“Michael is coming back again,” she said after a moment’s silence, “the day after to-morrow, to stay two nights.”
“Ah!” said Mr Coo, in a tone which made Mary think to herself that if he had been a dog he would have pricked up his ears.
And “Ah!” repeated Mrs Coo.
Mary was silent.
“Supposing,” began Mrs Coo, “supposing we could arrange to spend a day here?”
“A day,” repeated Mary; “you don’t mean, you surely don’t mean, dear Cooies, that you are not coming back to live here any more.”
Mr Coo bent his head gravely; so did Mrs Coo.
“Even so,” they murmured.
“Oh!” cried Mary, the tears rushing to her eyes, “do you really mean you won’t count the fairy tree your home any more—that you won’t build another nest, and have new little eggs there next spring? Oh dear, oh dear!”
Mr and Mrs Coo felt very distressed.