And as if in reply, at that moment she heard, though the windows were all closed, faintly, yet distinctly, “coo-coo,” from the side of the room nearest the gate into the forest. But Mary knew it meant,—
“Yes, you have guessed right at last, Mary.”
She was in great spirits all that evening, and her godmother quite sympathised in her pleasure at having heard from Michael. And when Mary showed her the feather, Miss Verity looked at it most admiringly.
“It is a lovely feather,” she said. “I don’t think I ever saw anything, except snow, so perfectly white.” This pleased Mary very much, and made her feel still happier about her chance of the Queen Dove’s prize.
“Godmother,” she said, “may I spend to-morrow afternoon again in the forest? You don’t particularly want me to drive with you, do you?”
She could not help feeling a little anxious as to the answer, but yet—the Cooies had managed everything all right so far. She felt that she might trust them.
“No, dear,” said Miss Verity. “I do not mean to drive myself to-morrow, for I am going to send to fetch some rather large parcels from the railway station. And in any case I like you to play in the forest when you wish it. It will be fine to-morrow, too, I think, as the sun has set very red.”
“I’m so glad,” said Mary, “and thank you very much. Shall I get any more cones?” she added.
“Yes, please, as many as you can, but don’t stand about too much, so as to get chilled.”
“I almost wish,” thought Mary, as she was going to bed, “that I hadn’t reminded godmother of the fir-cones. I am so afraid of being too late for the Queen’s party. But perhaps it wouldn’t have been kind not to offer to get them. I know what I’ll do, I’ll start as early as ever I can, and run all the way to the place near the white gate—I am sure I know it now—and pick up the cones there; there are lots. So the Cooies are sure not to miss me, and if my basket is not full, they will manage to help me in some of their queer fairy ways.”