feelings than she had ever hoped todo so again.

  "_They_ must be fairies, or any way they must have to do with some," shethought. "Otherwise how could they have known, as I am sure they did,that my godmother was writing to invite me. Their very last wordsshowed that they did know. Oh, my darling Cooies, how sweet it will beto see you again. `We shall meet before long, you will see, Mary.' I'monly afraid it won't be a `surprise' to them, for if th
ey could readgodmother's letter they're sure to know when I'm coming."

  The next few days passed very happily. Mary was very interested in herpacking, and not _very_ sorry to find that not many lesson books were tomake part of it.

  "It will do you no harm to have another holiday--or part-holiday," saidher aunt. "And there are many things besides regular lessons that MissVerity can teach you, almost better than any one I know. She iswonderfully clever about plants and flowers--and knows a great dealabout birds, I believe."

  Mary listened to this with great interest.

  "I wonder," she thought, "if my godmother knows the Cooies. Not _my_Cooies; they've only just gone to live there. But she may know some oftheir relations and friends."

  "In winter, of course," her aunt went on,