"YOU CANNOT HAVE READ MANY FAIRY STORIES."
But no, she stood there, opening the window a little, though it was
decidedly cold, in vain. There was no sign or sound of her friends, and
Mary felt disappointed and rather cross when the bell rang, and she had
to hasten downstairs without even the pretty greeting, she loved so
well, reaching her from the neighbouring trees.
"They are really rather unkind," she thought. "I do believe they know
everything, or at least most things about me. I am sure they know I
want to see them this morning. I daresay I shall hear nothing more of
them--ever--or perhaps they'll come, but after I am gone; very likely
the white dove will come back to Crook Edge after Blanche and Milly are
gone. I don't believe birds have got any hearts, whether they're half
fairies or not."
"Mary," said Miss Verity, who noticed Mary's moods more than the little
girl knew, "will you gather some fir-cones for me this afternoon? I
shall not be going a drive, as the ponies need shoeing, and besides
that, I have some long letters to write. So you can amuse yourself in
the forest if you like." Somehow Mary's spirits rose when she heard
this; for though feeling, as she was, rather offended with the
wood-pigeons, it made her, all the same, hopeful that she might come
across them.
And as soon as possible after her early dinner she set off, carrying the
basket that Pleasance had given her to fill with fir-cones.
"I think I must look like a rather big Red-Riding-Hood," she thought, as
she passed through the wicket between Dove's Nest and the forest;
"though my basket is empty and hers was full, and _I_ am hoping to meet
the Cooies and not fearing to meet a wolf! And though my coat is red
like hers, it is a jacket and not a cloak."
But she walked a good way without meeting anything, and again she began
to feel rather cross with her little friends.
"I shall just not think any more about them," she said to herself. "I
need not go farther; there are lots of nice cones here. I will just
fill the basket and go home, and I will tell godmother that I don't care
to come to the forest after all. It is too dull."
It did seem very silent that afternoon; all the summer and even autumn
sounds had gone, only the wintry ones of a branch snapping and falling,
or leaves softly dropping, their little lives over. And now and then
some faint strange bird's note or cry, as the winged traveller passed
rapidly overhead, which sounded to Mary's fancy like a farewell.
"It's going away," she thought, "to some lovely warm place for the
winter. Perhaps it has come from far north, where it is still colder
than here, and is just only passing. I don't think I like the winter
after all, I wish you would take me with you, birdie," and she gave a
little shiver, for she had been standing about, as she picked up the
cones. And the cold feeling reminded her of the soft, bright warmth of
the secret part of the forest, and made her again reproach the Cooies in
her heart, for she felt sure there would be no use in trying to find the
white gate or to pass through it, if she did find it, without their
help.
But patience is generally rewarded in the end, and Mary had shown
patience in her actions if not in her thoughts, for she had by this time
well filled her basket. And as she dropped into it the last cone or two
it would hold, she heard the murmur that she had, though scarcely owning
it to herself, been listening for all the afternoon.
"Coo-coo,"--very faint and distant at first, then clearer and nearer,
till, on to each shoulder there came a rustle and a tiny weight, and--
they were there! In rather a teasing mood, however!
"Mary, Mary, quite contrary," they cooed. "How is your basket filled?"
Mary shrugged her shoulders, but she only heard a "cooey" laugh.
"No, no, you can't shake us off," they said.
"Quite contrary, indeed," quoted Mary. "_I_ should say it to you, not
you to me. You know how I've been wanting you and watching for you at
my window, and now you've let half the afternoon go without coming near
me. It's too late now for anything."
"You are quite mistaken," was the reply. "There is plenty of time.
Business first and pleasure afterwards. You have got a nice basketful
of cones, so now you can come with us with a clear conscience."
"I wish you wouldn't bother about my conscience; it's all right," said
Mary, rather crossly still, though in her heart she quite trusted the
Cooies, and was delighted to go with them. "What shall I do with the
basket?" she went on.
"Leave it here--on the path. It will be quite safe. You are close to
the white gate, though you did not know it," said Mr Coo. "Turn
round."
So Mary did, putting down her basket, and feeling rather like a big ship
steered by a very small person at the helm. And sure enough, the tiny
path, or passage rather, scarcely to be called a path, was there at her
side, though she had not seen it when busy gathering the cones.
It seemed less of a scramble this time, and only a very few paces to go,
before they were at the gate. Mary had no grey feather in her cap this
time as an "open sesame," and no need for one apparently, for the white
gate opened of itself as soon as they reached it, "without the least
fuss. I suppose it is because the Cooies are on my shoulders," thought
she.
And just as they got to the other gate the wood-pigeons hopped down, and
actually, with their beaks, or feet, or _somehow_, pushed it open,
without any difficulty, holding it back till Mary had passed through,
when it gently closed.
The little girl stood still, looking round her in expectation of seeing
the crowds of birds as before. But not one was there! The place,
though lovelier that ever, she thought, as she glanced at the beautiful
light, flickering and filtering through the interlacing bushes, and
rested her eyes on the fresh green, and felt the soft warmth creeping
caressingly round her, was quite deserted. And as she turned to her
little friends in surprise, they answered, as now often happened, her
unspoken question.
"No," they said, "you will not meet any of our relations to-day. They
are very busy elsewhere, as you will hear. But that will make it all
the easier to show you the arbours you so much want to see."
"Thank you," said Mary, not sorry to hear this, for the crowds of birds
had just a little worried her, and she was feeling rather stiff and
tired with the cold and with stooping so much to pick up the cones.
"But in the first place," said one of the Cooies--I think it was Mr
Coo--"you must rest a little and get warm."
He looked at her as he spoke, with his head on one side. He and Mrs
Coo were not on her shoulders now, as I said, but on the ground a little
in front of her. "You have not got on your new cloak to-day," he said.
"It would have kept you warm."
"Of course I couldn't wear it to run about the forest in," said Mary.
"Well, to pick up cones in--I've not had much running about to-day,
certainly. But how did you know about it?"
"Never mind just now," was the reply. "Sit down," and glancing round,
Mary saw her mossy chair there as before, though she felt sure that a
moment or two ago its place had been empty. But she was very glad to
settle herself in it all the same, and before she had sat still for two
minutes she felt rested and refreshed.
"It is a nice chair," she said, patting the arms, on which the Cooies
were now perched, approvingly. "Now tell me, please, where are all your
hundreds of relations to-day? What are they busy about?"
"They are preparing for a great ceremony," said Mr Coo, solemnly. "The
day after to-morrow is fixed for it to take place. Our Queen--Queen
White Dove--every year gives--"
"Your Queen," exclaimed Mary. "I never heard of her before--I did not
know you had a Queen! Queen White Dove," and something seemed to come
into her mind as she spoke, as if she _did_ remember--what was it?
"Are you sure you never heard of her before?" asked the wood-pigeons,
their heads very much on one side. "But it does not matter. You will,
I hope, see her for yourself, as I will explain, if you will not
interrupt. She gives a prize every year for some special thing, the
finding or making of which calls for skill and perseverance on the part
of her subjects. This year the prize is promised to the bringer of the
whitest feather. It must be as white as her own plumage, which I must
tell you has never yet been matched. So there has been a great deal of
search for such a feather, and work too, as some of us have endeavoured
in various ways to whiten to great perfection some of our own feathers,
though it remains to be seen if we have succeeded. Myself, I doubt it,"
he went on (for Mr Coo had taken up the thread of the discourse), "and
as the ceremonial will be a very great and beautiful sight, we have
obtained leave for you, Mary, to be present at it, provided--this
condition cannot be avoided--you yourself are one of the competitors."
"I don't know what that means," said Mary. "Please explain. I should
_so_ like to come, and you would manage somehow, wouldn't you, for me to
get leave from godmother."
"One question at a time, _if_ you please," said Mr Coo, in the tone
which rather provoked Mary always. "Being a competitor simply means
that you too will try to win the prize."
Mary's face fell.
"Oh then it's no good," she said. "I can't possibly find the whitest of
white feathers."
Neither of the wood-pigeons spoke for a moment or two. They only looked
at each other. Then said Mr Coo,--
"You are not a stupid child, Mary, yet you are rather slow and dull
sometimes. How about your feather cloak?"
"Oh," said Mary again, "_that's_ no good. If you know about the cloak,
and I suppose you do, in some queer way, for _I've_ never told you what
it's like, you must know that it isn't white at all. It's made up of
all sorts of shades of bluey-grey--like your feathers--even
pinky-looking here and there."
"Ah," said Mr Coo. "Yes, I am aware of that." Mary opened her eyes.
"Then what do you mean?" she asked.
This time Mrs Coo replied. She never liked to be left out of the
conversation for long.
"You cannot have read or heard many fairy stories, my dear."
"Yes indeed I have, heaps," said Mary, more and more puzzled. "Tell me
why you think that."
"We cannot explain," said Mrs Coo. "It's against the rules. There are
_some_ things that humans must find out for themselves," and Mary
understood that it would be no use questioning more.
Then, as she was now quite rested, the wood-pigeons proposed that they
should take her round the bowers. They hopped on in front, Mary
following. And oh, how pretty the bowers were! They were alike and yet
different. Inside each, hung, quite high up, a little coloured lamp.
It did not seem as if anything were burning in it: it was more as if
some of the wonderful light in the whole place, whose source was one of
the secrets, had been caught into the lamp and tinted with its exquisite
colour. Such colours as Mary had never dreamt of, even though they
somehow reminded her of the countless shades of her own little cloak.
And there were no two lamps the same, nor were there any two bowers the
same, as I have said.
For the varieties of foliage were endless. Some were very fine and
small--like great masses of what we call "maiden-hair fern"; some larger
and richer, like the trees Mary had read of in the tropics of the
everyday world, but all foliage only--no flowers. And in each bower
there were cosy-looking nests, and silvery-looking perches, and
trickling water, as clear as crystal--everything to make a birds'
paradise. No wonder that the Cooies and their countless relations loved
to come for a rest, in the midst of their busy lives, to the secret
place of the great forest.
"Now you have visited all the bowers," said the wood-pigeons at last,
and Mary, glancing round, saw that they were back again at the entrance,
where stood the mossy chair.
"Not your Queen's one?" she asked. "Has she not one of her very own,
even though I suppose in a way the whole place belongs to her. _Our_
Queen, you know, Queen Victoria, has several palaces just for herself,
though of course all our country is hers too."
"No," was the reply. "This is not our Queen's home. She only visits
it. Even this beautiful place is not beautiful enough for her."
Mary drew a deep breath.
"Then," she said, "I suppose her home is in real real fairy-land, and
you say this is only on the borders. And," as a sudden thought struck
her, "she visits outside of here too, sometimes. I remember now why I
seemed to know about her. It must be the Queen who goes now and then to
coo to Blanche and Milly at Crook Edge. A most beautiful, quite,
_quite_ white dove, with a ring of gold round her neck."
"You may call it gold," said Mr Coo, "but it is really more beautiful
than any gold you have ever seen. Yes--that is our Queen. Your friends
are highly favoured. They are good, and they have had sorrow--"
"Yes," Mary interrupted, "they are still dressed in black, and I am sure
they are good."
"That is reason enough for the Queen's favour," said Mrs Coo, "and now
they are going to be happy."
"I am so glad," said Mary. "How I _would_ like to see the Queen! But
there is no use thinking of it I could _never_ find a feather white
enough, however I searched, and there is no time now. Thank you very
much, Cooies, for getting leave for me to come; but it is no good, you
see. And--oh there is my bell! Shall I go home by the short-cut
again?" and she glanced at the chair.
"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.