The Wood-Pigeons and Mary

“And what about your basket of cones, then?” said Mr Coo. “It is outside, and you promised to get them.”

“Oh I forgot,” said Mary. “Well, never mind. I daresay I shan’t see you again for a good while, so you might come part of the way with me.”

They did not answer; but when Mary had passed through the two gates into the forest, where it was beginning to look quite dark and to feel very chilly, there was the basket, and the Cooies on the handle.

“You sit down on the cones,” they said; and as she did so, without questioning, she felt herself uplifted, and glancing at the wood-pigeons, she saw that their wings were outspread for full flight.

It all seemed to pass in a moment; she had not time to think to herself that she and the basket and the birds were all flying together in some wonderful way, before there came – no, it could not be called a bump, it was too gentle for that, but a sudden stop, and there they were all of them just at the little wicket-gate leading through into Dove’s Nest garden.

“Thank you, Cooies,” said Mary, feeling as if she should be out of breath, though she wasn’t, “and – and – good-bye.”

“For the present,” added Mr Coo. “But, Mary, remember, if you want to join our great gathering the day after to-morrow, there is a way for you to do so; you have only to sharpen your wits and remember some of the fairy tales.”

“There is one,” said Mrs Coo softly, “about a prince who had a wishing – ”

“Hush,” said Mr Coo, “it is against the rules to give such very broad hints. But I may tell you this without any hinting at all, Mary. If you come you need only walk through the forest to the place where you found us – ”

“Or you found me,” interrupted Mary.

“Where we met to-day,” he went on, “and there we shall meet you again”; and before Mary had time to say any more, the wood-pigeons were off, out of sight!

And Mary rather slowly made her way to the house, carrying the basket of fir-cones and thinking over all she had seen, and wondering what her friends meant by their curious hints.

Chapter Eleven.

“From The Islands of Gorgeous Colours.”

Miss Verity took Mary a drive again the next day. It was not as interesting as the last one – the one to Crook Edge, I mean, to see Blanche and Milly. They did not pay any visits, as Miss Verity had several messages in the little town two or three miles off, where she had to go once a week or so to the shops.

Mary went into one or two of them with her godmother, and was amused by their quaint old-fashionedness; but when it came to a call at the Post-Office, where Miss Verity had some business to see to, she told Mary she had better wait outside in the pony-carriage, as it was a bright sunny afternoon, and she was well wrapped up in her feather cloak.

So Mary sat there thinking, and I daresay you can guess what her thoughts were about. She was wondering and wondering what the wood-pigeons had meant by their hints; and just as her godmother came out again and stepped into the carriage, she had got the length of saying to herself —

“Oh, I can’t guess, and I’m tired of puzzling about it any more. I just wish – oh, how I do wish – that I could find a perfectly white feather, the whitest that ever was seen! If only one of those dear little fluffy clouds would drop down and turn into one, it would do beautifully.”

She was looking up at the sky as she thought this; it was very blue, and the scudding cloudlets were very white; and – was it fancy? – just at that moment it seemed to Mary that a little quiver went through her cloak, as if it, or something about it, had suddenly “come alive,” or as if a tiny breeze had passed through it. But no; there was no wind at all that afternoon. Miss Verity remarked as they drove home how very still it was.

Something more than a quiver ran through Mary herself when she got out of the carriage and went into the hall. It was still full daylight, and there on the table lay a letter – a foreign letter – addressed to herself; and with a thrill of delight Mary saw that the writing was her cousin Michael’s!

“Oh, godmother!” she exclaimed, “it is for me – all for myself, not just a scrap inside auntie’s, and it has come straight from – from India, is it?”

“From the West Indies, dear,” said Miss Verity. “I know his ship was to be at one of the principal islands there a short time ago. Now just throw off your cloak and run into the drawing-room and read your letter. It won’t do you any harm to keep on your other things for a few minutes.”

Mary did as her godmother said. She put down her feather cloak carefully on a seat in the hall – somehow she never felt inclined to handle it carelessly, – and ran in to read her precious letter by the fire.

Surprises were not at an end for her to-day.

As she opened the envelope and drew out its contents something fluttered down to the floor. At first sight she could not believe her eyes; she thought she was dreaming, for when she stooped to pick the little object up, she saw that it was a small feather – white, perfectly white, “as white,” thought Mary to herself, with astonished delight, “as white as snow.” She scarcely dared to touch it, but slipping it back into the envelope, she went on to read the letter. It was not a very long one, but most kind and affectionate, as Michael’s always were, and it contained one piece of news which was full of interest. Through some quite unexpected changes, her cousin wrote, it was possible, just possible, that he might be home again by Christmas, and able to be “backwards and forwards” among them all for some weeks or even months. And then he went on to explain about the feather. It had dropped at his feet, he said, from some bird passing overhead, while he was standing, idle for once, looking over the sea and thinking of home, “and of you, little Mary,” he added, “so I thought I would just slip it into my letter.”

“He has no idea how pleased I am with it,” thought Mary. “It has come just in time for me to go to the Dove Queen’s great party, and I shouldn’t wonder – no, I really shouldn’t – if it gained the prize, for I am almost sure it is a fairy feather.”

And the word fairy reminded her of what the Cooies had said, and all of a sudden another idea came into her mind.

“I do believe that was it,” she said, speaking aloud in her excitement. “Yes, it all fits in with what they said and didn’t say. The feather cloak is a fairy cloak, a ‘wishing cloak.’ It brought me home in what seemed a moment the other day, by making me fall asleep, and to-day it has brought this beautiful white feather just in time! Oh what fun and how nice! I am sure I have guessed right.”

And as if in reply, at that moment she heard, though the windows were all closed, faintly, yet distinctly, “coo-coo,” from the side of the room nearest the gate into the forest. But Mary knew it meant, —

“Yes, you have guessed right at last, Mary.”

She was in great spirits all that evening, and her godmother quite sympathised in her pleasure at having heard from Michael. And when Mary showed her the feather, Miss Verity looked at it most admiringly.

“It is a lovely feather,” she said. “I don’t think I ever saw anything, except snow, so perfectly white.” This pleased Mary very much, and made her feel still happier about her chance of the Queen Dove’s prize.

“Godmother,” she said, “may I spend to-morrow afternoon again in the forest? You don’t particularly want me to drive with you, do you?”

She could not help feeling a little anxious as to the answer, but yet – the Cooies had managed everything all right so far. She felt that she might trust them.

“No, dear,” said Miss Verity. “I do not mean to drive myself to-morrow, for I am going to send to fetch some rather large parcels from the railway station. And in any case I like you to play in the forest when you wish it. It will be fine to-morrow, too, I think, as the sun has set very red.”

“I’m so glad,” said Mary, “and thank you very much. Shall I get any more cones?” she added.

“Yes, please, as many as you can, but don’t stand about too much, so as to get chilled.”

“I almost wish,” thought Mary, as she was going to bed, “that I hadn’t reminded godmother of the fir-cones. I am so afraid of being too late for the Queen’s party. But perhaps it wouldn’t have been kind not to offer to get them. I know what I’ll do, I’ll start as early as ever I can, and run all the way to the place near the white gate – I am sure I know it now – and pick up the cones there; there are lots. So the Cooies are sure not to miss me, and if my basket is not full, they will manage to help me in some of their queer fairy ways.”

Then she thought how and where she could keep the feather safe, and secure from getting the least spotted. She decided that its old home – the inside of Michael’s letter – was as safe as anywhere, but first she tore off a little piece of the blue tissue-paper round the “fairy cloak” and folded the feather in it.

To-morrow was fine, and all went as Mary hoped. Very soon after luncheon she set off, basket on arm, to the forest. Without difficulty she found the spot where the wood-pigeons had met her the last time, and which she knew was close to the entrance to the “secret place,” and there set to work to gather cones as fast as she could.

There were plenty, but still it was rather tiring, to keep stooping for them, scarcely allowing herself a moment’s rest, and more than once she wished that the Cooies would make haste and come to her help.

She was not afraid of their forgetting her, however, she knew they would come in time, and so they did, for before her basket was more than three-quarters full she heard the slight rustle in the air and felt the little feet on her shoulders.

“There you are!” she exclaimed joyfully, “and oh, dear Cooies, do you know what I have got?” and she drew out the precious feather.

Whether they had known about it or not, she could not tell, for they said nothing in reply to her question. They just hopped down and looked at her basket, their heads on one side.

“It is time to be going in,” they said. “All the others are in their bowers, getting ready.”

“But my cones,” said Mary. “The basket is not nearly full, and I shouldn’t like godmother to think I had got fewer this time.”

The wood-pigeons looked up – not to the sky, but to the nearest fir-trees. And two or three cones dropped – straight into the basket.

“It will be quite full when you come back again,” they said.

And Mary, wondering, but feeling it better to ask no more questions, followed them down the little path and through the two gates, both of which this time stood open. And when they first entered into the great, leafy hall, for a minute or two it seemed as deserted as the last time. But only for a minute or two.

“Sit down,” said the Cooies, very softly. “There is your place. They are all coming, and the rush may make you feel giddy.”