For the varieties of foliage were endless. Some were very fine and small—like great masses of what we call “maiden-hair fern”; some larger and richer, like the trees Mary had read of in the tropics of the everyday world, but all foliage only—no flowers. And in each bower there were cosy-looking nests, and silvery-looking perches, and trickling water, as clear as crystal—everything to make a birds’ paradise. No wonder that the Cooies and their countless relations loved to come for a rest, in the midst of their busy lives, to the secret place of the great forest.
“Now you have visited all the bowers,” said the wood-pigeons at last, and Mary, glancing round, saw that they were back again at the entrance, where stood the mossy chair.
“Not your Queen’s one?” she asked. “Has she not one of her very own, even though I suppose in a way the whole place belongs to her. Our Queen, you know, Queen Victoria, has several palaces just for herself, though of course all our country is hers too.”
“No,” was the reply. “This is not our Queen’s home. She only visits it. Even this beautiful place is not beautiful enough for her.”
Mary drew a deep breath.
“Then,” she said, “I suppose her home is in real real fairy-land, and you say this is only on the borders. And,” as a sudden thought struck her, “she visits outside of here too, sometimes. I remember now why I seemed to know about her. It must be the Queen who goes now and then to coo to Blanche and Milly at Crook Edge. A most beautiful, quite, quite white dove, with a ring of gold round her neck.”
“You may call it gold,” said Mr Coo, “but it is really more beautiful than any gold you have ever seen. Yes—that is our Queen. Your friends are highly favoured. They are good, and they have had sorrow—”
“Yes,” Mary interrupted, “they are still dressed in black, and I am sure they are good.”
“That is reason enough for the Queen’s favour,” said Mrs Coo, “and now they are going to be happy.”
“I am so glad,” said Mary. “How I would like to see the Queen! But there is no use thinking of it I could never find a feather white enough, however I searched, and there is no time now. Thank you very much, Cooies, for getting leave for me to come; but it is no good, you see. And—oh there is my bell! Shall I go home by the short-cut again?” and she glanced at the chair.