“It is the wood-pigeons,” said Miss Verity; “but what a quantity! I have often seen them flying together in the evening—going home, I suppose, but never so many together. And they are coming from the dark planting, as it is called. I have often wondered if they roosted there, but it does not look like it.”
Mary gazed still—even after her godmother had walked on a few paces; and just as she was turning to run after her, a sound still nearer at hand stopped her again. One of the birds had swooped downwards, and its murmured “coo-coo” made her stop.
“Mary,” said the little voice, “be at your window early to-morrow morning. We want to talk to you.”
“Yes,” whispered Mary in return; “yes, Cooie, dear, I will be there.”
And then, full of pleasure, she hastened to overtake her godmother.
“You are not cold, dear, at all, are you?” Miss Verity asked.
“Oh no, not the least, thank you,” said Mary. “I’m just—” and she gave a little skip.
“What?” asked her godmother, smiling.
“As happy as anything” replied Mary, with another hop.
Miss Verity smiled with pleasure.