"ONE ON HER SHOULDER, ONE ON HER OUTSTRETCHED HAND."
Late the next evening a tall boy in midshipman's uniform ran upstairs
and into the drawing-room of Mary's home. His mother was sitting there
alone. She looked up brightly.
"I thought it was you, dear Mike," she said. "No one else comes with
such a rush. I am so glad you have got off again; but I suppose it is
only for two nights?"
"Only," he replied; "but it is lucky to have got even that. May I have
some tea, mother, or is it too late?"
"Of course not. Ring, dear, and you will have it at once."
"And how's Mary?" said Michael, as he drank his tea.
His mother looked a little surprised.
"_Mary_?" she repeated. "Quite well. Indeed I think she is scarcely
ever ill."
"Oh, I don't mean really _ill_," said the boy; "but don't you remember
what you were saying--you said nurse had been speaking of it--that Mary
is getting fanciful and dreamy, and all that sort of thing, and more
like that since I've been so much away. And the other day I did think
she seemed rather down in the mouth."
His mother looked thoughtful.
"I am sure she misses you a great deal," she said. "The others are so
much younger. And then the change from the country to living in a town.
I daresay she misses country things."
"I expect she does--lots," said Michael; and though he did not speak of
it--as he had a feeling that Mary had trusted him with what she counted
a sort of secret--his mind went back to what she had told him of the
wood-pigeons and their nest. "It must have been all her fancy," he
thought; "but it shows how her head runs on country things like that."
"She enjoyed the seaside, I think," his mother went on, "though not as
much as the little ones did. She is too big for digging in the sand and
paddling, and so on. And the place we were at was bare and
uninteresting--not a tree to be seen--what people call an excellent
place for children. Yes, perhaps poor Mary has not been quite in her
element lately." And Mary's aunt looked rather distressed. Suddenly
her face cleared.
"By the bye, Mike," she exclaimed, "how stupid of me to have forgotten.
I had a letter lately from Mary's godmother--old Miss Verity; she lives
at Levinside, near the forest, you know. She wrote to ask how Mary was
getting on; and she said she would be delighted to have the child for a
visit if ever we thought she would be the better for some country air.
It is very charming there, even in late autumn or winter. If Mary seems
very dull after you go, I think I will write to Miss Verity and propose
a visit."
Michael gave a sort of grunt.
"I shouldn't think it would be very lively for her," he said, "going to
stay with an old maid like that, all by herself. Better be here with
you, mother, and Fritz and Twitter."
"Ah, but you don't know Miss Verity," said his mother. "She's not like
an old maid, or rather she is the very nicest old maid that ever lived.
She is full of spirits and very clever and very kind, and I am sure she
would be just the person to understand a rather fanciful child like
Mary. Mary has scarcely seen her, but I am sure they would get on, and
she knew Mary's own mother so well. And her house is so pretty and so
prettily situated."
"It might be a good plan," said Mike, "but if I were you, mother, I'd
see what Mary herself thinks of it before you settle anything."
"Yes, I will," she replied. "It would certainly do Mary no good to go
there against her own wishes. For she has decided ideas of her own,
though she is a gentle obedient child as a rule. But I think I hear her
coming, Mike, so take care. I don't want her to think we are talking
her over. Nurse is not always careful enough in that way; she forgets
that Mary is growing older."
The door opened almost as she said the last word, and Michael could not
help smiling to himself as he thought how very easily his little cousin
might have overheard her own name, though his mother meant to be so
thoughtful. He looked up brightly, the smile still on his face, and he
was pleased to see an answering-back one on Mary's as she caught sight
of him.
"Oh, dear Mike," she exclaimed, "it _is_ you! Oh, you don't know how
glad I am you've come. I thought I heard you running upstairs, and I
wanted to come to see, but nurse said I must be dressed first Auntie, I
wish you'd tell nurse sometimes to let me run down to speak to you
without such a fuss. I'm not as little as Twitter, you know."
Her aunt glanced at her and smiled, and Michael smiled too.
"Yes, mother," he said, "I think nurse does treat Molly rather too
babyishly now."
Mary glanced at him gratefully, and her face brightened still more.
Michael seemed quite like himself to her again.
"I rather agree with you," said his mother. "I will give her a hint.
Have you been wanting to see me for anything special to-day, Mary dear?"
"Oh no, it was only that I was so hoping Michael would come," she
replied; and a moment or two later, when her aunt happened to have gone
to the other end of the room to write a letter, the little girl turned
to her cousin.
"Mike," she said, speaking almost in a whisper, "have you settled what
you are going to do to-morrow, exactly?"
"Well, no, not quite. It depends on mother. I have not much to do,
myself. I did all my shopping last week, you see. I thought it would
be nice to have the last two days pretty clear. Mother," he went on,
raising his voice a little, "what would you like me to do to-morrow--I
have kept it quite free for you--and Mary," he added quickly.
"Darling," said his mother. "Well, I was thinking we might go out
together in the afternoon, you and I. I want you to say good-bye to
your godmother--and if you and Mary can think of anything you would like
to do in the morning, that would suit very well," and then she went on
writing.
"What would you like to do, then, Moll?" said Michael. "I'm sure you've
got something in your head."
Mary clasped her hands in eagerness.
"_Anything_ you like, Mike," she said. "The only thing I want you to
promise me is that you will come up to my room to-morrow morning at
twelve o'clock to see something. I won't tell you what it is, but when
you see, you will understand."
"At twelve o'clock," said Michael, "twelve exactly?"
"Yes," said Mary.
"All right," her cousin replied. "You're a queer child, Moll. Well
then, I think the best thing we can do is to go shopping for an hour or
so about half-past ten. You're to have a holiday, you know, and you
like shopping."
"_Dreadfully_," said Mary, "especially with you. What sort will it be?"
"It's some of my Christmas presents that are still on my mind," said
Michael. "Mother's, and Twit's--I never know about girls' things. I'm
going to leave them with you to give for me. Father's and the little
boys' I've got all right."
Mary's face shone with pleasure.
"That will be lovely," she said. "I know several things that Twitter
would like, and I daresay nurse would help us to think of something for
auntie. Nurse is very good about that sort of thing."
"Isn't she good about everything?" asked Michael. Mary grew a little
red.
"She vexes me sometimes," she replied. "P'raps she doesn't understand.
I'll explain to you better after to-morrow morning. Oh Mike dear, 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 you
come back again. They say it's so gloomy and dark in the winter
sometimes; 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 choice
between 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 you
through the gloomy months."
"I shall miss you so," said Mary, "and there's something else I shall
miss too."
She was thinking of the Cooies, and she was glad to feel that once
Michael had seen them and knew about them, she would be able to tell him
of their going away, and that they only came back out of affection for
her now and then.
More than this she felt she must not tell him, as it was a sort of
secret between her and them. There are fairy secrets sometimes which it
would 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 proved
quite as kind and interested about the Christmas presents as Mary had
expected. Indeed there was nothing she would _not_ have been interested
about if it concerned her eldest nursling, as big Michael was, and she
was really fond of Mary too, and pleased to see her happy, though she
had 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 pretty
exactly what they wanted to buy; which is always a great help when you
go on such an expedition; for after a good deal of thought, nurse had
decided that a new thimble was what "auntie" would like best. It was to
be a really pretty one of a new pattern, and nurse was able to direct
them to a jeweller's shop where she had seen some beauties in the
window, and it was to have his mother's initials engraved on it, Michael
said, and to be in a pretty case, lined with velvet. This important
piece of business was quickly completed, as they found the jeweller's
without difficulty. Twitter's present took rather longer; it was to be
a set of toy tea-things, and as Michael liked china ones with tiny roses
on, and Mary preferred some with forget-me-nots, they felt rather at a
loss, till luckily the shopwoman, who was very good-natured, found a
_third_ pattern, of rosebuds and forget-me-nots together, which was a
charming way out of the puzzle.
Then Michael proposed that they should go to a confectioner's not far
from their own Square, to get a little luncheon. They kept capital buns
there, he said, and after eating two of them, and having a glass of
delicious milk, Mary quite agreed with him, and they were sitting at the
little round marble-topped table very happily, when she happened to
glance at a clock hanging up on the wall, and started to see that it was
already 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 to
show 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 her
rather oddly. "What are you stuffing into your pocket, child?" he went
on.
"Only a bit of bun I don't want to eat," she replied, getting still
redder, for it had suddenly struck her that she had got no crumbs ready
for 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 must
certainly 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 a
lower voice, "it may fly away."
Michael had already paid for their luncheon, and fortunately they were
near home, and five minutes' quick walking covers more ground than you
might think. They were soon at their own door, and the moment it
opened, up flew Mary to her room.
"Mike," she had said as they stood on the front steps, "take out your
watch and look at it, and when the hand gets to five minutes past
twelve, run up to my room after me. Don't rap at the door, but come
straight in."
Michael laughed, and repeated to himself, though he did not say it
aloud--
"You are a queer child, Moll."
He waited the few minutes, as she had asked, then made his way upstairs
after her. It was a pretty and unexpected sight that met his eyes, as
he quietly opened the door, without knocking. He felt very curious
about this secret of his little cousin's--half suspecting she had some
trick preparing for him, and not wishing to be taken unawares, as what
boy would!
But the moment he caught sight of her, and heard the gentle sounds from
where she stood by the window, he "understood"--for he was very quick at
understanding--and felt ashamed of the doubts he had had of Mary's
truthfulness.
There they were--the wood-pigeons he had almost thought lived only in
her imagination--one on her shoulder, one just perching on her
outstretched hand, on the friendliest terms, it was easy to see--cooing
in the sweetest way, while Mary murmured some caressing words to them.
Nor were they startled away when Michael drew near, stepping softly, it
is true, but still not so softly but that the little wood-creatures,
well used to notice every tiniest sound in their forest homes, heard
him, and even, it seemed to Michael, glanced towards him, quite
fearlessly--quite secure in Mary's protection.
"Well, Mike?" she said with a smile. "They are very tame, you can come
quite close," and then Michael heard again her own little murmur, though
he did not know that it meant: "of course he won't harm you, dear
Cooies."
Michael drew near.
"They _are_ sweet," he said, "are they your own, Molly? or have you
tamed 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 to
live in the Square, and I have watched them, as I told you the other
day. The remains of their old nest are still there, but I am sure they
are not going to build there any more. They only fly over here to see
me, and I give them crumbs and water whenever they come."
"Oh," said Michael, "that was what the bit of bun was stuffed into your
pocket for."
Mary smiled.
"But, Mike," she said gravely, "you know--I am afraid you did not
believe 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 sweet
way they coo. But Mike, do tell me--did you believe me?"
"I don't quite know," answered her cousin, honestly. "I didn't think
you were making up a regular story--an untruth, I mean,--I knew you
wouldn'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 yourself
imagine were wood-pigeons, and certainly the remains in the tree
scarcely look like a nest, do they?"
"No, they don't," said Mary. "The wind tore it to pieces that night it
blew so."
"Yes, I understand it all now," said Michael, "except--it's quite
wonderful 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 with
my own eyes," and as he spoke, he very gently stroked Mr Coo's
opal-coloured feathers.
"They have tamed themselves, the darlings," said Mary. "I think wild
creatures would soon learn to know me."
"It's wonderful," Michael repeated. "I have heard of some people who
have 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't
told any one about the Cooies, have you? not about my telling you of
them, and your not quite--"
"Of course not," said Michael, interrupting her, "and please don't say
any more about that part of it."
"Well, I won't, then," Mary replied, "but I want you not to speak about
them at all to any one. You see they are going away--they are not going
to build here any more, and nurse, and even auntie perhaps, would
scarcely--oh yes, of course they'd believe _you_. But still, I'd rather
no one heard about them. I do so wish they hadn't got tired of these
gardens."
"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 she
shivered 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 little
friends.
"Thank you _so_ much, dear Cooies," she said, "but I won't ask you ever
to come back to see me if there is the least fear of anything so
dreadful."
"We did not like to mention it before," said Mr Coo, "but it was in our
minds, 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.