“My cap,” exclaimed Mary, putting up her hand to her head, “my hat, you mean—oh no, by the bye, I have my little fur cap on. How quickly you notice everything, dear Cooie! I remember thinking that my cap would be more comfortable for getting in and out among the bushes.”
The Cooies did not answer, but Mary felt sure that both their heads were well on one side, which she had found out for them meant a kind of smile, and when she glanced at them she saw that it was so.
“Well then,” she went on, “I beg your pardon for interrupting you—after I have stuck the grey feather in my cap?”
“Walk on seven paces from the exact spot—right foot one—left foot two—exactly seven, you understand. Then stand still and you will see a very small opening in the brushwood and bushes, by this time very thick and close, you know. It will seem almost too small an opening for you to push into, but don’t be afraid. You shall neither scratch your face nor tear your clothes, I promise you. The only thing you may dislike will be that for a little way it may be very dark—darker the farther you go, till—”
Mary felt a tiny bit frightened, and this made her interrupt again—
“I wouldn’t mind if you were with me,” she exclaimed. “Why can’t you stay with me now? You might perch on my shoulders, both of you—or I will carry you very carefully if you like.”
“No,” said both the wood-pigeons together, so that their voices sounded like one, “that would not do. There are rules, you see, Mary. You must do part of it for yourself. Don’t be afraid—the darkness won’t hurt you, and after a bit you will get out of it, and then—”
“Then, what?”
“You will see us, and—a good deal more,” was the reply, followed by a slight flutter, and when Mary looked up, both her friends had disappeared!