The Wood-Pigeons and Mary

  Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England

  The Wood-Pigeons and MaryBy Mrs MolesworthIllustrations by H.R. MillarPublished by Macmillan and Co, Limited, London.This edition dated 1901.

  The Wood-Pigeons and Mary, by Mrs Molesworth.

  ________________________________________________________________________

  ________________________________________________________________________THE WOOD-PIGEONS AND MARY, BY MRS MOLESWORTH.

  CHAPTER ONE.

  "SUCH BIG TEARS."

  "Mary is crying," said Mr Coo.

  "No!" replied Mrs Coo.

  But Mr Coo said again--

  "Mary is crying," and though Mrs Coo repeated--

  "No!" she knew by the way he held his head on one side and looked ather, that he was very much in earnest indeed.

  I must tell you that when Mrs Coo said `no,' it went off into a softsound that was almost like `coo'; indeed most of her talking, and of MrCoo's too, sounded like that, which is the reason, I daresay, that manypeople would not have understood their conversation. But it would berather tiresome to write "no," or other words, with double o's at theend, so I will leave it to be fancied, which will do just as well.There is a great deal of conversation in the world which careless peopledon't understand; a great deal which _no one_ can understand properly,however much they try; but also a great deal that one _can_ get tounderstand, if one tries, even without the gift which the dear fairybestowed on the very lucky prince in the long ago story. I forget hisname, but I daresay some of you remember it. The gift was the power tounderstand all that the beasts and birds say.

  This very morning the wind has been talking to me a good deal--it wasthe south wind, and her stories are always very sweet, though sometimessad, yet I understand a good deal of them.

  After this second "No," Mr and Mrs Coo sat looking at each other for amoment or two, without speaking.

  Then said Mr Coo--

  "It must be something--serious. For Mary scarcely ever cries."

  "True," said Mrs Coo, "true."

  But she did not say anything more, only she too held her head on oneside and kept her reddy-brown eyes fixed on Mr Coo. They seemed toask, "What is to be done?" only as she nearly always depended on Mr Coofor settling what was to be done or if anything was to be done, she didnot need to say the words.

  "Mary scarcely ever cries," he repeated. "There were large drops, quitelarge ones on her cheeks."

  "As large as raindrops?" asked Mrs Coo.

  "Larger--that is to say as large as large raindrops--the kind that comewhen it thunders," said Mr Coo.

  "Oh dear," sighed Mrs Coo, thinking to herself that Mary's trouble mustbe a very bad one indeed if her tears were _so_ large. She wanted verymuch for once, to ask what could be done, but she saw that Mr Coo wasconsidering very deeply, so she did not interrupt his thoughts.

  At last he turned to her.

  "I heard something," he said. "Very little, but enough to help me toput two and two together."

  "To make four," said Mrs Coo quickly. She felt rather proud of herarithmetic, though she did not understand what Mr Coo could mean, asshe had never heard the saying before. "Four _what_, my dear?"

  "Four nothing," was the reply--rather a cross one. "It is anexpression. You are not as used to human talk as I am, you see," hewent on more amiably, for it is not the way with the Coo family ever tobe cross for more than a moment, and if ever they are, they are sorryimmediately. "Never mind about the two and two. What I heard was onlya few words, but it has decided me that I must hear more, for," and hereMr Coo's tone grew very solemn, "it had to do with _us_!"

  Mrs Coo was so startled that she repeated Mr Coo's words, which wasone of the few things that tried his temper.

  "It had to do with _us_," she said. "How could that be? We have neverdone anything that could make Mary cry, especially such very largetears."

  "Yes," said Mr Coo, "we have done one thing. We have left the SquareGardens."

  "But that was some time ago," said Mrs Coo, "and she did not cry whenvery sweetly."

  Mr Coo gave what was for him a little cough--a sort of "h'm."

  "To tell you the truth," he said, "I have never felt perfectly sure thatshe understood my explanation that day. Still, you are right so far. Ihave seen her several times since then, and though she was putting herhead out of the window as far as she dared, and looking towards ourtree, where the nest is already falling to pieces, she was certainly not_crying_."

  "Perhaps she saw you yourself, and felt sure we had not really left forgood?"

  "No," said Mr Coo, "she did not see me the day she put her head so farout of the window. I was watching her, for I was a little afraid shemight already be missing us. But she only looked at the tree and seemedquite happy."

  "Is it since then that the nest has fallen to pieces, do you think, MrCoo?" asked Mrs Coo.

  She was rather a clever little wood-pigeon after all, though Mr Cooscarcely thought so.

  "Yes," he replied. "There was a great deal of wind last night and thenight before--I fancy the wind blew it down. This morning there isalmost nothing to be seen of it."

  "Then that was why Mary was crying," exclaimed Mrs Coo.

  But again Mr Coo shook his head, or at least turned it to the otherside, which meant that he did not agree with Mrs Coo.

  "_That_ would not explain the words I heard," he said.

  "What were they?"

  "She was crying," Mr Coo replied, "crying and leaning against thewindow, and the window was open, and I heard her say, `He doesn'tbelieve me, he doesn't believe me. It's too bad of the Cooies--' shecalls us the Cooies, you know, my dear."

  "Yes," said Mrs Coo, nodding her head gently, "I know."

  "It's too bad of the Cooies," she said again, Mr Coo went on. "`Ibelieve they're not Cooies at all, but very unkind, tricky fairies.'She said _that_--she really did."

  "Dear, dear, it's very sad, very sad indeed," said Mrs Coo, and hervoice was exceedingly low and mournful. "_Mary_ to think that of us.Something must be done, Mr Coo, something must be done."

  "Of course it must," he agreed. "I must go back then this veryafternoon and try to see her and find out all about the trouble."

  "Shall I come too?" asked Mrs Coo.

  "Certainly, if you like," said Mr Coo.

  In his heart, he was very pleased to have her company, but he was notvery fond of allowing that he was not quite able to manage everything byhimself.

  "Certainly, if you like," he repeated, "but just as you choose."

  "Then I think I will come," she said. "For one thing, Mary will bepleased to see both of us together, I feel sure, and perhaps it may beeasier to catch her eyes if we are both there. We can fly about alittle just in front of her window as we used to do, and call out toeach other. But I hope she will not be crying--at least not such verylarge tears. It would be almost too much for my feelings," and she gavea deep sigh--a real sigh, though it sounded like a very soft andmelancholy "coo."

  So, rather late that afternoon, the two wood-pigeons set off. It was apretty long fly to the square where Mary lived, but they thought itbetter not to go earlier, for as it was now autumn and the days werebeginning to get shorter, they knew that the children went out for theirsecond walk soon after their dinner, so as to come in before it gotchilly.

  And very often just about the time they planned to reach the Squaregardens, they had seen Mary at her own window, where she used to standlooking out, after taking off her hat and jacket, and while waiting tobe called to tea.

  Mary loved the window of her room. It looked out to the back of thehouse, for the gardens I am speaking of were not those in the middle ofthe square in front, but much prettier
ones, stretching along betweenone side of Mary's Square, and one side of another Square, whose housesalso looked out on them from the back. Mary knew every tree and bushthat grew near her house. She used to watch them all the year round,and could tell exactly about what time the leaves began to fade and dropoff, and about when the pretty new spring ones first showed, growing alittle greener and brighter every day till the trees had all theirsummer clothes on again. She got to know when the spring was in a lazymood, and when the autumn was in too great a hurry to come, so that heruncle used sometimes to call her his little "weather prophet." And ifshe