"there are scarcely anyflowers and plants in most places, but the best of a forest is thatthere is always _something_ interesting to a botanist--and in shelteredparts it is wonderful how late and how early one can find pretty `woodtreasures.' I believe that is one reason why Miss Verity lovesLevinside so."
"I like flowers and ivy and ferny things," said Mary, "though I don'tknow the names of many. But I love alive things best, aunt. I meanalive like us--birds, and squirrels, and rabbits, and dormice." Heraunt smiled.
"I am afraid the dormice won't be very alive just now," she replied."That's to say they will be fast asleep. I have heard that they wake uponce or twice in the winter, just to have a good stretch and nibble afew nuts, but I don't know if it is true. You must ask Miss Verity."
Mary's eyes sparkled.
"Oh," she said, "it would be lovely to see them stretching their dearlittle brown paws! They'd look like baby when he wakes up and is toosleepy to open his eyes, and is all rosy and hot."
Altogether she felt very happy and interested about her visit--besideslooking forward to seeing the Cooies again.
And when the day came, and Pleasance, Miss Verity's "old-maid" maidarrived, Mary did not feel at all shy or frightened at setting off withher on the short journey. It would indeed have been difficult to feelshy with Pleasance; she had such a _very_ pleasant, cheerful face thatMary could not help thinking how well her name suited her. She wasplainly dressed in grey, almost like a quakeress, with net quillingsinside her bonnet, but her eyes were bright and her cheeks rosy, andMary thought that no other kind of dress would suit her as well Auntieseemed very pleased at Mary's setting off so cheerfully, and kissed hervery lovingly, but nurse looked at her almost reproachfully, especiallywhen Twitter set up a sad wail at "Maly's" going away, in which, afterstaring at her for a moment or two, before making up his mind, Fritzdecided to join.
Mary felt rather unhappy. It does seem sometimes as if one could notplease everybody, and after all, she had not _asked_ to go away, andauntie had been glad when she said she would like to go.
"Don't cry," darlings, she whispered to the little ones, "Maly will sooncome back again, and if only it was summer she would bring you somepretty flowers from the forest."
Then Fritz stopped crying to whisper something in return, which at firstshe could not make out, but at last she did. It was "fir-cones"--nursesaid there were fir-cones in the "follest."
At this they all brightened up.
"Of course there are," said Mary, "and I'll bring you some to make anice blaze in the nursery fire."
"And to play wif," said Twitter.
"Yes, you may keep some to play with," Mary replied.
"Don't make too sure of them, my dears," said nurse, rather shortly;"Miss Mary will most likely be enjoying herself too much to care to betroubled with gathering fir-cones."
Mary felt rather hurt, and before she had time to say anything her auntturned to nurse, and said rather coldly,--
"Nonsense, nurse. You should know Miss Mary too well by this time tothink that she would grudge a little trouble to please her cousins."
Mary felt inclined to hug her aunt, and nurse looked sorry, and glancingat Pleasance, who was standing near the door, she saw by the littlesmile on the maid's face that she too, as well as the children's mother,had understood Mary's feelings.
"I am sure I shall like her," she thought to herself. Then she kissedFritz, and Twitter, and Baby-boy again, and nurse too--which was rathernice of her, I think--and last of all her aunt, who gave her a warm hug.
And in another minute or two Mary was rattling to the station in afour-wheeler, with Pleasance beside her, and her luggage in front. Andin another quarter of an hour or so, they were comfortably settled inthe railway carriage--off to Levinside, Mary busy wondering to herselfif this was the way the Cooies came to the Square gardens, or if theyhad some other "air-path," without following the railway line.
She was roused from these reflections by the maid's voice.
"It is a nice day for the time of year," Pleasance said. "I hope, MissMary, it will be bright weather while you are with us."
"Yes," said Mary, rather absently. She was watching the flight of abird overhead, and wondering if possibly it was one of her friends.
Pleasance thought she might be feeling rather shy and strange, so shewent on talking.
"You have never been to Levinside, I think, Miss," she said. "To mymind there's no place like it, and no house like ours, though, to besure, it's quite small. But there's not a window in it that you can'tsee a bit of the forest from, not one, though at the back, of course,you see it best of all."
Mary's attention was fully caught by this time. "How nice," sheexclaimed, "how very nice! I do hope my room is at the back."
"Yes, Miss Mary," said the maid, pleased at her tone, "that is just whatit is. It has two windows, and from one you could almost touch thetrees. The other window is larger and gets the morning sun, so the roomis not at all dull or chilly, indeed all our rooms are bright, thoughjust at the edge of the forest."
"I love forests," said Mary, "at least I mean trees. I have never seena real forest, only woods. Are there many birds in Levin Forest?" shewent on, half timidly.
"A great many in the spring and summer time," said Pleasance; "not somany now, of course. But enough to keep it cheery, so to say. And mylady has been very pleased lately at finding that the wood-pigeons havecome over more to our part than they used. There's a new road makingacross at the opposite side, and Miss Verity thinks perhaps that's thereason; for though wood-pigeons are trusting sort of creatures, theydon't like being disturbed. And I daresay my lady's right, for we'venever heard them cooing like this year. It's just beautiful." Mary'sheart beat so fast with pleasure that she could scarcely speak. _Could_it be her own Cooies' voices that Pleasance had heard? It was almosttoo lovely to hope for.
"I _love_ wood-pigeons," she said.
"Then you and my lady will be the best of friends," said Pleasance, "forI almost think they are her favourites of all the creatures about."
Thus beguiling the way with pleasant talk, like the travellers in the_Pilgrim's Progress_, the little journey soon came to an end, and longbefore the autumn afternoon had given any signs of drawing in, the trainslackened and pulled up at the small roadside station which was thenearest to Dove's Nest, though a two-miles' drive off.
And on the platform stood a lady whom Mary would have guessed to be hergodmother, even if Pleasance had not exclaimed, "Here we are, Miss!" asshe gathered Mary's wraps and small luggage together.
Miss Verity had quite white--snow-white--hair. Just at the very firstmoment, somehow, this gave Mary a little start. She had not expectedit, and she was not used to it, as her aunt and those she lived with hadalways been younger people. And there is something just a very little"uncanny"--till you get used to it--about _very_ white hair and darkbright eyes; it is almost too like a "fairy godmother" to seem quitenatural. But these dark eyes, though bright, were very, very sweet andsoft too.
"If my godmother is at all a fairy," thought Mary to herself, "she is avery good, kind one."
So, though her cheeks had got rather pink with the surprise and a sortof sudden shyness, she held up her face to be kissed without hesitation,and slipped her hand into her godmother's, feeling a pleasant sort of"sureness" that all that her aunt had told her about Miss Verity wasgoing to come true.
There was a little pony-carriage waiting just outside the station gates,and standing in it was a rather fat piebald pony. The carriage onlyheld two, and for a moment or so Mary wondered how she and her godmotherand Pleasance were all to get to Dove's Nest, as the maid had told herit was two or three miles from the station. But just then, glancinground, she saw that there was also a two-wheeled spring-cart, drawn byanother piebald; and Miss Verity noticing Mary's glances, smiled, as ifshe were answering an unspoken question.
"Yes," she said, "they are both my ponies. Their names are Magpie andJackdaw. Sometimes I driv
e them together, and then we do go prettyfast, though Magpie does not look as if that often happened, does she?"
Magpie was the fat pony that Mary had first noticed, though Jackdawcertainly was not thin!
"No," said Mary, "she doesn't. But she is very pretty," she went on,feeling--as Magpie just then turned her head as if she was listening--that perhaps it might hurt her to hear herself spoken of as at all lazy;"she is very pretty, and I daresay she is fat because she isgood-tempered."
She looked