“I shall just not think any more about them,” she said to herself. “I need not go farther; there are lots of nice cones here. I will just fill the basket and go home, and I will tell godmother that I don’t care to come to the forest after all. It is too dull.”
It did seem very silent that afternoon; all the summer and even autumn sounds had gone, only the wintry ones of a branch snapping and falling, or leaves softly dropping, their little lives over. And now and then some faint strange bird’s note or cry, as the winged traveller passed rapidly overhead, which sounded to Mary’s fancy like a farewell.
“It’s going away,” she thought, “to some lovely warm place for the winter. Perhaps it has come from far north, where it is still colder than here, and is just only passing. I don’t think I like the winter after all, I wish you would take me with you, birdie,” and she gave a little shiver, for she had been standing about, as she picked up the cones. And the cold feeling reminded her of the soft, bright warmth of the secret part of the forest, and made her again reproach the Cooies in her heart, for she felt sure there would be no use in trying to find the white gate or to pass through it, if she did find it, without their help.
But patience is generally rewarded in the end, and Mary had shown patience in her actions if not in her thoughts, for she had by this time well filled her basket. And as she dropped into it the last cone or two it would hold, she heard the murmur that she had, though scarcely owning it to herself, been listening for all the afternoon.
“Coo-coo,”—very faint and distant at first, then clearer and nearer, till, on to each shoulder there came a rustle and a tiny weight, and—they were there! In rather a teasing mood, however!
“Mary, Mary, quite contrary,” they cooed. “How is your basket filled?”
Mary shrugged her shoulders, but she only heard a “cooey” laugh.
“No, no, you can’t shake us off,” they said.
“Quite contrary, indeed,” quoted Mary. “I should say it to you, not you to me. You know how I’ve been wanting you and watching for you at my window, and now you’ve let half the afternoon go without coming near me. It’s too late now for anything.”
“You are quite mistaken,” was the reply. “There is plenty of time. Business first and pleasure afterwards. You have got a nice basketful of cones, so now you can come with us with a clear conscience.”