The Wood-Pigeons and Mary

“My dear Charlotte,” it said – “I have always wished to make the acquaintance of my god-daughter, your little niece, Mary. And now that we are such very much nearer neighbours, this could surely be easily arranged. Will you spare her to me for a few weeks? I think I can almost promise you that I could make her happy, even though I have no young companions for her, and the most beautiful part of the year is past – though to my thinking, it is always beautiful here. I can send my maid, Pleasance, whom I daresay you remember, to fetch her, any day next week that would be convenient. I daresay a little holiday would do Mary no harm, and indeed she can go on with any of her lessons you like while with 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 head as 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 a pretty name, ‘Dove’s Nest,’ doesn’t that tempt you, Mary?”

Mary looked up quickly, “Dove’s Nest” was very pretty, but another name had caught her attention more sharply, through her memory rather than her fancy.

“Levinside,” she repeated, “Dove’s Nest at Levinside.”

“Yes,” said her aunt, “close to Levin Forest. You have heard of Levin Forest?”

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 her aunt unfolded it and handed it to her.

She did not look at the written part this time. Her eyes were fixed on the prettily engraved address at the top, printed in a rather peculiar shade of green —

“Dove’s Nest, Levinside.”

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

“Yes, auntie,” she said quietly, “I think I would like to go to my godmother’s.”

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

“She is a funny child,” she thought to herself. “It is some fancy about the forest that she has got into her head,” and Mary’s next words made her more sure of this.

“It is quite close to the forest, isn’t it?” the little girl asked rather anxiously.

“Yes,” her aunt replied, “the name ‘Levinside’ almost tells that, and Dove’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 a few weeks, we spent a day there with old Miss Verity. She has lived there for a long, long time.”

“I should like to go,” Mary repeated, and there was quite a sparkle in the hazel eyes which had been looking rather sad.

So the letter accepting the invitation was written and posted that very day, and when Mary stood by her window and looked out at the deserted fairy tree, it was with much happier feelings than she had ever hoped to do so again.

“They must be fairies, or any way they must have to do with some,” she thought. “Otherwise how could they have known, as I am sure they did, that my godmother was writing to invite me. Their very last words showed that they did know. Oh, my darling Cooies, how sweet it will be to see you again. ‘We shall meet before long, you will see, Mary.’ I’m only afraid it won’t be a ‘surprise’ to them, for if they could read godmother’s letter they’re sure to know when I’m coming.”

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

“It will do you no harm to have another holiday – or part-holiday,” said her aunt. “And there are many things besides regular lessons that Miss Verity can teach you, almost better than any one I know. She is wonderfully clever about plants and flowers – and knows a great deal about 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 of their relations and friends.”

“In winter, of course,” her aunt went on, “there are scarcely any flowers and plants in most places, but the best of a forest is that there is always something interesting to a botanist – and in sheltered parts it is wonderful how late and how early one can find pretty ‘wood treasures.’ I believe that is one reason why Miss Verity loves Levinside so.”

“I like flowers and ivy and ferny things,” said Mary, “though I don’t know the names of many. But I love alive things best, aunt. I mean alive like us – birds, and squirrels, and rabbits, and dormice.” Her aunt 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 up once or twice in the winter, just to have a good stretch and nibble a few 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 dear little brown paws! They’d look like baby when he wakes up and is too sleepy to open his eyes, and is all rosy and hot.”

Altogether she felt very happy and interested about her visit – besides looking forward to seeing the Cooies again.

And when the day came, and Pleasance, Miss Verity’s “old-maid” maid arrived, Mary did not feel at all shy or frightened at setting off with her on the short journey. It would indeed have been difficult to feel shy with Pleasance; she had such a very pleasant, cheerful face that Mary could not help thinking how well her name suited her. She was plainly dressed in grey, almost like a quakeress, with net quillings inside her bonnet, but her eyes were bright and her cheeks rosy, and Mary thought that no other kind of dress would suit her as well Auntie seemed very pleased at Mary’s setting off so cheerfully, and kissed her very lovingly, but nurse looked at her almost reproachfully, especially when Twitter set up a sad wail at “Maly’s” going away, in which, after staring at her for a moment or two, before making up his mind, Fritz decided to join.

Mary felt rather unhappy. It does seem sometimes as if one could not please everybody, and after all, she had not asked to go away, and auntie had been glad when she said she would like to go.

“Don’t cry,” darlings, she whispered to the little ones, “Maly will soon come back again, and if only it was summer she would bring you some pretty flowers from the forest.”

Then Fritz stopped crying to whisper something in return, which at first she could not make out, but at last she did. It was “fir-cones” – nurse said 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 a nice 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 be troubled with gathering fir-cones.”

Mary felt rather hurt, and before she had time to say anything her aunt turned to nurse, and said rather coldly, —

“Nonsense, nurse. You should know Miss Mary too well by this time to think that she would grudge a little trouble to please her cousins.”

Mary felt inclined to hug her aunt, and nurse looked sorry, and glancing at Pleasance, who was standing near the door, she saw by the little smile 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 kissed Fritz, and Twitter, and Baby-boy again, and nurse too – which was rather nice 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 a four-wheeler, with Pleasance beside her, and her luggage in front. And in another quarter of an hour or so, they were comfortably settled in the railway carriage – off to Levinside, Mary busy wondering to herself if this was the way the Cooies came to the Square gardens, or if they had 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, Miss Mary, it will be bright weather while you are with us.”

“Yes,” said Mary, rather absently. She was watching the flight of a bird overhead, and wondering if possibly it was one of her friends.

Pleasance thought she might be feeling rather shy and strange, so she went on talking.

“You have never been to Levinside, I think, Miss,” she said. “To my mind there’s no place like it, and no house like ours, though, to be sure, it’s quite small. But there’s not a window in it that you can’t see 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,” she exclaimed, “how very nice! I do hope my room is at the back.”