“Not for always. Come back in the spring, Mary. Run in now, but come back in the spring,” and then in an instant they were up in the air, ever, ever so high, and Mary was standing there alone, Michael’s feather still in her hand, and from above there came the “coo-coo” she had learnt to know so well, and the echo of the last words, “come back in the spring, Mary.”
Feeling rather strange, almost as if she were going to cry, Mary crossed the little lawn to the house. And just as she got to the door she met Pleasance coming out with the big bell in her hand.
“Oh, Miss Mary,” she said, “I am so glad you have come back. I was just going to the gate to ring. But it is getting so dark and chilly already, I am glad you came home earlier, and so will Miss Verity be.”
She was right. Mary’s godmother drove in a few minutes later, and her first words to the little girl were the same as her maid’s.
Miss Verity was rather silent that evening, though as kind as ever. She seemed to have a good deal to think of.
And the next morning there were several letters for her, which she read carefully.
After breakfast she called Mary into the drawing-room.
“I think, dear,” she said, “we will not have any lessons to-day. I have two or three things to tell you—one, rather sad, at least to me it is so, and I fancy you will feel the same about it. And two or three pleasant things—which will you have first?” Mary considered.
“The sad one,” she replied, “and then the others will make me feel happy again.”
Miss Verity smiled, and then Mary noticed that she was holding a small packet in her hand.