Her aunt glanced at her and smiled, and Michael smiled too.
“Yes, mother,” he said, “I think nurse does treat Molly rather too babyishly now.”
Mary glanced at him gratefully, and her face brightened still more. Michael seemed quite like himself to her again.
“I rather agree with you,” said his mother. “I will give her a hint. Have you been wanting to see me for anything special to-day, Mary dear?”
“Oh no, it was only that I was so hoping Michael would come,” she replied; and a moment or two later, when her aunt happened to have gone to the other end of the room to write a letter, the little girl turned to her cousin.
“Mike,” she said, speaking almost in a whisper, “have you settled what you are going to do to-morrow, exactly?”
“Well, no, not quite. It depends on mother. I have not much to do, myself. I did all my shopping last week, you see. I thought it would be nice to have the last two days pretty clear. Mother,” he went on, raising his voice a little, “what would you like me to do to-morrow – I have kept it quite free for you – and Mary,” he added quickly.
“Darling,” said his mother. “Well, I was thinking we might go out together in the afternoon, you and I. I want you to say good-bye to your godmother – and if you and Mary can think of anything you would like to do in the morning, that would suit very well,” and then she went on writing.
“What would you like to do, then, Moll?” said Michael. “I’m sure you’ve got something in your head.”
Mary clasped her hands in eagerness.
“Anything you like, Mike,” she said. “The only thing I want you to promise me is that you will come up to my room to-morrow morning at twelve o’clock to see something. I won’t tell you what it is, but when you see, you will understand.”
“At twelve o’clock,” said Michael, “twelve exactly?”
“Yes,” said Mary.
“All right,” her cousin replied. “You’re a queer child, Moll. Well then, I think the best thing we can do is to go shopping for an hour or so about half-past ten. You’re to have a holiday, you know, and you like shopping.”
“Dreadfully,” said Mary, “especially with you. What sort will it be?”
“It’s some of my Christmas presents that are still on my mind,” said Michael. “Mother’s, and Twit’s – I never know about girls’ things. I’m going to leave them with you to give for me. Father’s and the little boys’ I’ve got all right.”
Mary’s face shone with pleasure.
“That will be lovely,” she said. “I know several things that Twitter would like, and I daresay nurse would help us to think of something for auntie. Nurse is very good about that sort of thing.”
“Isn’t she good about everything?” asked Michael. Mary grew a little red.
“She vexes me sometimes,” she replied. “P’raps she doesn’t understand. I’ll explain to you better after to-morrow morning. Oh Mike dear, I am so sorry you’re going away,” and her face got rather sad again.
“But you look ever so much jollier than when I went away on Tuesday,” said Michael.
“Well, yes, because I’m feeling so,” she answered.
“All the same, Michael, I know it’s going to be awfully dull till you come back again. They say it’s so gloomy and dark in the winter sometimes; not like the country. I shall always like the country best, Mike.”
“So should I,” said her cousin, “that’s to say if it was a choice between it and a town, though I like the sea best of all, of course. But don’t get melancholy again, Moll. Something may turn up to help you through the gloomy months.”
“I shall miss you so,” said Mary, “and there’s something else I shall miss too.”
She was thinking of the Cooies, and she was glad to feel that once Michael had seen them and knew about them, she would be able to tell him of their going away, and that they only came back out of affection for her now and then.
More than this she felt she must not tell him, as it was a sort of secret between her and them. There are fairy secrets sometimes which it would be almost impossible to tell to anybody.
The rest of that evening and the next morning passed very cheerfully, even though Michael’s time was to be so short at home. Nurse proved quite as kind and interested about the Christmas presents as Mary had expected. Indeed there was nothing she would not have been interested about if it concerned her eldest nursling, as big Michael was, and she was really fond of Mary too, and pleased to see her happy, though she had only had the care of her for a much shorter time than the others.
The two set off for their shopping quite early. They knew pretty exactly what they wanted to buy; which is always a great help when you go on such an expedition; for after a good deal of thought, nurse had decided that a new thimble was what “auntie” would like best. It was to be a really pretty one of a new pattern, and nurse was able to direct them to a jeweller’s shop where she had seen some beauties in the window, and it was to have his mother’s initials engraved on it, Michael said, and to be in a pretty case, lined with velvet. This important piece of business was quickly completed, as they found the jeweller’s without difficulty. Twitter’s present took rather longer; it was to be a set of toy tea-things, and as Michael liked china ones with tiny roses on, and Mary preferred some with forget-me-nots, they felt rather at a loss, till luckily the shopwoman, who was very good-natured, found a third pattern, of rosebuds and forget-me-nots together, which was a charming way out of the puzzle.
Then Michael proposed that they should go to a confectioner’s not far from their own Square, to get a little luncheon. They kept capital buns there, he said, and after eating two of them, and having a glass of delicious milk, Mary quite agreed with him, and they were sitting at the little round marble-topped table very happily, when she happened to glance at a clock hanging up on the wall, and started to see that it was already a quarter to twelve o’clock.
“Oh Mike,” she exclaimed, “we must hurry. It is nearly twelve.”
Michael glanced at his watch.
“Yes,” he said, “but if we’re not back quite – oh I forgot – you wanted to show me something in your room at twelve o’clock. But won’t it keep? It’s not likely to fly away.”
Mary’s face flushed.
“To fly away,” she repeated. “I never spoke of flying.”
“No,” said Michael, “it’s just a way of speaking,” but he looked at her rather oddly. “What are you stuffing into your pocket, child?” he went on.
“Only a bit of bun I don’t want to eat,” she replied, getting still redder, for it had suddenly struck her that she had got no crumbs ready for the Cooies, and that she would not have time to ask for any.
“And if they keep their promise to me,” she said to herself, “I must certainly keep mine to them.” – “Mike, dear,” she went on beseechingly, “do let us hurry. What I want to show you won’t ‘keep’ – perhaps,” in a lower voice, “it may fly away.”
Michael had already paid for their luncheon, and fortunately they were near home, and five minutes’ quick walking covers more ground than you might think. They were soon at their own door, and the moment it opened, up flew Mary to her room.
“Mike,” she had said as they stood on the front steps, “take out your watch and look at it, and when the hand gets to five minutes