Laurie opened his eyes wide—“How could a pigeon be in this room,” he thought; “they must surely be asleep in the dove-cote by this time.” The room was quite dark, except for a little square of light high upon the wall, but he gradually made out the different objects in the room, and saw that the light came from the little cupboard on the mantlepiece. He heard the soft whirr again, this time close by, and looking up he saw a pigeon perched on one of the four posts of his bed. “So you don’t believe we have any work to do,” said the pigeon. “Would you like to see inside the dove-cote? If so, come with me.” When he said this, he hovered about the bed for a moment, then fluttered over to the mantelpiece, and stood beside the little cupboard.
Laurie was about to say that he could not possibly get up to the door, when he remembered what Aunt Laura had said about climbing up on a chair to peep in, so he jumped out of bed, and pulling a chair close to the fireplace, stepped from it to the mantelpiece. It never occurred to him until afterwards, to think that he was ever so much too big to fit inside the cupboard, and it really did not matter after all, for somehow or other he did fit—whether he had grown suddenly quite small, or the cupboard was quite large when one got near enough to it, I do not know, but there he was inside, with the pigeon hopping along sedately ahead of him.
It was apparently a narrow passage, and very long, for they walked on for some time, turning corners now and then, as though it ran past certain rooms in the house, and Laurie could see that it was lit by hundreds of fireflies, making it almost as bright as day.
CHAPTER IV.
Suddenly the passageway came to an end, Laurie does not remember quite how it happened, but there he was up in the dove-cote, high above the farmyard, with the pigeons cooing and circling about him.
What a beautiful dove-cote it was, ever so much larger than one would have supposed: indeed it was like a real house.
It did not seem at all strange for the cooing to sound more and more like words, and presently Laurie found that the pigeons were inviting him to enter. Inside how beautiful it all was! Velvet carpets lay on the floor, with the most exquisite patterns traced on them; in each room the pattern was different, yet always changing, for they were made by the tiny feet of the pigeons as they moved about. Soft curtains hung at the doors. They were wonderful feather curtains; instead of having to push them to one side, all that one had to do was to move towards them, and they folded into wings. Exquisite music sounded in the rooms, that was the wind, and it sang of the countries and people it had seen in its travels. It sang of the waving corn, the ships at sea, the flames leaping in the fireplace, it crooned a lullaby it had heard a mother singing to her baby—now the voice of the wind was soft and low, that was when it remembered the places it had been in, where there was peace and happiness; now it was loud and harsh, for it had also been in terrible storms, and wild places, ah! they were wonderful stories. No one was idle in the dove-cote, some pigeons were kept busy writing the news that the wind brought, others flew here and there, for they were the messengers, and must carry the news over the farm.
One pigeon had a ring over his ankle: he was very important indeed, quite a personage in the dove-cote.
