"THERE ARE RULES, YOU SEE, MARY."
There was a red glow in the sky where the sun had disappeared, as Mary
and her godmother came out from the shade of the trees, and stood for a
moment or two on the lawn at the side of the house, before going
indoors. I think one is often inclined to do this in the country,
especially when it is no longer summer, and the evenings are less warm
and mild--it is a sort of "good-night" to the outside world before you
have to close the doors and windows of your own nest, hoping that all
the furred and feathered friends are snug and cosy in theirs.
"It will be fine to-morrow, I feel pretty sure," said Miss Verity, "and
perhaps milder. I hope so, for my own sake as well as yours, Mary, for
I have to drive rather a long way. Now run upstairs and take off your
things quickly, for tea will be quite ready, I am sure."
Mary was down again in a minute: she was not tempted to linger at her
window, as she knew the Cooies would not come there till the morning.
She only thought to herself that she would be very glad if Miss Verity
proposed her staying at home the next day, while she herself went the
long drive she had spoken of.
"I could be in the forest all the afternoon," she thought.
And that evening, just before she went to bed, it seemed as if her wish
had found its way into her godmother's mind.
"Would you like to go with me to Metherley--the place I have to drive
to," she said, "or would you rather stay at home and amuse yourself? Do
you think you could do so? Tell me truly."
"I'm _sure_ I could," said Mary. Then, fearing that her wish to be left
behind might not sound very polite, she added, "I don't mean that I
would not like the drive with you, godmother, but I know I should be
quite happy if I might go into the forest."
"There is no reason why you should not do so, dear, if it is a fairly
good, dry day--and in the forest it dries so quickly; the moisture soaks
through the `fir needles' carpet almost at once. And I will tell
Pleasance to ring the big bell now and then, so that if you should
possibly feel at a loss as to your whereabouts, you would soon know."
"Oh thank you," said Mary, her eyes sparkling with pleasure, "that would
be beautiful I might fix with Pleasance to ring it twice, perhaps--once
at three o'clock, and once at four. Wouldn't that be a good plan?"
"A very good plan," said Miss Verity. "And you will promise to come
home after you hear the second bell, for it will be getting late and
chilly. I shall be back by half-past four or so and quite ready for
tea."
"Yes," said Mary. "I'll run home when I hear the four o'clock bell. It
will be like Cinderella." Then came bed-time, and Mary was glad to go
to sleep "for the morning to come sooner."
And when it did come, she jumped out of bed the instant Pleasance awoke
her, and hurried to get dressed as quickly as possible, so that she
might have a few minutes at the window with her faithful little friends.
They were true to their promise. Mary had scarcely pushed up the sash
when she heard their voices, and in another moment they had both hopped
on to the sill.
"Coo-coo," they began, "good-morning, Mary dear. We have been watching
for you."
"Good-morning, dear Cooies," she said. "I have only a very few minutes
before the breakfast-bell rings, but this afternoon--"
"We know," interrupted Mr Coo. "You are to be alone, and you have got
leave to be in the forest."
"How _do_ you know?" said Mary, opening her eyes very wide.
Mr Coo shook his head; Mrs Coo held hers on one side.
"Never mind how we know," said Mr Coo. "To begin with, we are `little
birds'--"
"Not so very little," Mary interrupted.
"--And," Mr Coo continued, without noticing what Mary said, "everybody
knows that little birds hear more than any one else. Besides, we are
such near neighbours."
"Oh," exclaimed Mary, "that was what I wanted so much to ask you. Do
you live in that dark place in the forest? I mean do you roost there?"
Both the wood-pigeons put their heads on one side and looked at
her--"rather funnily," Mary thought to herself, afterwards.
"We roost close to your garden," said Mr Coo. "What you call the dark
place in the forest is not what you think it."
Mary listened eagerly.
"Do tell me about it," she said.
"There is not time just now," Mrs Coo replied. "Besides--" and she
glanced at Mr Coo.
"We hope to do much better than tell you about it," he said. "We mean
to _show_ it to you--that is what we want to settle about. You must
meet us in the forest as soon as you go out this afternoon."
"Yes," said Mary. She was beginning to find out that the best way with
the Cooies was to agree with their plans and never to argue with them.
For sooner or later, somehow or other, they carried out what they
settled, and as she was by no means sure that they were not half or
three-quarters "fairies," she did not mind giving in to them, little
birds though they were.
So "yes," she said, "I have got leave to go into the forest immediately
after luncheon, and if you will tell me where to meet you--"
"You need do nothing but walk straight on through the gate from this
garden," said Mr Coo. "We shall manage all the rest. It is not going
to rain, you need not be afraid," he added, seeing that Mary was
glancing up rather anxiously at the sky.
"I'm so glad," she replied, with a sigh of relief, and just then the
breakfast-bell rang.
"Good-bye, dear Cooies, good-bye till this afternoon," she exclaimed as
she ran off, and the soft coo-coo sounded in her ears on her way
downstairs.
"Dear me," said Myrtle to Pleasance, as they met on the landing, "just
hearken to those wood-pigeons. They might be living in the house. I
never, no never, have known them come about so, as just lately. They
seem as if they knew Miss Mary was here, and were particular friends of
hers," and the old servant laughed at her own joke.
The morning passed as usual. Mary did her best to give her attention to
her lessons, which as a rule she found no difficulty in doing, for her
godmother's pleasant teaching was so interesting and often indeed so
amusing that it did not seem like lessons at all. But this morning her
head was running so much on what her Cooies had said and promised, that
more than once Miss Verity had to ask her what she was thinking about.
"Is it your afternoon in the forest that you are dreaming of?" said her
godmother. "Are you intending to explore it and make wonderful
discoveries?"
Mary grew rather pink.
"Godmother," she replied, "you have such a way of guessing what I am
thinking about! I never knew any one like you for that."
Miss Verity smiled.
"You need not mind," she said. "I have not forgotten about my own
dreams and fancies when I was a little girl like you. Perhaps they were
not altogether dreams and fancies, after all. However that may have
been, they did me no harm, and I don't think yours will do you any harm
either."
"Were some of them about the forest?" asked Mary, rather shyly.
Miss Verity nodded.
"Yes," she replied, "I think they nearly all had to do with the forest.
You know--or perhaps you don't know--that this was my own old home,
long, long ago, when I was a very little girl. Then, when I was nearly
grown-up, we left it, and I did not see it again for many years. But it
always seemed `home' to me, and you can imagine my delight when I heard
it was again to be sold and I was able to buy it for my very own. And I
hope to end my days here, at the edge of the dear forest I love so
well."
Mary listened with great interest. She thought to herself that she
would soon get to feel just as her godmother did about Dove's Nest.
"Especially," she added in her own mind, "as the forest is the Cooies'
home."
"Now, let me hear you go over that page of French again," said Miss
Verity. "You will enjoy your afternoon all the more if you have done
your best this morning."
As she said this, a low "coo-coo" caught Mary's ear. It was soft and
faint--perhaps it came from some little distance--perhaps it was very
low on purpose, so that no one but herself should hear it. But she knew
whose voice it was; she knew too what the Cooies' advice would be, so,
though it called for some effort on her part, she determined to leave
off thinking of anything but the matter in hand, and gave her full
attention to her French reading. And by the end of her lesson time she
felt well rewarded when her godmother told her she had done "very well
indeed."
The day had grown steadily brighter. When luncheon was over, Miss
Verity went upstairs almost immediately to put on her out-door things,
and Mary waited in the porch to watch for the ponies coming round and to
see her godmother start.
Jackdaw and Magpie seemed very bright and eager to be off, and they
looked so pretty that for a moment or two Mary half regretted that she
had asked to be left behind. But just as she was thinking this, she
heard again the voice from the trees, "coo-coo," and she looked up with
a smile.
"Oh my dear Cooies," she said, "you are getting _too_ clever! I believe
you know what I am thinking even--but you need not remind me of our
plans, and you needn't be afraid that I _really_ want to go a drive
instead of staying with you."
Then she heard her godmother coming downstairs, and as Miss Verity got
into the pony-carriage she nodded brightly to Mary.
"Good-bye, dear," she said. "Be sure you enjoy yourself, but don't
forget to run home when you hear the bell for the second time."
Mary nodded. "I won't forget," she said.
Then the ponies tossed their heads, as if to say good-bye, and started
off briskly, their bells tinkling clearly at first, then more and more
faintly as they trotted away, till at last they were not to be heard at
all.
Mary gave herself a little shake. She had been standing listening in a
half dreamy way. Now she ran across the lawn and through the
wicket-gate and into the wood as quickly as she could go. But once she
was well among the trees she walked more slowly; somehow she never felt
inclined to run very fast in the forest or to talk loudly. There was
something soft and soothing in the air, in the gentle rustle high up
among the branches and the uncertain light, a feeling of "mystery," to
put it shortly.
"I wonder," said the little girl to herself, "I wonder if it all looked
just as it does now when godmother was like me and strolled about the
paths. I wonder if it will look just the same when I get to be quite
old, as old as dear godmother is now. I wonder if it will look the
same--let me see--a hundred years from now."
"It will not take a hundred years for you to be an old woman," said a
voice close to her ear.
Mary gave a little start. Then, glancing up, she saw the two
wood-pigeons perched on a low-growing branch just where she was passing.
They had not been there a moment or two before, she was certain, and
she felt a little vexed with them--with Mr Coo, at least, for she now
knew their voices well enough to distinguish that it was he who had
spoken to her--for startling her.
"Of course it won't," she replied rather crossly. "I am not so silly as
all that. I shall be quite old in fifty years, or less than that I
wasn't thinking of godmother's age when I wondered about a hundred years
from now, nor about myself either, and if you please, Cooies, when you
guess what I am thinking in my own mind, please guess the whole, and not
odd bits."
"All right," said Mr Coo.
"No," said Mary, "I think it's all wrong when you get into that teasing
way."
"He doesn't mean it, my dear," said Mrs Coo, who was always a
peacemaker, "but perhaps you are tired to-day. Would you rather not--"
"Oh," interrupted Mary, "if you are going to say would I rather not go
to see that secret part of the forest, please don't say it. Of course
I'm not tired or anything. I've just been _longing_ to come."
"Well then," said Mr Coo, "listen, Mary, and I will tell you exactly
what to do. Walk straight on till you come to the place where you stood
still with your godmother yesterday and looked at the dark part among
the trees. Then glance about you on the left, and after a little you
will perceive lying on the ground a small grey feather. Note well the
spot where it lies, then pick it up and fasten it on to your cap in the
front."
"My cap," exclaimed Mary, putting up her hand to her head, "my hat, you
mean--oh no, by the bye, I have my little fur cap on. How quickly you
notice everything, dear Cooie! I remember thinking that my cap would be
more comfortable for getting in and out among the bushes."
The Cooies did not answer, but Mary felt sure that both their heads were
well on one side, which she had found out for them meant a kind of
smile, and when she glanced at them she saw that it was so.
"Well then," she went on, "I beg your pardon for interrupting you--after
I have stuck the grey feather in my cap?"
"Walk on seven paces from the exact spot--right foot one--left foot
two--_exactly_ seven, you understand. Then stand still and you will see
a very small opening in the brushwood and bushes, by this time very
thick and close, you know. It will seem almost too small an opening for
you to push into, but don't be afraid. You shall neither scratch your
face nor tear your clothes, I promise you. The only thing you may
dislike will be that for a little way it may be very dark--darker the
farther you go, till--"