“Well, what then?” said Miss Verity, smiling. “It may snow without being a snow-storm. And that will not be just yet. I know the signs of the weather here pretty well by this time, my dear.”
So Mary went to sleep with a lighter heart.
And her godmother was right. It was cold the next day, it is true, but not very cold, nor very gloomy; nothing to prevent the little girl’s setting off in good time to the spot where she usually met the Cooies. But how slowly and sadly she made her way there. She could scarcely help crying again, as she looked at the poor feather she carried in her hand—not wrapped up, what was the use of wrapping it up now?—instead of in its former place in spotless whiteness on the front of her cap. Indeed more than once she felt on the point of turning back altogether, and when she got near the entrance to the hidden path she stood still, feeling as if she could not bear to see the two wood-pigeons.
Just then something cold fell on her face; she looked up; there it was again—yes, it was snowing, after all, though not much. A few flakes, that was all—and a ray of wintry sunshine came out as she glanced upwards, so there was not much fear of any great fall. Nor did Mary mind now.
“The Cooies will take me safe home, I am sure,” she said to herself. “They’ll take care of me, I know, even if they are very vexed with me.”
They were not to be seen as yet, however, so Mary made her way along the little path to the white gate, which, as she half expected, stood open. So was the inner one, and in another moment she found herself inside the great arbour hall. And though there was complete silence, a glance showed her that it was quite full—all the birds were there in their places, waiting for the Queen, and—for her. Her own wood-pigeons perched one on each side of the green bench.
“You are late,” they murmured, as she took her place.
“Oh Cooies,” she whispered in reply, “it doesn’t matter. I am so unhappy. I was nearly not coming at all, only then you would have thought I had broken my promise, and perhaps I should never have seen you again.”
“It was better to come,” said Mr Coo, “but—hush!”
The Queen had alighted—where from, Mary could not see, but there she was, on the green pillar, as before, and it scarcely needed the sound of the lovely voice calling her, for the little girl to know that she was summoned.