The Wood-Pigeons and Mary

“I think,” said Mrs Coo, “I think it would be best for the Queen herself to tell Mary about the competition – that is to say if we succeed in getting an invitation for her. So I was not very sorry that you were interrupted, Mr Coo. I think you should consult me before speaking of anything so important to the dear child.”

Mr Coo seemed rather snubbed, but he was always ready to acknowledge Mrs Coo’s good sense.

“In future I will do so, my dear,” he replied politely.

Chapter Six.

“The Soft Rush of Many Little Wings.”

After breakfast Miss Verity turned to Mary.

“Let us talk over our plans a little,” she said.

“I like making plans,” Mary replied, and in her own mind she added, “it would be a good thing to know what my godmother wants me to do every day, for then I could tell the Cooies the most likely times for me to be at the window.”

“That is a good thing,” said Miss Verity, smiling. “I will give you an idea of how I usually spend the day. Of course it changes a little between summer and winter, but just now it is rather between the two. Well, as a rule, I am busy about house things for an hour or so after breakfast, and then I generally take a stroll round the garden and go to see the ponies, and then I write letters or read till luncheon. In the afternoon I go a drive – once or twice a week I pay calls, and once or twice I go to see some of the cottage people; of course if they are ill or in trouble and I know of it, I go oftener.”

“May I come with you when you go to the cottages?” Mary asked. “I like to see the funny little rooms, and sometimes there are such nice babies. But,” she went on half timidly, “I’d rather not pay lady calls. Auntie takes me with her sometimes, but I generally wait for her outside in the carriage.”

“I will not take you to pay any ‘lady calls’ where you would feel strange or shy,” said Miss Verity, “but at one or two of my friends, there are children whom you would like – about your own age.”

“Ye-es,” Mary replied, rather doubtfully, “but, please, godmother, I should be quite happy here with just you. And sometimes mayn’t I go a little walk alone in the forest?”

Miss Verity considered.

“Yes,” she said, “I don’t see any reason why you should not. It is perfectly safe: there are no tramps or gypsies about here. I will take you there once or twice myself and explain the paths a little, so that there would be no fear of your losing your way. And now I shall be busy for an hour, or half-an-hour any way. After that we can stroll about a little together.”

“And then?” said Mary.

“Then,” said Miss Verity, with her half comical smile, “supposing we do some lessons? I promised your auntie that I would read French with you, as I have been more accustomed to it than she herself or your governess.”

“Would you like me to learn some French by heart to say to you?” asked Mary. She wanted to please her godmother, for she felt how very kind she was, and I think too, she wanted Miss Verity to see that she could be trusted, so that she could now and then be free to talk to her Cooies.

“And perhaps,” she thought, “perhaps I may meet them in the wood and see where they live, and see some more Cooies – their cousins. That would be lovely.”

“I should like it very much indeed,” said Miss Verity. “I have a dear little book of the old fables – La Fontaine’s – oh, by the bye, it is up in your room. And I know how fond you are of animals, so – ”

“Oh,” exclaimed Mary, and she looked so bright and eager that Miss Verity did not mind her interrupting. “I know what you mean. I have learnt one or two. I’ll run upstairs now and find the book, and may I choose a fable?”

“Certainly, dear,” said her godmother.

So Mary hastened to her turret, where she soon discovered the fat little old-fashioned volume. Then she chose one fable – not a very long one, but I am afraid I don’t remember which it was – and settled herself in the corner of the drawing-room, which, like her own window, looked out towards the forest, to learn two or three verses by heart.

From time to time she glanced out – with a half idea that perhaps she might catch sight of the wood-pigeons.

“They are so clever,” she said to herself, “that if they saw me learning my lessons they would quite understand I mustn’t be interrupted. But it would be nice just to feel that they were peeping at me through the branches.”

She neither heard nor saw anything of them that morning, however. But she now trusted them too much to have any fear of their forgetting her.

And by the time Miss Verity came in from her house-keeping duties, Mary’s two or three verses were perfectly learnt.

“But I will not hear them just yet,” said her godmother, “put on your hat and jacket, and come out with me to see how the ponies are this morning.”

The ponies seemed to Mary even more lovable in the stable than in harness. They both seemed to know their mistress so well, and rubbed their heads against her in the most affectionate way. And when she said to Magpie that she must make friends with Mary too, Magpie really turned her head round and gazed at Mary with her big brown eyes as if she quite understood.

Then Mary gave her and Jackdaw a lump of sugar each, which they seemed to enjoy very much, and after that Miss Verity took her round the kitchen garden and the little poultry-yard, and even to pay a visit to the pig-sty, where lived two fat little pink pigs, looking cleaner, Mary said, than any pigs she had ever seen before.

And just as they were going into the house again Miss Verity stood still for a moment.

“Listen,” she said, “is it not pretty?” and then came to their ears the sweet sounds so familiar to Mary —

“Coo-coo, Coo-coo.”

Mary’s eyes sparkled. She felt sure the voices were those of her own little friends.

Lessons hardly seemed lessons at Dove’s Nest. Miss Verity had such an interesting way of explaining things, and seeming as if she herself enjoyed what they talked about. Yet she was very particular too, and I think that sensible children like to feel that their teachers are particular, just as sensible ponies like to feel that the person holding the reins knows how to drive. She was not satisfied with Mary’s being able to repeat the fable rightly till she had gone through it with her and saw that she understood it all quite thoroughly, and then she corrected some of Mary’s pronunciation, which made it all sound ever so much prettier. After that, there was a sort of geography lesson, as Mary was very anxious to see on the map exactly where her dear Michael was going to, and how he would get there, so that the time passed so quickly that Mary could scarcely believe when her godmother looked at her watch and exclaimed —

“My dear child, it is one o’clock, and we have luncheon at a quarter past! Auntie would think I was giving you far too many lessons.”

“No, no, she wouldn’t,” said Mary, laughing and shaking back her curls, which had tumbled over her eyes while she was bending to look at the atlas. “Auntie would be very pleased, for it doesn’t seem a bit like lessons. It is almost as nice as hearing stories.”

At luncheon, which was of course Mary’s real dinner, her godmother began talking about what they should do that afternoon.

“Would you rather drive or go a walk?” she said. Mary was burning with eagerness to explore the forest a little. She knew that till Miss Verity was satisfied that there would be no fear of her losing her way among the trees she could not hope for leave to wander about by herself.

“I would dreadfully like to see the forest,” she said, “but of course – ”

She was going to say that she would be pleased to do whatever her godmother thought best, but she felt rather shy. Miss Verity considered for a minute or two, then, —

“I think we had better do both,” she said. “Both drive and walk. Magpie needs some exercise, and I want to ask how an old friend of mine is, who lives too far off to walk there; though her house too is on the edge of the forest. That will take us about an hour and a half, so if we start at a quarter past two we shall still have time for a wander on this side of the woods before it gets too chilly and dusk.”

“Thank you,” said Mary. In her heart she felt rather disappointed that she would have no time, or very little, that day to see her Cooies, but still, after all, it was a great thing to see something of the forest and get leave, perhaps, to stroll about there by herself.

“And possibly,” she thought, “we may meet them. Godmother would not know them, but I am sure I would, and they could not feel frightened of her when she is so sweet and kind.”

She was ready in good time, and waiting at the door when Miss Verity came downstairs. It was really quite curious to see how Magpie pricked up her ears the moment she heard her mistress’s voice, and the very slightest touch on the reins was enough to tell her which way she was to go or to hurry her up a little if she were jogging along too deliberately.

It was a pretty drive – indeed, Mary thought that all the drives about there were pretty – and quite in a different direction from the way they had come the day before. And when Miss Verity went in to see her friend who was ill, Mary strolled about the garden by herself. It was a nice garden, but not to be compared with the one at Dove’s Nest, Mary thought, and there did not seem to be nearly so many birds hopping about, or chirping in the trees. She felt very glad that her godmother did not stay long, as, though she tried not to be impatient, she was very eager indeed to go back for the promised walk in the forest.

And Magpie seemed to understand, or so Mary fancied, though most likely it was that she knew she was going home, for she did not require any sort of cheering up to go quickly, but trotted along as fast as Miss Verity would let her.

The man-servant was waiting for them at the door, so Mary jumped out at once and glanced up at her godmother.

“Yes, dear,” said Miss Verity, in reply to the unspoken words, “yes, I have not forgotten. Tell Myrtle,” – Myrtle was the parlour-maid – “to have tea ready for us in an hour,” she added, turning to the man. She looked up at the sky as she spoke. “Yes,” she went on, “I think we can safely stay out three-quarters of an hour or so before it gets too chilly. And it is not going to rain.”

Mary trotted along beside her godmother in silent satisfaction, though beneath her quiet appearance she was bubbling over with excitement.

To get into the forest – into a real big forest! – and above all, the forest where her Cooies lived – she could imagine nothing more interesting. And though she had felt disappointed at not getting there earlier in the day, she could not help agreeing with Miss Verity when, after a minute or two’s silence on her side too, she said, —