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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/15569-8.txt b/15569-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..10fa3c8 --- /dev/null +++ b/15569-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5013 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Cuckoo Clock, by Mrs. Molesworth, +Illustrated by Walter Crane + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Cuckoo Clock + + +Author: Mrs. Molesworth + +Release Date: April 6, 2005 [eBook #15569] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CUCKOO CLOCK*** + + +E-text prepared by Ted Garvin, Chuck Greif, and the Project Gutenberg +Online Distributed Proofreading Team (www.pgdp.net) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 15569-h.htm or 15569-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/5/6/15569/15569-h/15569-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/5/6/15569/15569-h.zip) + + + + + +THE CUCKOO CLOCK + +by + +MRS. MOLESWORTH + +Author of "Herr Baby," "Carrots," "Grandmother Dear," etc. + +Illustrated by Walter Crane + +London: +MacMillan and Co., +and New York. + +1895 + + + + + + + +[Illustration: IT WAS A LITTLE BOAT.] + + +[Illustration] + + + + +TO + +MARY JOSEPHINE, + +AND TO THE DEAR MEMORY OF HER BROTHER, + +THOMAS GRINDAL, + +BOTH FRIENDLY LITTLE CRITICS OF +MY CHILDREN'S STORIES. + +Edinburgh, 1877. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + + I. THE OLD HOUSE + + II. _IM_PATIENT GRISELDA + + III. OBEYING ORDERS + + IV. THE COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS + + V. PICTURES + + VI. RUBBED THE WRONG WAY + + VII. BUTTERFLY-LAND + + VIII. MASTER PHIL + + IX. UP AND DOWN THE CHIMNEY + + X. THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOON + + XI. "CUCKOO, CUCKOO, GOOD-BYE!" + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. + +"WHY WON'T YOU SPEAK TO ME?" + +MANDARINS NODDING + +"MY AUNTS MUST HAVE COME BACK!" + +SHE LOOKED LIKE A FAIRY QUEEN + +"WHERE ARE THAT CUCKOO?" + +"TIRED! HOW COULD I BE TIRED, CUCKOO?" + +IT WAS A LITTLE BOAT + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE OLD HOUSE. + + + "Somewhat back from the village street + Stands the old-fashioned country seat." + + +Once upon a time in an old town, in an old street, there stood a very +old house. Such a house as you could hardly find nowadays, however you +searched, for it belonged to a gone-by time--a time now quite passed +away. + +It stood in a street, but yet it was not like a town house, for though +the front opened right on to the pavement, the back windows looked out +upon a beautiful, quaintly terraced garden, with old trees growing so +thick and close together that in summer it was like living on the edge +of a forest to be near them; and even in winter the web of their +interlaced branches hid all clear view behind. + +There was a colony of rooks in this old garden. Year after year they +held their parliaments and cawed and chattered and fussed; year after +year they built their nests and hatched their eggs; year after year, I +_suppose_, the old ones gradually died off and the young ones took their +place, though, but for knowing this _must_ be so, no one would have +suspected it, for to all appearance the rooks were always the same--ever +and always the same. + +Time indeed seemed to stand still in and all about the old house, as if +it and the people who inhabited it had got _so_ old that they could not +get any older, and had outlived the possibility of change. + +But one day at last there did come a change. Late in the dusk of an +autumn afternoon a carriage drove up to the door of the old house, came +rattling over the stones with a sudden noisy clatter that sounded quite +impertinent, startling the rooks just as they were composing themselves +to rest, and setting them all wondering what could be the matter. + +A little girl was the matter! A little girl in a grey merino frock and +grey beaver bonnet, grey tippet and grey gloves--all grey together, even +to her eyes, all except her round rosy face and bright brown hair. Her +name even was rather grey, for it was Griselda. + +A gentleman lifted her out of the carriage and disappeared with her into +the house, and later that same evening the gentleman came out of the +house and got into the carriage which had come back for him again, and +drove away. That was all that the rooks saw of the change that had come +to the old house. Shall we go inside to see more? + +Up the shallow, wide, old-fashioned staircase, past the wainscoted +walls, dark and shining like a mirror, down a long narrow passage with +many doors, which but for their gleaming brass handles one would not +have known were there, the oldest of the three old servants led little +Griselda, so tired and sleepy that her supper had been left almost +untasted, to the room prepared for her. It was a queer room, for +everything in the house was queer; but in the dancing light of the fire +burning brightly in the tiled grate, it looked cheerful enough. + +"I am glad there's a fire," said the child. "Will it keep alight till +the morning, do you think?" + +The old servant shook her head. + +"'Twould not be safe to leave it so that it would burn till morning," +she said. "When you are in bed and asleep, little missie, you won't want +the fire. Bed's the warmest place." + +"It isn't for that I want it," said Griselda; "it's for the light I like +it. This house all looks so dark to me, and yet there seem to be lights +hidden in the walls too, they shine so." + +The old servant smiled. + +"It will all seem strange to you, no doubt," she said; "but you'll get +to like it, missie. 'Tis a _good_ old house, and those that know best +love it well." + +"Whom do you mean?" said Griselda. "Do you mean my great-aunts?" + +"Ah, yes, and others beside," replied the old woman. "The rooks love it +well, and others beside. Did you ever hear tell of the 'good people,' +missie, over the sea where you come from?" + +"Fairies, do you mean?" cried Griselda, her eyes sparkling. "Of course +I've _heard_ of them, but I never saw any. Did you ever?" + +"I couldn't say," answered the old woman. + +"My mind is not young like yours, missie, and there are times when +strange memories come back to me as of sights and sounds in a dream. I +am too old to see and hear as I once could. We are all old here, missie. +'Twas time something young came to the old house again." + +"How strange and queer everything seems!" thought Griselda, as she got +into bed. "I don't feel as if I belonged to it a bit. And they are all +_so_ old; perhaps they won't like having a child among them?" + +The very same thought that had occurred to the rooks! They could not +decide as to the fors and againsts at all, so they settled to put it to +the vote the next morning, and in the meantime they and Griselda all +went to sleep. + +I never heard if _they_ slept well that night; after such unusual +excitement it was hardly to be expected they would. But Griselda, being +a little girl and not a rook, was so tired that two minutes after she +had tucked herself up in bed she was quite sound asleep, and did not +wake for several hours. + +"I wonder what it will all look like in the morning," was her last +waking thought. "If it was summer now, or spring, I shouldn't +mind--there would always be something nice to do then." + +As sometimes happens, when she woke again, very early in the morning, +long before it was light, her thoughts went straight on with the same +subject. + +"If it was summer now, or spring," she repeated to herself, just as if +she had not been asleep at all--like the man who fell into a trance for +a hundred years just as he was saying "it is bitt--" and when he woke up +again finished the sentence as if nothing had happened--"erly cold." "If +only it was spring," thought Griselda. + +Just as she had got so far in her thoughts, she gave a great start. What +was it she heard? Could her wish have come true? Was this fairyland +indeed that she had got to, where one only needs to _wish_, for it to +_be_? She rubbed her eyes, but it was too dark to see; _that_ was not +very fairyland-like, but her ears she felt certain had not deceived her: +she was quite, quite sure that she had heard the cuckoo! + +She listened with all her might, but she did not hear it again. Could +it, after all, have been fancy? She grew sleepy at last, and was just +dropping off when--yes, there it was again, as clear and distinct as +possible--"Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!" three, four, _five_ times, then +perfect silence as before. + +"What a funny cuckoo," said Griselda to herself. "I could almost fancy +it was in the house. I wonder if my great-aunts have a tame cuckoo in a +cage? I don't _think_ I ever heard of such a thing, but this is such a +queer house; everything seems different in it--perhaps they have a tame +cuckoo. I'll ask them in the morning. It's very nice to hear, whatever +it is." + +And, with a pleasant feeling of companionship, a sense that she was not +the only living creature awake in this dark world, Griselda lay +listening, contentedly enough, for the sweet, fresh notes of the +cuckoo's friendly greeting. But before it sounded again through the +silent house she was once more fast asleep. And this time she slept till +daylight had found its way into all but the _very_ darkest nooks and +crannies of the ancient dwelling. + +She dressed herself carefully, for she had been warned that her aunts +loved neatness and precision; she fastened each button of her grey +frock, and tied down her hair as smooth as such a brown tangle _could_ +be tied down; and, absorbed with these weighty cares, she forgot all +about the cuckoo for the time. It was not till she was sitting at +breakfast with her aunts that she remembered it, or rather was reminded +of it, by some little remark that was made about the friendly robins on +the terrace walk outside. + +"Oh, aunt," she exclaimed, stopping short half-way the journey to her +mouth of a spoonful of bread and milk, "have you got a cuckoo in a +cage?" + +"A cuckoo in a cage," repeated her elder aunt, Miss Grizzel; "what is +the child talking about?" + +"In a cage!" echoed Miss Tabitha, "a cuckoo in a cage!" + +"There is a cuckoo somewhere in the house," said Griselda; "I heard it +in the night. It couldn't have been out-of-doors, could it? It would be +too cold." + +The aunts looked at each other with a little smile. "So like her +grandmother," they whispered. Then said Miss Grizzel-- + +"We have a cuckoo, my dear, though it isn't in a cage, and it isn't +exactly the sort of cuckoo you are thinking of. It lives in a clock." + +"In a clock," repeated Miss Tabitha, as if to confirm her sister's +statement. + +"In a clock!" exclaimed Griselda, opening her grey eyes very wide. + +It sounded something like the three bears, all speaking one after the +other, only Griselda's voice was not like Tiny's; it was the loudest of +the three. + +"In a clock!" she exclaimed; "but it can't be alive, then?" + +"Why not?" said Miss Grizzel. + +"I don't know," replied Griselda, looking puzzled. + +"I knew a little girl once," pursued Miss Grizzel, "who was quite of +opinion the cuckoo _was_ alive, and nothing would have persuaded her it +was not. Finish your breakfast, my dear, and then if you like you shall +come with me and see the cuckoo for yourself." + +"Thank you, Aunt Grizzel," said Griselda, going on with her bread and +milk. + +"Yes," said Miss Tabitha, "you shall see the cuckoo for yourself." + +"Thank you, Aunt Tabitha," said Griselda. It was rather a bother to have +always to say "thank you," or "no, thank you," twice, but Griselda +thought it was polite to do so, as Aunt Tabitha always repeated +everything that Aunt Grizzel said. It wouldn't have mattered so much if +Aunt Tabitha had said it _at once_ after Miss Grizzel, but as she +generally made a little pause between, it was sometimes rather awkward. +But of course it was better to say "thank you" or "no, thank you" twice +over than to hurt Aunt Tabitha's feelings. + +After breakfast Aunt Grizzel was as good as her word. She took Griselda +through several of the rooms in the house, pointing out all the +curiosities, and telling all the histories of the rooms and their +contents; and Griselda liked to listen, only in every room they came +to, she wondered _when_ they would get to the room where lived the +cuckoo. + +Aunt Tabitha did not come with them, for she was rather rheumatic. On +the whole, Griselda was not sorry. It would have taken such a _very_ +long time, you see, to have had all the histories twice over, and +possibly, if Griselda had got tired, she might have forgotten about the +"thank you's" or "no, thank you's" twice over. + +The old house looked quite as queer and quaint by daylight as it had +seemed the evening before; almost more so indeed, for the view from the +windows added to the sweet, odd "old-fashionedness" of everything. + +"We have beautiful roses in summer," observed Miss Grizzel, catching +sight of the direction in which the child's eyes were wandering. + +"I wish it was summer. I do love summer," said Griselda. "But there is a +very rosy scent in the rooms even now, Aunt Grizzel, though it is +winter, or nearly winter." + +Miss Grizzel looked pleased. + +"My pot-pourri," she explained. + +They were just then standing in what she called the "great saloon," a +handsome old room, furnished with gold-and-white chairs, that must once +have been brilliant, and faded yellow damask hangings. A feeling of awe +had crept over Griselda as they entered this ancient drawing-room. What +grand parties there must have been in it long ago! But as for dancing in +it _now_--dancing, or laughing, or chattering--such a thing was quite +impossible to imagine! + +Miss Grizzel crossed the room to where stood in one corner a marvellous +Chinese cabinet, all black and gold and carving. It was made in the +shape of a temple, or a palace--Griselda was not sure which. Any way, it +was very delicious and wonderful. At the door stood, one on each side, +two solemn mandarins; or, to speak more correctly, perhaps I should +say, a mandarin and his wife, for the right-hand figure was evidently +intended to be a lady. + +Miss Grizzel gently touched their heads. Forthwith, to Griselda's +astonishment, they began solemnly to nod. + +"Oh, how do you make them do that, Aunt Grizzel?" she exclaimed. + +"Never you mind, my dear; it wouldn't do for _you_ to try to make them +nod. They wouldn't like it," replied Miss Grizzel mysteriously. "Respect +to your elders, my dear, always remember that. The mandarins are _many_ +years older than you--older than I myself, in fact." + +Griselda wondered, if this were so, how it was that Miss Grizzel took +such liberties with them herself, but she said nothing. + +"Here is my last summer's pot-pourri," continued Miss Grizzel, touching +a great china jar on a little stand, close beside the cabinet. "You may +smell it, my dear." + +Nothing loth, Griselda buried her round little nose in the fragrant +leaves. + +"It's lovely," she said. "May I smell it whenever I like, Aunt Grizzel?" + +"We shall see," replied her aunt. "It isn't _every_ little girl, you +know, that we could trust to come into the great saloon alone." + +"No," said Griselda meekly. + +Miss Grizzel led the way to a door opposite to that by which they had +entered. She opened it and passed through, Griselda following, into a +small ante-room. + +"It is on the stroke of ten," said Miss Grizzel, consulting her watch; +"now, my dear, you shall make acquaintance with our cuckoo." + +The cuckoo "that lived in a clock!" Griselda gazed round her eagerly. +Where was the clock? She could see nothing in the least like one, only +up on the wall in one corner was what looked like a miniature house, of +dark brown carved wood. It was not so _very_ like a house, but it +certainly had a roof--a roof with deep projecting eaves; and, looking +closer, yes, it _was_ a clock, after all, only the figures, which had +once been gilt, had grown dim with age, like everything else, and the +hands at a little distance were hardly to be distinguished from the +face. + +Miss Grizzel stood perfectly still, looking up at the clock; Griselda +beside her, in breathless expectation. Presently there came a sort of +distant rumbling. _Something_ was going to happen. Suddenly two little +doors above the clock face, which Griselda had not known were there, +sprang open with a burst and out flew a cuckoo, flapped his wings, and +uttered his pretty cry, "Cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo!" Miss Grizzel counted +aloud, "Seven, eight, nine, ten." "Yes, he never makes a mistake," she +added triumphantly. "All these long years I have never known him wrong. +There are no such clocks made nowadays, I can assure you, my dear." + +"But _is_ it a clock? Isn't he alive?" exclaimed Griselda. "He looked at +me and nodded his head, before he flapped his wings and went in to his +house again--he did indeed, aunt," she said earnestly; "just like +saying, 'How do you do?' to me." + +Again Miss Grizzel smiled, the same odd yet pleased smile that Griselda +had seen on her face at breakfast. "Just what Sybilla used to say," she +murmured. "Well, my dear," she added aloud, "it is quite right he +_should_ say, 'How do you do?' to you. It is the first time he has seen +_you_, though many a year ago he knew your dear grandmother, and your +father, too, when he was a little boy. You will find him a good friend, +and one that can teach you many lessons." + +"What, Aunt Grizzel?" inquired Griselda, looking puzzled. + +"Punctuality, for one thing, and faithful discharge of duty," replied +Miss Grizzel. + +"May I come to see the cuckoo--to watch for him coming out, sometimes?" +asked Griselda, who felt as if she could spend all day looking up at the +clock, watching for her little friend's appearance. + +"You will see him several times a day," said her aunt, "for it is in +this little room I intend you to prepare your tasks. It is nice and +quiet, and nothing to disturb you, and close to the room where your Aunt +Tabitha and I usually sit." + +So saying, Miss Grizzel opened a second door in the little ante-room, +and, to Griselda's surprise, at the foot of a short flight of stairs +through another door, half open, she caught sight of her Aunt Tabitha, +knitting quietly by the fire, in the room in which they had breakfasted. + +"What a _very_ funny house it is, Aunt Grizzel," she said, as she +followed her aunt down the steps. "Every room has so many doors, and you +come back to where you were just when you think you are ever so far +off. I shall never be able to find my way about." + +"Oh yes, you will, my dear, very soon," said her aunt encouragingly. + +"She is very kind," thought Griselda; "but I wish she wouldn't call my +lessons tasks. It makes them sound so dreadfully hard. But, any way, I'm +glad I'm to do them in the room where that dear cuckoo lives." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +_IM_PATIENT GRISELDA. + + + "... fairies but seldom appear; + If we do wrong we must expect + That it will cost us dear!" + + +It was all very well for a few days. Griselda found plenty to amuse +herself with while the novelty lasted, enough to prevent her missing +_very_ badly the home she had left "over the sea," and the troop of +noisy merry brothers who teased and petted her. Of course she _missed_ +them, but not "dreadfully." She was neither homesick nor "dull." + +It was not quite such smooth sailing when lessons began. She did not +dislike lessons; in fact, she had always thought she was rather fond of +them. But the having to do them alone was not lively, and her teachers +were very strict. The worst of all was the writing and arithmetic +master, a funny little old man who wore knee-breeches and took snuff, +and called her aunt "Madame," bowing formally whenever he addressed her. +He screwed Griselda up into such an unnatural attitude to write her +copies, that she really felt as if she would never come straight and +loose again; and the arithmetic part of his instructions was even worse. +Oh! what sums in addition he gave her! Griselda had never been partial +to sums, and her rather easy-going governess at home had not, to tell +the truth, been partial to them either. And Mr.--I can't remember the +little old gentleman's name. Suppose we call him Mr. Kneebreeches--Mr. +Kneebreeches, when he found this out, conscientiously put her back to +the very beginning. + +It was dreadful, really. He came twice a week, and the days he didn't +come were as bad as those he did, for he left her a whole _row_ I was +going to say, but you couldn't call Mr. Kneebreeches' addition sums +"rows," they were far too fat and wide across to be so spoken of!--whole +slatefuls of these terrible mountains of figures to climb wearily to the +top of. And not to climb _once_ up merely. _The_ terrible thing was Mr. +Kneebreeches' favourite method of what he called "proving." I can't +explain it--it is far beyond my poor powers--but it had something to do +with cutting off the top line, after you had added it all up and had +actually done the sum, you understand--cutting off the top line and +adding the long rows up again without it, and then joining it on again +somewhere else. + +"I wouldn't mind so much," said poor Griselda, one day, "if it was any +good. But you see, Aunt Grizzel, it isn't. For I'm just as likely to do +the _proving_ wrong as the sum itself--more likely, for I'm always so +tired when I get to the proving--and so all that's proved is that +_something's_ wrong, and I'm sure that isn't any good, except to make me +cross." + +"Hush!" said her aunt gravely. "That is not the way for a little girl to +speak. Improve these golden hours of youth, Griselda; they will never +return." + +"I hope not," muttered Griselda, "if it means doing sums." + +Miss Grizzel fortunately was a little deaf; she did not hear this +remark. Just then the cuckoo clock struck eleven. + +"Good little cuckoo," said Miss Grizzel. "What an example he sets you. +His life is spent in the faithful discharge of duty;" and so saying she +left the room. + +The cuckoo was still telling the hour--eleven took a good while. It +seemed to Griselda that the bird repeated her aunt's last words. +"Faith--ful, dis--charge, of--your, du--ty," he said, "faith--ful." + +"You horrid little creature!" exclaimed Griselda in a passion; "what +business have you to mock me?" + +She seized a book, the first that came to hand, and flung it at the bird +who was just beginning his eleventh cuckoo. He disappeared with a snap, +disappeared without flapping his wings, or, as Griselda always fancied +he did, giving her a friendly nod, and in an instant all was silent. + +Griselda felt a little frightened. What had she done? She looked up at +the clock. It seemed just the same as usual, the cuckoo's doors closely +shut, no sign of any disturbance. Could it have been her fancy only that +he had sprung back more hastily than he would have done but for her +throwing the book at him? She began to hope so, and tried to go on with +her lessons. But it was no use. Though she really gave her best +attention to the long addition sums, and found that by so doing she +managed them much better than before, she could not feel happy or at +ease. Every few minutes she glanced up at the clock, as if expecting the +cuckoo to come out, though she knew quite well there was no chance of +his doing so till twelve o'clock, as it was only the hours, not the half +hours and quarters, that he told. + +"I wish it was twelve o'clock," she said to herself anxiously more than +once. + +If only the clock had not been so very high up on the wall, she would +have been tempted to climb up and open the little doors, and peep in to +satisfy herself as to the cuckoo's condition. But there was no +possibility of this. The clock was far, very far above her reach, and +there was no high piece of furniture standing near, upon which she could +have climbed to get to it. There was nothing to be done but to wait for +twelve o'clock. + +And, after all, she did not wait for twelve o'clock, for just about +half-past eleven, Miss Grizzel's voice was heard calling to her to put +on her hat and cloak quickly, and come out to walk up and down the +terrace with her. + +"It is fine just now," said Miss Grizzel, "but there is a prospect of +rain before long. You must leave your lessons for the present, and +finish them in the afternoon." + +"I have finished them," said Griselda, meekly. + +"_All_?" inquired her aunt. + +"Yes, all," replied Griselda. + +"Ah, well, then, this afternoon, if the rain holds off, we shall drive +to Merrybrow Hall, and inquire for the health of your dear godmother, +Lady Lavander," said Miss Grizzel. + +Poor Griselda! There were few things she disliked more than a drive with +her aunts. They went in the old yellow chariot, with all the windows up, +and of course Griselda had to sit with her back to the horses, which +made her very uncomfortable when she had no air, and had to sit still +for so long. + +Merrybrow Hall was a large house, quite as old and much grander, but not +nearly so wonderful as the home of Griselda's aunts. It was six miles +off, and it took a very long time indeed to drive there in the rumbling +old chariot, for the old horses were fat and wheezy, and the old +coachman fat and wheezy too. Lady Lavander was, of course, old too--very +old indeed, and rather grumpy and very deaf. Miss Grizzel and Miss +Tabitha had the greatest respect for her; she always called them "My +dear," as if they were quite girls, and they listened to all she said as +if her words were of gold. For some mysterious reason she had been +invited to be Griselda's godmother; but, as she had never shown her any +proof of affection beyond giving her a prayer-book, and hoping, whenever +she saw her, that she was "a good little miss," Griselda did not feel +any particular cause for gratitude to her. + +The drive seemed longer and duller than ever this afternoon, but +Griselda bore it meekly; and when Lady Lavander, as usual, expressed her +hopes about her, the little girl looked down modestly, feeling her +cheeks grow scarlet. "I am not a good little girl at all," she felt +inclined to call out. "I'm very bad and cruel. I believe I've killed the +dear little cuckoo." + +What _would_ the three old ladies have thought if she had called it out? +As it was, Lady Lavander patted her approvingly, said she loved to see +young people modest and humble-minded, and gave her a slice of very +highly-spiced, rather musty gingerbread, which Griselda couldn't bear. + +All the way home Griselda felt in a fever of impatience to rush up to +the ante-room and see if the cuckoo was all right again. It was late and +dark when the chariot at last stopped at the door of the old house. Miss +Grizzel got out slowly, and still more slowly Miss Tabitha followed +her. Griselda was obliged to restrain herself and move demurely. + +"It is past your supper-time, my dear," said Miss Grizzel. "Go up at +once to your room, and Dorcas shall bring some supper to you. Late hours +are bad for young people." + +Griselda obediently wished her aunts good-night, and went quietly +upstairs. But once out of sight, at the first landing, she changed her +pace. She turned to the left instead of to the right, which led to her +own room, and flew rather than ran along the dimly-lighted passage, at +the end of which a door led into the great saloon. She opened the door. +All was quite dark. It was impossible to fly or run across the great +saloon! Even in daylight this would have been a difficult matter. +Griselda _felt_ her way as best she could, past the Chinese cabinet and +the pot-pourri jar, till she got to the ante-room door. It was open, and +now, knowing her way better, she hurried in. But what was the use? All +was silent, save the tick-tick of the cuckoo clock in the corner. Oh, if +_only_ the cuckoo would come out and call the hour as usual, what a +weight would be lifted off Griselda's heart! + +She had no idea what o'clock it was. It might be close to the hour, or +it might be just past it. She stood listening for a few minutes, then +hearing Miss Grizzel's voice in the distance, she felt that she dared +not stay any longer, and turned to feel her way out of the room again. +Just as she got to the door it seemed to her that something softly +brushed her cheek, and a very, very faint "cuckoo" sounded as it were in +the air close to her. + +Startled, but not frightened, Griselda stood perfectly still. + +"Cuckoo," she said, softly. But there was no answer. + +Again the tones of Miss Grizzel's voice coming upstairs reached her +ear. + +"I _must_ go," said Griselda; and finding her way across the saloon +without, by great good luck, tumbling against any of the many breakable +treasures with which it was filled, she flew down the long passage +again, reaching her own room just before Dorcas appeared with her +supper. + +Griselda slept badly that night. She was constantly dreaming of the +cuckoo, fancying she heard his voice, and then waking with a start to +find it was _only_ fancy. She looked pale and heavy-eyed when she came +down to breakfast the next morning; and her Aunt Tabitha, who was alone +in the room when she entered, began immediately asking her what was the +matter. + +"I am sure you are going to be ill, child," she said, nervously. "Sister +Grizzel must give you some medicine. I wonder what would be the best. +Tansy tea is an excellent thing when one has taken cold, or----" + +But the rest of Miss Tabitha's sentence was never heard, for at this +moment Miss Grizzel came hurriedly into the room--her cap awry, her +shawl disarranged, her face very pale. I hardly think any one had ever +seen her so discomposed before. + +"Sister Tabitha!" she exclaimed, "what can be going to happen? The +cuckoo clock has stopped." + +"The cuckoo clock has stopped!" repeated Miss Tabitha, holding up her +hands; "_im_possible!" + +"But it has, or rather I should say--dear me, I am so upset I cannot +explain myself--the _cuckoo_ has stopped. The clock is going on, but the +cuckoo has not told the hours, and Dorcas is of opinion that he left off +doing so yesterday. What can be going to happen? What shall we do?" + +"What can we do?" said Miss Tabitha. "Should we send for the +watch-maker?" + +Miss Grizzel shook her head. + +"'Twould be worse than useless. Were we to search the world over, we +could find no one to put it right. Fifty years and more, Tabitha, fifty +years and more, it has never missed an hour! We are getting old, +Tabitha, our day is nearly over; perhaps 'tis to remind us of this." + +Miss Tabitha did not reply. She was weeping silently. The old ladies +seemed to have forgotten the presence of their niece, but Griselda could +not bear to see their distress. She finished her breakfast as quickly as +she could, and left the room. + +On her way upstairs she met Dorcas. + +"Have you heard what has happened, little missie?" said the old servant. + +"Yes," replied Griselda. + +"My ladies are in great trouble," continued Dorcas, who seemed inclined +to be more communicative than usual, "and no wonder. For fifty years +that clock has never gone wrong." + +"Can't it be put right?" asked the child. + +Dorcas shook her head. + +"No good would come of interfering," she said. "What must be, must be. +The luck of the house hangs on that clock. Its maker spent a good part +of his life over it, and his last words were that it would bring good +luck to the house that owned it, but that trouble would follow its +silence. It's my belief," she added solemnly, "that it's a _fairy_ +clock, neither more nor less, for good luck it has brought there's no +denying. There are no cows like ours, missie--their milk is a proverb +hereabouts; there are no hens like ours for laying all the year round; +there are no roses like ours. And there's always a friendly feeling in +this house, and always has been. 'Tis not a house for wrangling and +jangling, and sharp words. The 'good people' can't stand that. Nothing +drives them away like ill-temper or anger." + +Griselda's conscience gave her a sharp prick. Could it be _her_ doing +that trouble was coming upon the old house? What a punishment for a +moment's fit of ill-temper. + +"I wish you wouldn't talk that way, Dorcas," she said; "it makes me so +unhappy." + +"What a feeling heart the child has!" said the old servant as she went +on her way downstairs. "It's true--she is very like Miss Sybilla." + +That day was a very weary and sad one for Griselda. She was oppressed by +a feeling she did not understand. She knew she had done wrong, but she +had sorely repented it, and "I do think the cuckoo might have come back +again," she said to herself, "if he is a fairy; and if he isn't, it +can't be true what Dorcas says." + +Her aunts made no allusion to the subject in her presence, and almost +seemed to have forgotten that she had known of their distress. They were +more grave and silent than usual, but otherwise things went on in their +ordinary way. Griselda spent the morning "at her tasks," in the +ante-room, but was thankful to get away from the tick-tick of the clock +in the corner and out into the garden. + +But there, alas! it was just as bad. The rooks seemed to know that +something was the matter; they set to work making such a chatter +immediately Griselda appeared that she felt inclined to run back into +the house again. + +"I am sure they are talking about me," she said to herself. "Perhaps +they are fairies too. I am beginning to think I don't like fairies." + +She was glad when bed-time came. It was a sort of reproach to her to see +her aunts so pale and troubled; and though she tried to persuade herself +that she thought them very silly, she could not throw off the +uncomfortable feeling. + +She was so tired when she went to bed--tired in the disagreeable way +that comes from a listless, uneasy day--that she fell asleep at once and +slept heavily. When she woke, which she did suddenly, and with a start, +it was still perfectly dark, like the first morning that she had wakened +in the old house. It seemed to her that she had not wakened of +herself--something had roused her. Yes! there it was again, a very, +_very_ soft distant "cuckoo." _Was_ it distant? She could not tell. +Almost she could have fancied it was close to her. + +"If it's that cuckoo come back again, I'll catch him!" exclaimed +Griselda. + +She darted out of bed, felt her way to the door, which was closed, and +opening it let in a rush of moonlight from the unshuttered passage +window. In another moment her little bare feet were pattering along the +passage at full speed, in the direction of the great saloon. + +For Griselda's childhood among the troop of noisy brothers had taught +her one lesson--she was afraid of nothing. Or rather perhaps I should +say she had never learnt that there was anything to be afraid of! And is +there? + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +OBEYING ORDERS. + + + "Little girl, thou must thy part fulfil, + If we're to take kindly to ours: + Then pull up the weeds with a will, + And fairies will cherish the flowers." + + +There was moonlight, though not so much, in the saloon and the +ante-room, too; for though the windows, like those in Griselda's +bed-room, had the shutters closed, there was a round part at the top, +high up, which the shutters did not reach to, and in crept, through +these clear uncovered panes, quite as many moonbeams, you may be sure, +as could find their way. + +Griselda, eager though she was, could not help standing still a moment +to admire the effect. + +"It looks prettier with the light coming in at those holes at the top +than even if the shutters were open," she said to herself. "How +goldy-silvery the cabinet looks; and, yes, I do declare, the mandarins +are nodding! I wonder if it is out of politeness to me, or does Aunt +Grizzel come in last thing at night and touch them to make them keep +nodding till morning? I _suppose_ they're a sort of policemen to the +palace; and I dare say there are all sorts of beautiful things inside. +How I should like to see all through it!" + +But at this moment the faint tick-tick of the cuckoo clock in the next +room, reaching her ear, reminded her of the object of this midnight +expedition of hers. She hurried into the ante-room. + +It looked darker than the great saloon, for it had but one window. But +through the uncovered space at the top of this window there penetrated +some brilliant moonbeams, one of which lighted up brightly the face of +the clock with its queer over-hanging eaves. + +[Illustration: "WHY WON'T YOU SPEAK TO ME?"] + +Griselda approached it and stood below, looking up. + +"Cuckoo," she said softly--very softly. + +But there was no reply. + +"Cuckoo," she repeated rather more loudly. "Why won't you speak to me? I +know you are there, and you're not asleep, for I heard your voice in my +own room. Why won't you come out, cuckoo?" + +"Tick-tick" said the clock, but there was no other reply. + +Griselda felt ready to cry. + +"Cuckoo," she said reproachfully, "I didn't think you were so +hard-hearted. I have been _so_ unhappy about you, and I was so pleased +to hear your voice again, for I thought I had killed you, or hurt you +very badly; and I didn't _mean_ to hurt you, cuckoo. I was sorry the +moment I had done it, _dreadfully_ sorry. Dear cuckoo, won't you +forgive me?" + +There was a little sound at last--a faint _coming_ sound, and by the +moonlight Griselda saw the doors open, and out flew the cuckoo. He stood +still for a moment, looked round him as it were, then gently flapped his +wings, and uttered his usual note--"Cuckoo." + +Griselda stood in breathless expectation, but in her delight she could +not help very softly clapping her hands. + +The cuckoo cleared his throat. You never heard such a funny little noise +as he made; and then, in a very clear, distinct, but yet "cuckoo-y" +voice, he spoke. + +"Griselda," he said, "are you truly sorry?" + +"I told you I was," she replied. "But I didn't _feel_ so very naughty, +cuckoo. I didn't, really. I was only vexed for one minute, and when I +threw the book I seemed to be a very little in fun, too. And it made me +so unhappy when you went away, and my poor aunts have been dreadfully +unhappy too. If you hadn't come back I should have told them to-morrow +what I had done. I would have told them before, but I was afraid it +would have made them more unhappy. I thought I had hurt you dreadfully." + +"So you did," said the cuckoo. + +"But you _look_ quite well," said Griselda. + +"It was _my feelings_," replied the cuckoo; "and I couldn't help going +away. I have to obey orders like other people." + +Griselda stared. "How do you mean?" she asked. + +"Never mind. You can't understand at present," said the cuckoo. "You can +understand about obeying _your_ orders, and you see, when you don't, +things go wrong." + +"Yes," said Griselda humbly, "they certainly do. But, cuckoo," she +continued, "I never used to get into tempers at home--_hardly_ never, +at least; and I liked my lessons then, and I never was scolded about +them." + +"What's wrong here, then?" said the cuckoo. "It isn't often that things +go wrong in this house." + +"That's what Dorcas says," said Griselda. "It must be with my being a +child--my aunts and the house and everything have got out of children's +ways." + +"About time they did," remarked the cuckoo drily. + +"And so," continued Griselda, "it is really very dull. I have lots of +lessons, but it isn't so much that I mind. It is that I've no one to +play with." + +"There's something in that," said the cuckoo. He flapped his wings and +was silent for a minute or two. "I'll consider about it," he observed at +last. + +"Thank you," said Griselda, not exactly knowing what else to say. + +"And in the meantime," continued the cuckoo, "you'd better obey present +orders and go back to bed." + +"Shall I say good-night to you, then?" asked Griselda somewhat timidly. + +"You're quite welcome to do so," replied the cuckoo. "Why shouldn't +you?" + +"You see I wasn't sure if you would like it," returned Griselda, "for of +course you're not like a person, and--and--I've been told all sorts of +queer things about what fairies like and don't like." + +"Who said I was a fairy?" inquired the cuckoo. + +"Dorcas did, and, _of course_, my own common sense did too," replied +Griselda. "You must be a fairy--you couldn't be anything else." + +"I might be a fairyfied cuckoo," suggested the bird. + +Griselda looked puzzled. + +"I don't understand," she said, "and I don't think it could make much +difference. But whatever you are, I wish you would tell me one thing." + +"What?" said the cuckoo. + +"I want to know, now that you've forgiven me for throwing the book at +you, have you come back for good?" + +"Certainly not for evil," replied the cuckoo. + +Griselda gave a little wriggle. "Cuckoo, you're laughing at me," she +said. "I mean, have you come back to stay and cuckoo as usual and make +my aunts happy again?" + +"You'll see in the morning," said the cuckoo. "Now go off to bed." + +"Good night," said Griselda, "and thank you, and please don't forget to +let me know when you've considered." + +"Cuckoo, cuckoo," was her little friend's reply. Griselda thought it was +meant for good night, but the fact of the matter was that at that exact +second of time it was two o'clock in the morning. + +She made her way back to bed. She had been standing some time talking to +the cuckoo, but, though it was now well on in November, she did not feel +the least cold, nor sleepy! She felt as happy and light-hearted as +possible, and she wished it was morning, that she might get up. Yet the +moment she laid her little brown curly head on the pillow, she fell +asleep; and it seemed to her that just as she dropped off a soft +feathery wing brushed her cheek gently and a tiny "Cuckoo" sounded in +her ear. + +When she woke it was bright morning, really bright morning, for the +wintry sun was already sending some clear yellow rays out into the pale +grey-blue sky. + +"It must be late," thought Griselda, when she had opened the shutters +and seen how light it was. "I must have slept a long time. I feel so +beautifully unsleepy now. I must dress quickly--how nice it will be to +see my aunts look happy again! I don't even care if they scold me for +being late." + +But, after all, it was not so much later than usual; it was only a much +brighter morning than they had had for some time. Griselda did dress +herself very quickly, however. As she went downstairs two or three of +the clocks in the house, for there were several, were striking eight. +These clocks must have been a little before the right time, for it was +not till they had again relapsed into silence that there rang out from +the ante-room the clear sweet tones, eight times repeated, of "Cuckoo." + +Miss Grizzel and Miss Tabitha were already at the breakfast-table, but +they received their little niece most graciously. Nothing was said about +the clock, however, till about half-way through the meal, when Griselda, +full of eagerness to know if her aunts were aware of the cuckoo's +return, could restrain herself no longer. + +"Aunt Grizzel," she said, "isn't the cuckoo all right again?" + +"Yes, my dear. I am delighted to say it is," replied Miss Grizzel. + +"Did you get it put right, Aunt Grizzel?" inquired Griselda, slyly. + +"Little girls should not ask so many questions," replied Miss Grizzel, +mysteriously. "It _is_ all right again, and that is enough. During fifty +years that cuckoo has never, till yesterday, missed an hour. If you, in +your sphere, my dear, do as well during fifty years, you won't have done +badly." + +"No, indeed, you won't have done badly," repeated Miss Tabitha. + +But though the two old ladies thus tried to improve the occasion by a +little lecturing, Griselda could see that at the bottom of their hearts +they were both so happy that, even if she had been very naughty indeed, +they could hardly have made up their minds to scold her. + +She was not at all inclined to be naughty this day. She had something +to think about and look forward to, which made her quite a different +little girl, and made her take heart in doing her lessons as well as she +possibly could. + +"I wonder when the cuckoo will have considered enough about my having no +one to play with?" she said to herself, as she was walking up and down +the terrace at the back of the house. + +"Caw, caw!" screamed a rook just over her head, as if in answer to her +thought. + +Griselda looked up at him. + +"Your voice isn't half so pretty as the cuckoo's, Mr. Rook," she said. +"All the same, I dare say I should make friends with you, if I +understood what you meant. How funny it would be to know all the +languages of the birds and the beasts, like the prince in the fairy +tale! I wonder if I should wish for that, if a fairy gave me a wish? No, +I don't think I would. I'd _far_ rather have the fairy carpet that would +take you anywhere you liked in a minute. I'd go to China to see if all +the people there look like Aunt Grizzel's mandarins; and I'd first of +all, of course, go to fairyland." + +"You must come in now, little missie," said Dorcas's voice. "Miss Grizzel +says you have had play enough, and there's a nice fire in the ante-room +for you to do your lessons by." + +"Play!" repeated Griselda indignantly, as she turned to follow the old +servant. "Do you call walking up and down the terrace 'play,' Dorcas? I +mustn't loiter even to pick a flower, if there were any, for fear of +catching cold, and I mustn't run for fear of overheating myself. I +declare, Dorcas, if I don't have some play soon, or something to amuse +me, I think I'll run away." + +"Nay, nay, missie, don't talk like that. You'd never do anything so +naughty, and you so like Miss Sybilla, who was so good." + +"Dorcas, I'm tired of being told I'm like Miss Sybilla," said Griselda, +impatiently. "She was my grandmother; no one would like to be told they +were like their grandmother. It makes me feel as if my face must be all +screwy up and wrinkly, and as if I should have spectacles on and a wig." + +"_That_ is not like what Miss Sybilla was when I first saw her," said +Dorcas. "She was younger than you, missie, and as pretty as a fairy." + +"_Was_ she?" exclaimed Griselda, stopping short. + +"Yes, indeed she was. She might have been a fairy, so sweet she was and +gentle--and yet so merry. Every creature loved her; even the animals +about seemed to know her, as if she was one of themselves. She brought +good luck to the house, and it was a sad day when she left it." + +"I thought you said it was the cuckoo that brought good luck?" said +Griselda. + +"Well, so it was. The cuckoo and Miss Sybilla came here the same day. It +was left to her by her mother's father, with whom she had lived since +she was a baby, and when he died she came here to her sisters. She +wasn't _own_ sister to my ladies, you see, missie. Her mother had come +from Germany, and it was in some strange place there, where her +grandfather lived, that the cuckoo clock was made. They make wonderful +clocks there, I've been told, but none more wonderful than our cuckoo, +I'm sure." + +"No, I'm _sure_ not," said Griselda, softly. "Why didn't Miss Sybilla +take it with her when she was married and went away?" + +"She knew her sisters were so fond of it. It was like a memory of her +left behind for them. It was like a part of her. And do you know, +missie, the night she died--she died soon after your father was born, a +year after she was married--for a whole hour, from twelve to one, that +cuckoo went on cuckooing in a soft, sad way, like some living creature +in trouble. Of course, we did not know anything was wrong with her, and +folks said something had caught some of the springs of the works; but +_I_ didn't think so, and never shall. And----" + +But here Dorcas's reminiscences were abruptly brought to a close by Miss +Grizzel's appearance at the other end of the terrace. + +"Griselda, what are you loitering so for? Dorcas, you should have +hastened, not delayed Miss Griselda." + +So Griselda was hurried off to her lessons, and Dorcas to her kitchen. +But Griselda did not much mind. She had plenty to think of and wonder +about, and she liked to do her lessons in the ante-room, with the +tick-tick of the clock in her ears, and the feeling that _perhaps_ the +cuckoo was watching her through some invisible peep-hole in his closed +doors. + +"And if he sees," thought Griselda, "if he sees how hard I am trying to +do my lessons well, it will perhaps make him be quick about +'considering.'" + +So she did try very hard. And she didn't speak to the cuckoo when he +came out to say it was four o'clock. She was busy, and he was busy. She +felt it was better to wait till he gave her some sign of being ready to +talk to her again. + +For fairies, you know, children, however charming, are sometimes +_rather_ queer to have to do with. They don't like to be interfered +with, or treated except with very great respect, and they have their own +ideas about what is proper and what isn't, I can assure you. + +I suppose it was with working so hard at her lessons--most people would +say it was with having been up the night before, running about the house +in the moonlight; but as she had never felt so "fresh" in her life as +when she got up that morning, it could hardly have been that--that +Griselda felt so tired and sleepy that evening, she could hardly keep +her eyes open. She begged to go to bed quite half an hour earlier than +usual, which made Miss Tabitha afraid again that she was going to be +ill. But as there is nothing better for children than to go to bed +early, even if they _are_ going to be ill, Miss Grizzel told her to say +good-night, and to ask Dorcas to give her a wine-glassful of elderberry +wine, nice and hot, after she was in bed. + +Griselda had no objection to the elderberry wine, though she felt she +was having it on false pretences. She certainly did not need it to send +her to sleep, for almost before her head touched the pillow she was as +sound as a top. She had slept a good long while, when again she wakened +suddenly--just as she had done the night before, and again with the +feeling that something had wakened her. And the queer thing was that the +moment she was awake she felt so _very_ awake--she had no inclination to +stretch and yawn and hope it wasn't quite time to get up, and think how +nice and warm bed was, and how cold it was outside! She sat straight up, +and peered out into the darkness, feeling quite ready for an adventure. + +"Is it you, cuckoo?" she said softly. + +There was no answer, but listening intently, the child fancied she heard +a faint rustling or fluttering in the corner of the room by the door. +She got up and, feeling her way, opened it, and the instant she had done +so she heard, a few steps only in front of her it seemed, the familiar +notes, very, _very_ soft and whispered, "Cuckoo, cuckoo." + +It went on and on, down the passage, Griselda trotting after. There was +no moon to-night, heavy clouds had quite hidden it, and outside the rain +was falling heavily. Griselda could hear it on the window-panes, through +the closed shutters and all. But dark as it was, she made her way along +without any difficulty, down the passage, across the great saloon, in +through the ante-room door, guided only by the little voice now and then +to be heard in front of her. She came to a standstill right before the +clock, and stood there for a minute or two patiently waiting. + +She had not very long to wait. There came the usual murmuring sound, +then the doors above the clock face opened--she heard them open, it was +far too dark to see--and in his ordinary voice, clear and distinct (it +was just two o'clock, so the cuckoo was killing two birds with one +stone, telling the hour and greeting Griselda at once), the bird sang +out, "Cuckoo, cuckoo." + +"Good evening, cuckoo," said Griselda, when he had finished. + +"Good morning, you mean," said the cuckoo. + +"Good morning, then, cuckoo," said Griselda. "Have you considered about +me, cuckoo?" + +The cuckoo cleared his throat. + +"Have you learnt to obey orders yet, Griselda?" he inquired. + +"I'm trying," replied Griselda. "But you see, cuckoo, I've not had very +long to learn in--it was only last night you told me, you know." + +The cuckoo sighed. + +"You've a great deal to learn, Griselda." + +"I dare say I have," she said. "But I can tell you one thing, +cuckoo--whatever lessons I have, I _couldn't_ ever have any worse than +those addition sums of Mr. Kneebreeches'. I have made up my mind about +that, for to-day, do you know, cuckoo----" + +"Yesterday," corrected the cuckoo. "Always be exact in your statements, +Griselda." + +"Well, yesterday, then," said Griselda, rather tartly; "though when you +know quite well what I mean, I don't see that you need be so _very_ +particular. Well, as I was saying, I tried and _tried_, but still they +were fearful. They were, indeed." + +"You've a great deal to learn, Griselda," repeated the cuckoo. + +"I wish you wouldn't say that so often," said Griselda. "I thought you +were going to _play_ with me." + +"There's something in that," said the cuckoo, "there's something in +that. I should like to talk about it. But we could talk more comfortably +if you would come up here and sit beside me." + +Griselda thought her friend must be going out of his mind. + +"Sit beside you up there!" she exclaimed. "Cuckoo, how _could_ I? I'm +far, far too big." + +"Big!" returned the cuckoo. "What do you mean by big? It's all a matter +of fancy. Don't you know that if the world and everything in it, +counting yourself of course, was all made little enough to go into a +walnut, you'd never find out the difference." + +"_Wouldn't_ I?" said Griselda, feeling rather muddled; "but, _not_ +counting myself, cuckoo, I would then, wouldn't I?" + +"Nonsense," said the cuckoo hastily; "you've a great deal to learn, and +one thing is, not to _argue_. Nobody should argue; it's a shocking bad +habit, and ruins the digestion. Come up here and sit beside me +comfortably. Catch hold of the chain; you'll find you can manage if you +try." + +"But it'll stop the clock," said Griselda. "Aunt Grizzel said I was +never to touch the weights or the chains." + +"Stuff," said the cuckoo; "it won't stop the clock. Catch hold of the +chains and swing yourself up. There now--I told you you could manage +it." + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. + + + "We're all nodding, nid-nid-nodding." + + +_How_ she managed it she never knew; but, somehow or other, it _was_ +managed. She seemed to slide up the chain just as easily as in a general +way she would have slidden down, only without any disagreeable +anticipation of a bump at the end of the journey. And when she got to +the top how wonderfully different it looked from anything she could have +expected! The doors stood open, and Griselda found them quite big +enough, or herself quite small enough--which it was she couldn't tell, +and as it was all a matter of fancy she decided not to trouble to +inquire--to pass through quite comfortably. + +And inside there was the most charming little snuggery imaginable. It +was something like a saloon railway carriage--it seemed to be all lined +and carpeted and everything, with rich mossy red velvet; there was a +little round table in the middle and two arm-chairs, on one of which sat +the cuckoo--"quite like other people," thought Griselda to +herself--while the other, as he pointed out to Griselda by a little nod, +was evidently intended for her. + +"Thank you," said she, sitting down on the chair as she spoke. + +"Are you comfortable?" inquired the cuckoo. + +"Quite," replied Griselda, looking about her with great satisfaction. +"Are all cuckoo clocks like this when you get up inside them?" she +inquired. "I can't think how there's room for this dear little place +between the clock and the wall. Is it a hole cut out of the wall on +purpose, cuckoo?" + +"Hush!" said the cuckoo, "we've got other things to talk about. First, +shall I lend you one of my mantles? You may feel cold." + +"I don't just now," replied Griselda; "but perhaps I _might_." + +She looked at her little bare feet as she spoke, and wondered why _they_ +weren't cold, for it was very chilblainy weather. + +The cuckoo stood up, and with one of his claws reached from a corner +where it was hanging a cloak which Griselda had not before noticed. For +it was hanging wrong side out, and the lining was red velvet, very like +what the sides of the little room were covered with, so it was no wonder +she had not noticed it. + +Had it been hanging the _right_ side out she must have done so; this +side was so very wonderful! + +It was all feathers--feathers of every shade and colour, but +beautifully worked in, somehow, so as to lie quite smoothly and evenly, +one colour melting away into another like those in a prism, so that you +could hardly tell where one began and another ended. + +"What a _lovely_ cloak!" said Griselda, wrapping it round her and +feeling even more comfortable than before, as she watched the rays of +the little lamp in the roof--I think I was forgetting to tell you that +the cuckoo's boudoir was lighted by a dear little lamp set into the red +velvet roof like a pearl in a ring--playing softly on the brilliant +colours of the feather mantle. + +"It's better than lovely," said the cuckoo, "as you shall see. Now, +Griselda," he continued, in the tone of one coming to business--"now, +Griselda, let us talk." + +"We have been talking," said Griselda, "ever so long. I am very +comfortable. When you say 'let us talk' like that, it makes me forget +all I wanted to say. Just let me sit still and say whatever comes into +my head." + +"That won't do," said the cuckoo; "we must have a plan of action." + +"A what?" said Griselda. + +"You see you _have_ a great deal to learn," said the cuckoo +triumphantly. "You don't understand what I say." + +"But I didn't come up here to learn," said Griselda; "I can do that down +there;" and she nodded her head in the direction of the ante-room table. +"I want to play." + +"Just so," said the cuckoo; "that's what I want to talk about. What do +you call 'play'--blindman's-buff and that sort of thing?" + +"No," said Griselda, considering. "I'm getting rather too big for that +kind of play. Besides, cuckoo, you and I alone couldn't have much fun at +blindman's-buff; there'd be only me to catch you or you to catch me." + +"Oh, we could easily get more," said the cuckoo. "The mandarins would be +pleased to join." + +"The mandarins!" repeated Griselda. "Why, cuckoo, they're not alive! How +could they play?" + +The cuckoo looked at her gravely for a minute, then shook his head. + +"You have a _great_ deal to learn," he said solemnly. "Don't you know +that _everything's_ alive?" + +"No," said Griselda, "I don't; and I don't know what you mean, and I +don't think I want to know what you mean. I want to talk about playing." + +"Well," said the cuckoo, "talk." + +"What I call playing," pursued Griselda, "is--I have thought about it +now, you see--is being amused. If you will amuse me, cuckoo, I will +count that you are playing with me." + +"How shall I amuse you?" inquired he. + +"Oh, that's for you to find out!" exclaimed Griselda. "You might tell +me fairy stories, you know: if you're a fairy you should know lots; +or--oh yes, of course that would be far nicer--if you are a fairy you +might take me with you to fairyland." + +Again the cuckoo shook his head. + +"That," said he, "I cannot do." + +"Why not?" said Griselda. "Lots of children have been there." + +"I doubt it," said the cuckoo. "_Some_ may have been, but not lots. And +some may have thought they had been there who hadn't really been there +at all. And as to those who have been there, you may be sure of one +thing--they were not _taken_, they found their own way. No one ever was +_taken_ to fairyland--to the real fairyland. They may have been taken to +the neighbouring countries, but not to fairyland itself." + +"And how is one ever to find one's own way there?" asked Griselda. + +"That I cannot tell you either," replied the cuckoo. "There are many +roads there; you may find yours some day. And if ever you do find it, be +sure you keep what you see of it well swept and clean, and then you may +see further after a while. Ah, yes, there are many roads and many doors +into fairyland!" + +"Doors!" cried Griselda. "Are there any doors into fairyland in this +house?" + +"Several," said the cuckoo; "but don't waste your time looking for them +at present. It would be no use." + +"Then how will you amuse me?" inquired Griselda, in a rather +disappointed tone. + +"Don't you care to go anywhere except to fairyland?" said the cuckoo. + +"Oh yes, there are lots of places I wouldn't mind seeing. Not geography +sort of places--it would be just like lessons to go to India and Africa +and all those places--but _queer_ places, like the mines where the +goblins make diamonds and precious stones, and the caves down under the +sea where the mermaids live. And--oh, I've just thought--now I'm so nice +and little, I _would_ like to go all over the mandarins' palace in the +great saloon." + +"That can be easily managed," said the cuckoo; "but--excuse me for an +instant," he exclaimed suddenly. He gave a spring forward and +disappeared. Then Griselda heard his voice outside the doors, "Cuckoo, +cuckoo, cuckoo." It was three o'clock. + +The doors opened again to let him through, and he re-settled himself on +his chair. "As I was saying," he went on, "nothing could be easier. But +that palace, as you call it, has an entrance on the other side, as well +as the one you know." + +"Another door, do you mean?" said Griselda. "How funny! Does it go +through the wall? And where does it lead to?" + +"It leads," replied the cuckoo, "it leads to the country of the Nodding +Mandarins." + +"_What_ fun!" exclaimed Griselda, clapping her hands. "Cuckoo, do let us +go there. How can we get down? You can fly, but must I slide down the +chain again?" + +"Oh dear, no," said the cuckoo, "by no means. You have only to stretch +out your feather mantle, flap it as if it was wings--so"--he flapped his +own wings encouragingly--"wish, and there you'll be." + +"Where?" said Griselda bewilderedly. + +"Wherever you wish to be, of course," said the cuckoo. "Are you ready? +Here goes." + +"Wait--wait a moment," cried Griselda. "Where am I to wish to be?" + +"Bless the child!" exclaimed the cuckoo. "Where _do_ you wish to be? You +said you wanted to visit the country of the Nodding Mandarins." + +"Yes; but am I to wish first to be in the palace in the great saloon?" + +"Certainly," replied the cuckoo. "That is the entrance to Mandarin Land, +and you said you would like to see through it. So--you're surely ready +now?" + +"A thought has just struck me," said Griselda. "How will you know what +o'clock it is, so as to come back in time to tell the next hour? My +aunts will get into such a fright if you go wrong again! Are you sure we +shall have time to go to the mandarins' country to-night?" + +"Time!" repeated the cuckoo; "what is time? Ah, Griselda, you have a +_very_ great deal to learn! What do you mean by time?" + +"I don't know," replied Griselda, feeling rather snubbed. "Being slow or +quick--I suppose that's what I mean." + +"And what is slow, and what is quick?" said the cuckoo. "_All_ a matter +of fancy! If everything that's been done since the world was made till +now, was done over again in five minutes, you'd never know the +difference." + +[Illustration: MANDARINS NODDING.] + +"Oh, cuckoo, I wish you wouldn't!" cried poor Griselda; "you're worse +than sums, you do so puzzle me. It's like what you said about nothing +being big or little, only it's worse. Where would all the days and hours +be if there was nothing but minutes? Oh, cuckoo, you said you'd amuse +me, and you do nothing but puzzle me." + +"It was your own fault. You wouldn't get ready," said the cuckoo. +"_Now_, here goes! Flap and wish." + +Griselda flapped and wished. She felt a sort of rustle in the air, that +was all--then she found herself standing with the cuckoo in front of the +Chinese cabinet, the door of which stood open, while the mandarins on +each side, nodding politely, seemed to invite them to enter. Griselda +hesitated. + +"Go on," said the cuckoo, patronizingly; "ladies first." + +Griselda went on. To her surprise, inside the cabinet it was quite +light, though where the light came from that illuminated all the queer +corners and recesses and streamed out to the front, where stood the +mandarins, she could not discover. + +The "palace" was not quite as interesting as she had expected. There +were lots of little rooms in it opening on to balconies commanding, no +doubt, a splendid view of the great saloon; there were ever so many +little staircases leading to more little rooms and balconies; but it all +seemed empty and deserted. + +"I don't care for it," said Griselda, stopping short at last; "it's all +the same, and there's nothing to see. I thought my aunts kept ever so +many beautiful things in here, and there's nothing." + +"Come along, then," said the cuckoo. "I didn't expect you'd care for the +palace, as you called it, much. Let us go out the other way." + +He hopped down a sort of little staircase near which they were standing, +and Griselda followed him willingly enough. At the foot they found +themselves in a vestibule, much handsomer than the entrance at the other +side, and the cuckoo, crossing it, lifted one of his claws and touched a +spring in the wall. Instantly a pair of large doors flew open in the +middle, revealing to Griselda the prettiest and most curious sight she +had ever seen. + +A flight of wide shallow steps led down from this doorway into a long, +long avenue bordered by stiffly growing trees, from the branches of +which hung innumerable lamps of every colour, making a perfect network +of brilliance as far as the eye could reach. + +"Oh, how lovely!" cried Griselda, clapping her hands. "It'll be like +walking along a rainbow. Cuckoo, come quick." + +"Stop," said the cuckoo; "we've a good way to go. There's no need to +walk. Palanquin!" + +He flapped his wings, and instantly a palanquin appeared at the foot of +the steps. It was made of carved ivory, and borne by four +Chinese-looking figures with pigtails and bright-coloured jackets. A +feeling came over Griselda that she was dreaming, or else that she had +seen this palanquin before. She hesitated. Suddenly she gave a little +jump of satisfaction. + +"I know," she exclaimed. "It's exactly like the one that stands under a +glass shade on Lady Lavander's drawing-room mantelpiece. I wonder if it +is the very one? Fancy me being able to get _into_ it!" + +She looked at the four bearers. Instantly they all nodded. + +"What do they mean?" asked Griselda, turning to the cuckoo. + +"Get in," he replied. + +"Yes, I'm just going to get in," she said; "but what do _they_ mean when +they nod at me like that?" + +"They mean, of course, what I tell you--'Get in,'" said the cuckoo. + +"Why don't they say so, then?" persisted Griselda, getting in, however, +as she spoke. + +"Griselda, you have a _very_ great----" began the cuckoo, but Griselda +interrupted him. + +"Cuckoo," she exclaimed, "if you say that again, I'll jump out of the +palanquin and run away home to bed. Of course I've a great deal to +learn--that's why I like to ask questions about everything I see. Now, +tell me where we are going." + +"In the first place," said the cuckoo, "are you comfortable?" + +"Very," said Griselda, settling herself down among the cushions. + +It was a change from the cuckoo's boudoir. There were no chairs or +seats, only a number of very, _very_ soft cushions covered with green +silk. There were green silk curtains all round, too, which you could +draw or not as you pleased, just by touching a spring. Griselda stroked +the silk gently. It was not "fruzzley" silk, if you know what that +means; it did not make you feel as if your nails wanted cutting, or as +if all the rough places on your skin were being rubbed up the wrong way; +its softness was like that of a rose or pansy petal. + +"What nice silk!" said Griselda. "I'd like a dress of it. I never +noticed that the palanquin was lined so nicely," she continued, "for I +suppose it _is_ the one from Lady Lavander's mantelpiece? There couldn't +be two so exactly like each other." + +The cuckoo gave a sort of whistle. + +"What a goose you are, my dear!" he exclaimed. "Excuse me," he +continued, seeing that Griselda looked rather offended; "I didn't mean +to hurt your feelings, but you won't let me say the other thing, you +know. The palanquin from Lady Lavander's! I should think not. You might +as well mistake one of those horrible paper roses that Dorcas sticks in +her vases for one of your aunt's Gloires de Dijon! The palanquin from +Lady Lavander's--a clumsy human imitation not worth looking at!" + +"I didn't know," said Griselda humbly. "Do they make such beautiful +things in Mandarin Land?" + +"Of course," said the cuckoo. + +Griselda sat silent for a minute or two, but very soon she recovered her +spirits. + +"Will you please tell me where we are going?" she asked again. + +"You'll see directly," said the cuckoo; "not that I mind telling you. +There's to be a grand reception at one of the palaces to-night. I +thought you'd like to assist at it. It'll give you some idea of what a +palace is like. By-the-by, can you dance?" + +"A little," replied Griselda. + +"Ah, well, I dare say you will manage. I've ordered a court dress for +you. It will be all ready when we get there." + +"Thank you," said Griselda. + +In a minute or two the palanquin stopped. The cuckoo got out, and +Griselda followed him. + +She found that they were at the entrance to a _very_ much grander palace +than the one in her aunt's saloon. The steps leading up to the door were +very wide and shallow, and covered with a gold embroidered carpet, which +_looked_ as if it would be prickly to her bare feet, but which, on the +contrary, when she trod upon it, felt softer than the softest moss. She +could see very little besides the carpet, for at each side of the steps +stood rows and rows of mandarins, all something like, but a great deal +grander than, the pair outside her aunt's cabinet; and as the cuckoo +hopped and Griselda walked up the staircase, they all, in turn, row by +row, began solemnly to nod. It gave them the look of a field of very +high grass, through which, any one passing, leaves for the moment a +trail, till all the heads bob up again into their places. + +"What do they mean?" whispered Griselda. + +"It's a royal salute," said the cuckoo. + +"A salute!" said Griselda. "I thought that meant kissing or guns." + +"Hush!" said the cuckoo, for by this time they had arrived at the top of +the staircase; "you must be dressed now." + +Two mandariny-looking young ladies, with porcelain faces and +three-cornered head-dresses, stepped forward and led Griselda into a +small ante-room, where lay waiting for her the most magnificent dress +you ever saw. But how _do_ you think they dressed her? It was all by +nodding. They nodded to the blue and silver embroidered jacket, and in a +moment it had fitted itself on to her. They nodded to the splendid +scarlet satin skirt, made very short in front and very long behind, and +before Griselda knew where she was, it was adjusted quite correctly. +They nodded to the head-dress, and the sashes, and the necklaces and +bracelets, and forthwith they all arranged themselves. Last of all, they +nodded to the dearest, sweetest little pair of high-heeled shoes +imaginable--all silver, and blue, and gold, and scarlet, and everything +mixed up together, _only_ they were rather a stumpy shape about the +toes, and Griselda's bare feet were encased in them, and, to her +surprise, quite comfortably so. + +"They don't hurt me a bit," she said aloud; "yet they didn't look the +least the shape of my foot." + +But her attendants only nodded; and turning round, she saw the cuckoo +waiting for her. He did not speak either, rather to her annoyance, but +gravely led the way through one grand room after another to the grandest +of all, where the entertainment was evidently just about to begin. And +everywhere there were mandarins, rows and rows, who all set to work +nodding as fast as Griselda appeared. She began to be rather tired of +royal salutes, and was glad when, at last, in profound silence, the +procession, consisting of the cuckoo and herself, and about half a dozen +"mandarins," came to a halt before a kind of daïs, or raised seat, at +the end of the hall. + +Upon this daïs stood a chair--a throne of some kind, Griselda supposed +it to be--and upon this was seated the grandest and gravest personage +she had yet seen. + +"Is he the king of the mandarins?" she whispered. But the cuckoo did not +reply; and before she had time to repeat the question, the very grand +and grave person got down from his seat, and coming towards her, offered +her his hand, at the same time nodding--first once, then two or three +times together, then once again. Griselda seemed to know what he meant. +He was asking her to dance. + +"Thank you," she said. "I can't dance _very_ well, but perhaps you won't +mind." + +The king, if that was his title, took not the slightest notice of her +reply, but nodded again--once, then two or three times together, then +once alone, just as before. Griselda did not know what to do, when +suddenly she felt something poking her head. It was the cuckoo--he had +lifted his claw, and was tapping her head to make her nod. So she +nodded--once, twice together, then once--that appeared to be enough. The +king nodded once again; an invisible band suddenly struck up the +loveliest music, and off they set to the places of honour reserved for +them in the centre of the room, where all the mandarins were assembling. + +What a dance that was! It began like a minuet and ended something like +the hay-makers. Griselda had not the least idea what the figures or +steps were, but it did not matter. If she did not know, her shoes or +something about her did; for she got on famously. The music was +lovely--"so the mandarins can't be deaf, though they are dumb," thought +Griselda, "which is one good thing about them." The king seemed to enjoy +it as much as she did, though he never smiled or laughed; any one could +have seen he liked it by the way he whirled and twirled himself about. +And between the figures, when they stopped to rest for a little, +Griselda got on very well too. There was no conversation, or rather, if +there was, it was all nodding. + +So Griselda nodded too, and though she did not know what her nods meant, +the king seemed to understand and be quite pleased; and when they had +nodded enough, the music struck up again, and off they set, harder than +before. + +And every now and then tiny little mandariny boys appeared with trays +filled with the most delicious fruits and sweetmeats. Griselda was not a +greedy child, but for once in her life she really _did_ feel rather so. +I cannot possibly describe these delicious things; just think of +whatever in all your life was the most "lovely" thing you ever eat, and +you may be sure they tasted like that. Only the cuckoo would not eat +any, which rather distressed Griselda. He walked about among the +dancers, apparently quite at home; and the mandarins did not seem at all +surprised to see him, though he did look rather odd, being nearly, if +not quite, as big as any of them. Griselda hoped he was enjoying +himself, considering that she had to thank him for all the fun _she_ was +having, but she felt a little conscience-stricken when she saw that he +wouldn't eat anything. + +"Cuckoo," she whispered; she dared not talk out loud--it would have +seemed so remarkable, you see. "Cuckoo," she said, very, very softly, "I +wish you would eat something. You'll be so tired and hungry." + +"No, thank you," said the cuckoo; and you can't think how pleased +Griselda was at having succeeded in making him speak. "It isn't my way. +I hope you are enjoying yourself?" + +"Oh, _very_ much," said Griselda. "I----" + +"Hush!" said the cuckoo; and looking up, Griselda saw a number of +mandarins, in a sort of procession, coming their way. + +When they got up to the cuckoo they set to work nodding, two or three at +a time, more energetically than usual. When they stopped, the cuckoo +nodded in return, and then hopped off towards the middle of the room. + +"They're very fond of good music, you see," he whispered as he passed +Griselda; "and they don't often get it." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +PICTURES. + + + "And she is always beautiful, + And always is eighteen!" + + +When he got to the middle of the room the cuckoo cleared his throat, +flapped his wings, and began to sing. Griselda was quite astonished. She +had had no idea that her friend was so accomplished. It wasn't +"cuckooing" at all; it was real singing, like that of the nightingale or +the thrush, or like something prettier than either. It made Griselda +think of woods in summer, and of tinkling brooks flowing through them, +with the pretty brown pebbles sparkling up through the water; and then +it made her think of something sad--she didn't know what; perhaps it +was of the babes in the wood and the robins covering them up with +leaves--and then again, in a moment, it sounded as if all the merry +elves and sprites that ever were heard of had escaped from fairyland, +and were rolling over and over with peals of rollicking laughter. And at +last, all of a sudden, the song came to an end. + +"Cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo!" rang out three times, clear and shrill. The +cuckoo flapped his wings, made a bow to the mandarins, and retired to +his old corner. + +There was no buzz of talk, as is usual after a performance has come to a +close, but there was a great buzz of nodding, and Griselda, wishing to +give the cuckoo as much praise as she could, nodded as hard as any of +them. The cuckoo really looked quite shy at receiving so much applause. +But in a minute or two the music struck up and the dancing began +again--one, two, three: it seemed a sort of mazurka this time, which +suited the mandarins very well, as it gave them a chance of nodding to +mark the time. + +Griselda had once learnt the mazurka, so she got on even better than +before--only she would have liked it more if her shoes had had sharper +toes; they looked so stumpy when she tried to point them. All the same, +it was very good fun, and she was not too well pleased when she suddenly +felt the little sharp tap of the cuckoo on her head, and heard him +whisper-- + +"Griselda, it's time to go." + +"Oh dear, why?" she asked. "I'm not a bit tired. Why need we go yet?" + +"Obeying orders," said the cuckoo; and after that, Griselda dared not +say another word. It was very nearly as bad as being told she had a +great deal to learn. + +"Must I say good-bye to the king and all the people?" she inquired; but +before the cuckoo had time to answer, she gave a little squeal. "Oh, +cuckoo," she cried, "you've trod on my foot." + +"I beg your pardon," said the cuckoo. + +"I must take off my shoe; it does so hurt," she went on. + +"Take it off, then," said the cuckoo. + +Griselda stooped to take off her shoe. "Are we going home in the pal--?" +she began to say; but she never finished the sentence, for just as she +had got her shoe off she felt the cuckoo throw something round her. It +was the feather mantle. + +And Griselda knew nothing more till she opened her eyes the next +morning, and saw the first early rays of sunshine peeping in through the +chinks of the closed shutters of her little bedroom. + +She rubbed her eyes, and sat up in bed. Could it have been a dream? + +"What could have made me fall asleep so all of a sudden?" she thought. +"I wasn't the least sleepy at the mandarins' ball. What fun it was! I +believe that cuckoo made me fall asleep on purpose to make me fancy it +was a dream. _Was_ it a dream?" + +She began to feel confused and doubtful, when suddenly she felt +something hurting her arm, like a little lump in the bed. She felt with +her hand to see if she could smooth it away, and drew out--one of the +shoes belonging to her court dress! The very one she had held in her +hand at the moment the cuckoo spirited her home again to bed. + +"Ah, Mr. Cuckoo!" she exclaimed, "you meant to play me a trick, but you +haven't succeeded, you see." + +She jumped out of bed and unfastened one of the window-shutters, then +jumped in again to admire the little shoe in comfort. It was even +prettier than she had thought it at the ball. She held it up and looked +at it. It was about the size of the first joint of her little finger. +"To think that I should have been dancing with you on last night!" she +said to the shoe. "And yet the cuckoo says being big or little is all a +matter of fancy. I wonder what he'll think of to amuse me next?" + +She was still holding up the shoe and admiring it when Dorcas came with +the hot water. + +"Look, Dorcas," she said. + +"Bless me, it's one of the shoes off the Chinese dolls in the saloon," +exclaimed the old servant. "How ever did you get that, missie? Your +aunts wouldn't be pleased." + +"It just isn't one of the Chinese dolls' shoes, and if you don't believe +me, you can go and look for yourself," said Griselda. "It's my very own +shoe, and it was given me to my own self." + +Dorcas looked at her curiously, but said no more, only as she was going +out of the room Griselda heard her saying something about "so very like +Miss Sybilla." + +"I wonder what 'Miss Sybilla' _was_ like?" thought Griselda. "I have a +good mind to ask the cuckoo. He seems to have known her very well." + +It was not for some days that Griselda had a chance of asking the cuckoo +anything. She saw and heard nothing of him--nothing, that is to say, but +his regular appearance to tell the hours as usual. + +"I suppose," thought Griselda, "he thinks the mandarins' ball was fun +enough to last me a good while. It really was very good-natured of him +to take me to it, so I mustn't grumble." + +A few days after this poor Griselda caught cold. It was not a very bad +cold, I must confess, but her aunts made rather a fuss about it. They +wanted her to stay in bed, but to this Griselda so much objected that +they did not insist upon it. + +"It would be so dull," she said piteously. "Please let me stay in the +ante-room, for all my things are there; and, then, there's the cuckoo." + +Aunt Grizzel smiled at this, and Griselda got her way. But even in the +ante-room it was rather dull. Miss Grizzel and Miss Tabitha were obliged +to go out, to drive all the way to Merrybrow Hall, as Lady Lavander sent +a messenger to say that she had an attack of influenza, and wished to +see her friends at once. + +Miss Tabitha began to cry--she was so tender-hearted. + +"Troubles never come singly," said Miss Grizzel, by way of consolation. + +"No, indeed, they never come singly," said Miss Tabitha, shaking her +head and wiping her eyes. + +So off they set; and Griselda, in her arm-chair by the ante-room fire, +with some queer little old-fashioned books of her aunts', which she had +already read more than a dozen times, beside her by way of amusement, +felt that there was one comfort in her troubles--she had escaped the +long weary drive to her godmother's. + +But it was very dull. It got duller and duller. Griselda curled herself +up in her chair, and wished she could go to sleep, though feeling quite +sure she couldn't, for she had stayed in bed much later than usual this +morning, and had been obliged to spend the time in sleeping, for want of +anything better to do. + +She looked up at the clock. + +"I don't know even what to wish for," she said to herself. "I don't feel +the least inclined to play at anything, and I shouldn't care to go to +the mandarins again. Oh, cuckoo, cuckoo, I am so dull; couldn't you +think of anything to amuse me?" + +It was not near "any o'clock." But after waiting a minute or two, it +seemed to Griselda that she heard the soft sound of "coming" that always +preceded the cuckoo's appearance. She was right. In another moment she +heard his usual greeting, "Cuckoo, cuckoo!" + +"Oh, cuckoo!" she exclaimed, "I am so glad you have come at last. I _am_ +so dull, and it has nothing to do with lessons this time. It's that I've +got such a bad cold, and my head's aching, and I'm so tired of reading, +all by myself." + +"What would you like to do?" said the cuckoo. "You don't want to go to +see the mandarins again?" + +"Oh no; I couldn't dance." + +"Or the mermaids down under the sea?" + +"Oh, dear, no," said Griselda, with a little shiver, "it would be far +too cold. I would just like to stay where I am, if some one would tell +me stories. I'm not even sure that I could listen to stories. What could +you do to amuse me, cuckoo?" + +"Would you like to see some pictures?" said the cuckoo. "I could show +you pictures without your taking any trouble." + +"Oh yes, that would be beautiful," cried Griselda. "What pictures will +you show me? Oh, I know. I would like to see the place where you were +born--where that very, very clever man made you and the clock, I mean." + +"Your great-great-grandfather," said the cuckoo. "Very well. Now, +Griselda, shut your eyes. First of all, I am going to sing." + +Griselda shut her eyes, and the cuckoo began his song. It was something +like what he had sung at the mandarins' palace, only even more +beautiful. It was so soft and dreamy, Griselda felt as if she could have +sat there for ever, listening to it. + +The first notes were low and murmuring. Again they made Griselda think +of little rippling brooks in summer, and now and then there came a sort +of hum as of insects buzzing in the warm sunshine near. This humming +gradually increased, till at last Griselda was conscious of nothing +more--_everything_ seemed to be humming, herself too, till at last she +fell asleep. + +When she opened her eyes, the ante-room and everything in it, except the +arm-chair on which she was still curled up, had disappeared--melted away +into a misty cloud all round her, which in turn gradually faded, till +before her she saw a scene quite new and strange. It was the first of +the cuckoo's "pictures." + +An old, quaint room, with a high, carved mantelpiece, and a bright fire +sparkling in the grate. It was not a pretty room--it had more the look +of a workshop of some kind; but it was curious and interesting. All +round, the walls were hung with clocks and strange mechanical toys. +There was a fiddler slowly fiddling, a gentleman and lady gravely +dancing a minuet, a little man drawing up water in a bucket out of a +glass vase in which gold fish were swimming about--all sorts of queer +figures; and the clocks were even queerer. There was one intended to +represent the sun, moon, and planets, with one face for the sun and +another for the moon, and gold and silver stars slowly circling round +them; there was another clock with a tiny trumpeter perched on a ledge +above the face, who blew a horn for the hours. I cannot tell you half +the strange and wonderful things there were. + +Griselda was so interested in looking at all these queer machines, that +she did not for some time observe the occupant of the room. And no +wonder; he was sitting in front of a little table, so perfectly still, +much more still than the un-living figures around him. He was examining, +with a magnifying glass, some small object he held in his hand, so +closely and intently that Griselda, forgetting she was only looking at a +"picture," almost held her breath for fear she should disturb him. He +was a very old man, his coat was worn and threadbare in several places, +looking as if he spent a great part of his life in one position. Yet he +did not look _poor_, and his face, when at last he lifted it, was mild +and intelligent and very earnest. + +While Griselda was watching him closely there came a soft tap at the +door, and a little girl danced into the room. The dearest little girl +you ever saw, and _so_ funnily dressed! Her thick brown hair, rather +lighter than Griselda's, was tied in two long plaits down her back. She +had a short red skirt with silver braid round the bottom, and a white +chemisette with beautiful lace at the throat and wrists, and over that +again a black velvet bodice, also trimmed with silver. And she had a +great many trinkets, necklaces, and bracelets, and ear-rings, and a sort +of little silver coronet; no, it was not like a coronet, it was a band +with a square piece of silver fastened so as to stand up at each side of +her head something like a horse's blinkers, only they were not placed +over her eyes. + +She made quite a jingle as she came into the room, and the old man +looked up with a smile of pleasure. + +"Well, my darling, and are you all ready for your _fête_?" he said; and +though the language in which he spoke was quite strange to Griselda, she +understood his meaning perfectly well. + +"Yes, dear grandfather; and isn't my dress lovely?" said the child. "I +should be _so_ happy if only you were coming too, and would get yourself +a beautiful velvet coat like Mynheer van Huyten." + +The old man shook his head. + +"I have no time for such things, my darling," he replied; "and besides, +I am too old. I must work--work hard to make money for my pet when I am +gone, that she may not be dependent on the bounty of those English +sisters." + +"But I won't care for money when you are gone, grandfather," said the +child, her eyes filling with tears. "I would rather just go on living in +this little house, and I am sure the neighbours would give me something +to eat, and then I could hear all your clocks ticking, and think of you. +I don't want you to sell all your wonderful things for money for me, +grandfather. They would remind me of you, and money wouldn't." + +"Not all, Sybilla, not all," said the old man. "The best of all, the +_chef-d'oeuvre_ of my life, shall not be sold. It shall be yours, and +you will have in your possession a clock that crowned heads might seek +in vain to purchase." + +His dim old eyes brightened, and for a moment he sat erect and strong. + +"Do you mean the cuckoo clock?" said Sybilla, in a low voice. + +"Yes, my darling, the cuckoo clock, the crowning work of my life--a +clock that shall last long after I, and perhaps thou, my pretty child, +are crumbling into dust; a clock that shall last to tell my +great-grandchildren to many generations that the old Dutch mechanic was +not altogether to be despised." + +Sybilla sprang into his arms. + +"You are not to talk like that, little grandfather," she said. "I shall +teach my children and my grandchildren to be so proud of you--oh, so +proud!--as proud as I am of you, little grandfather." + +"Gently, my darling," said the old man, as he placed carefully on the +table the delicate piece of mechanism he held in his hand, and tenderly +embraced the child. "Kiss me once again, my pet, and then thou must go; +thy little friends will be waiting." + + * * * * * + +As he said these words the mist slowly gathered, again before Griselda's +eyes--the first of the cuckoo's pictures faded from her sight. + + * * * * * + +When she looked again the scene was changed, but this time it was not a +strange one, though Griselda had gazed at it for some moments before +she recognized it. It was the great saloon, but it looked very +different from what she had ever seen it. Forty years or so make a +difference in rooms as well as in people! + +The faded yellow damask hangings were rich and brilliant. There were +bouquets of lovely flowers arranged about the tables; wax lights were +sending out their brightness in every direction, and the room was filled +with ladies and gentlemen in gay attire. + +Among them, after a time, Griselda remarked two ladies, no longer very +young, but still handsome and stately, and something whispered to her +that they were her two aunts, Miss Grizzel and Miss Tabitha. + +"Poor aunts!" she said softly to herself; "how old they have grown since +then." + +But she did not long look at them; her attention was attracted by a much +younger lady--a mere girl she seemed, but oh, so sweet and pretty! She +was dancing with a gentleman whose eyes looked as if they saw no one +else, and she herself seemed brimming over with youth and happiness. Her +very steps had joy in them. + +"Well, Griselda," whispered a voice, which she knew was the cuckoo's; +"so you don't like to be told you are like your grandmother, eh?" + +Griselda turned round sharply to look for the speaker, but he was not to +be seen. And when she turned again, the picture of the great saloon had +faded away. + + * * * * * + +One more picture. + +Griselda looked again. She saw before her a country road in full summer +time; the sun was shining, the birds were singing, the trees covered +with their bright green leaves--everything appeared happy and joyful. +But at last in the distance she saw, slowly approaching, a group of a +few people, all walking together, carrying in their centre something +long and narrow, which, though the black cloth covering it was almost +hidden by the white flowers with which it was thickly strewn, Griselda +knew to be a coffin. + +It was a funeral procession, and in the place of chief mourner, with +pale, set face, walked the same young man whom Griselda had last seen +dancing with the girl Sybilla in the great saloon. + +The sad group passed slowly out of sight; but as it disappeared there +fell upon the ear the sounds of sweet music, lovelier far than she had +heard before--lovelier than the magic cuckoo's most lovely songs--and +somehow, in the music, it seemed to the child's fancy there were mingled +the soft strains of a woman's voice. + +"It is Sybilla singing," thought Griselda dreamily, and with that she +fell asleep again. + + * * * * * + +When she woke she was in the arm-chair by the ante-room fire, +everything around her looking just as usual, the cuckoo clock ticking +away calmly and regularly. Had it been a dream only? Griselda could not +make up her mind. + +"But I don't see that it matters if it was," she said to herself. "If it +was a dream, the cuckoo sent it to me all the same, and I thank you very +much indeed, cuckoo," she went on, looking up at the clock. "The last +picture was rather sad, but still it was very nice to see it, and I +thank you very much, and I'll never say again that I don't like to be +told I'm like my dear pretty grandmother." + +The cuckoo took no notice of what she said, but Griselda did not mind. +She was getting used to his "ways." + +"I expect he hears me quite well," she thought; "and even if he doesn't, +it's only civil to _try_ to thank him." + +[Illustration: My aunts must have come back!] + +She sat still contentedly enough, thinking over what she had seen, +and trying to make more "pictures" for herself in the fire. Then there +came faintly to her ears the sound of carriage wheels, opening and +shutting of doors, a little bustle of arrival. + +"My aunts must have come back," thought Griselda; and so it was. In a +few minutes Miss Grizzel, closely followed by Miss Tabitha, appeared at +the ante-room door. + +"Well, my love," said Miss Grizzel anxiously, "and how are you? Has the +time seemed very long while we were away?" + +"Oh no, thank you, Aunt Grizzel," replied Griselda, "not at all. I've +been quite happy, and my cold's ever so much better, and my headache's +_quite_ gone." + +"Come, that is good news," said Miss Grizzel. "Not that I'm exactly +_surprised_," she continued, turning to Miss Tabitha, "for there really +is nothing like tansy tea for a feverish cold." + +"Nothing," agreed Miss Tabitha; "there really is nothing like it." + +"Aunt Grizzel," said Griselda, after a few moments' silence, "was my +grandmother quite young when she died?" + +"Yes, my love, very young," replied Miss Grizzel with a change in her +voice. + +"And was her husband _very_ sorry?" pursued Griselda. + +"Heart-broken," said Miss Grizzel. "He did not live long after, and then +you know, my dear, your father was sent to us to take care of. And now +he has sent _you_--the third generation of young creatures confided to +our care." + +"Yes," said Griselda. "My grandmother died in the summer, when all the +flowers were out; and she was buried in a pretty country place, wasn't +she?" + +"Yes," said Miss Grizzel, looking rather bewildered. + +"And when she was a little girl she lived with her grandfather, the old +Dutch mechanic," continued Griselda, unconsciously using the very words +she had heard in her vision. "He was a nice old man; and how clever of +him to have made the cuckoo clock, and such lots of other pretty, +wonderful things. I don't wonder little Sybilla loved him; he was so +good to her. But, oh, Aunt Grizzel, _how_ pretty she was when she was a +young lady! That time that she danced with my grandfather in the great +saloon. And how very nice you and Aunt Tabitha looked then, too." + +Miss Grizzel held her very breath in astonishment; and no doubt if Miss +Tabitha had known she was doing so, she would have held hers too. But +Griselda lay still, gazing at the fire, quite unconscious of her aunt's +surprise. + +"Your papa told you all these old stories, I suppose, my dear," said +Miss Grizzel at last. + +"Oh no," said Griselda dreamily. "Papa never told me anything like +that. Dorcas told me a very little, I think; at least, she made me want +to know, and I asked the cuckoo, and then, you see, he showed me it all. +It was so pretty." + +Miss Grizzel glanced at her sister. + +"Tabitha, my dear," she said in a low voice, "do you hear?" + +And Miss Tabitha, who really was not very deaf when she set herself to +hear, nodded in awestruck silence. + +"Tabitha," continued Miss Grizzel in the same tone, "it is wonderful! +Ah, yes, how true it is, Tabitha, that 'there are more things in heaven +and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy'" (for Miss Grizzel was a +well-read old lady, you see); "and from the very first, Tabitha, we +always had a feeling that the child was strangely like Sybilla." + +"Strangely like Sybilla," echoed Miss Tabitha. + +"May she grow up as good, if not quite as beautiful--_that_ we could +scarcely expect; and may she be longer spared to those that love her," +added Miss Grizzel, bending over Griselda, while two or three tears +slowly trickled down her aged cheeks. "See, Tabitha, the dear child is +fast asleep. How sweet she looks! I trust by to-morrow morning she will +be quite herself again: her cold is so much better." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +RUBBED THE WRONG WAY. + + + "For now and then there comes a day + When everything goes wrong." + + +Griselda's cold _was_ much better by "to-morrow morning." In fact, I +might almost say it was quite well. + +But Griselda herself did not feel quite well, and saying this reminds me +that it is hardly sense to speak of a _cold_ being better or well--for a +cold's being "well" means that it is not there at all, out of existence, +in short, and if a thing is out of existence how can we say anything +about it? Children, I feel quite in a hobble--I cannot get my mind +straight about it--please think it over and give me your opinion. In +the meantime, I will go on about Griselda. + +She felt just a little ill--a sort of feeling that sometimes is rather +nice, sometimes "very extremely" much the reverse! She felt in the +humour for being petted, and having beef-tea, and jelly, and sponge cake +with her tea, and for a day or two this was all very well. She _was_ +petted, and she had lots of beef-tea, and jelly, and grapes, and sponge +cakes, and everything nice, for her aunts, as you must have seen by this +time, were really very, very kind to her in every way in which they +understood how to be so. + +But after a few days of the continued petting, and the beef-tea and the +jelly and all the rest of it, it occurred to Miss Grizzel, who had a +good large bump of "common sense," that it might be possible to overdo +this sort of thing. + +"Tabitha," she said to her sister, when they were sitting together in +the evening after Griselda had gone to bed, "Tabitha, my dear, I think +the child is quite well again now. It seems to me it would be well to +send a note to good Mr. Kneebreeches, to say that she will be able to +resume her studies the day after to-morrow." + +"The day after to-morrow," repeated Miss Tabitha. "The day after +to-morrow--to say that she will be able to resume her studies the day +after to-morrow--oh yes, certainly. It would be very well to send a note +to good Mr. Kneebreeches, my dear Grizzel." + +"I thought you would agree with me," said Miss Grizzel, with a sigh of +relief (as if poor Miss Tabitha during all the last half-century had +ever ventured to do anything else), getting up to fetch her writing +materials as she spoke. "It is such a satisfaction to consult together +about what we do. I was only a little afraid of being hard upon the +child, but as you agree with me, I have no longer any misgiving." + +"Any misgiving, oh dear, no!" said Miss Tabitha. "You have no reason +for any misgiving, I am sure, my dear Grizzel." + +So the note was written and despatched, and the next morning when, about +twelve o'clock, Griselda made her appearance in the little drawing-room +where her aunts usually sat, looking, it must be confessed, very plump +and rosy for an invalid, Miss Grizzel broached the subject. + +"I have written to request Mr. Kneebreeches to resume his instructions +to-morrow," she said quietly. "I think you are quite well again now, so +Dorcas must wake you at your usual hour." + +Griselda had been settling herself comfortably on a corner of the sofa. +She had got a nice book to read, which her father, hearing of her +illness, had sent her by post, and she was looking forward to the +tempting plateful of jelly which Dorcas had brought her for luncheon +every day since she had been ill. Altogether, she was feeling very +"lazy-easy" and contented. Her aunt's announcement felt like a sudden +downpour of cold water, or rush of east wind. She sat straight up in her +sofa, and exclaimed in a tone of great annoyance-- + +"_Oh_, Aunt Grizzel!" + +"Well, my dear?" said Miss Grizzel, placidly. + +"I _wish_ you wouldn't make me begin lessons again just yet. I _know_ +they'll make my head ache again, and Mr. Kneebreeches will be _so_ +cross. I know he will, and he is so horrid when he is cross." + +"Hush!" said Miss Grizzel, holding up her hand in a way that reminded +Griselda of the cuckoo's favourite "obeying orders." Just then, too, in +the distance the ante-room clock struck twelve. "Cuckoo! cuckoo! +cuckoo!" on it went. Griselda could have stamped with irritation, but +_somehow_, in spite of herself, she felt compelled to say nothing. She +muttered some not very pretty words, coiled herself round on the sofa, +opened her book, and began to read. + +But it was not as interesting as she had expected. She had not read many +pages before she began to yawn, and she was delighted to be interrupted +by Dorcas and the jelly. + +But the jelly was not as nice as she had expected, either. She tasted +it, and thought it was too sweet; and when she tasted it again, it +seemed too strong of cinnamon; and the third taste seemed too strong of +everything. She laid down her spoon, and looked about her +discontentedly. + +"What is the matter, my dear?" said Miss Grizzel. "Is the jelly not to +your liking?" + +"I don't know," said Griselda shortly. She ate a few spoonfuls, and then +took up her book again. Miss Grizzel said nothing more, but to herself +she thought that Mr. Kneebreeches had not been recalled any too soon. + +All day long it was much the same. Nothing seemed to come right to +Griselda. It was a dull, cold day, what is called "a black frost;" not a +bright, clear, _pretty_, cold day, but the sort of frost that really +makes the world seem dead--makes it almost impossible to believe that +there will ever be warmth and sound and "growing-ness" again. + +Late in the afternoon Griselda crept up to the ante-room, and sat down +by the window. Outside it was nearly dark, and inside it was not much +more cheerful--for the fire was nearly out, and no lamps were lighted; +only the cuckoo clock went on tick-ticking briskly as usual. + +"I hate winter," said Griselda, pressing her cold little face against +the colder window-pane, "I hate winter, and I hate lessons. I would give +up being a _person_ in a minute if I might be a--a--what would I best +like to be? Oh yes, I know--a butterfly. Butterflies never see winter, +and they _certainly_ never have any lessons or any kind of work to do. I +hate _must_-ing to do anything." + +"Cuckoo," rang out suddenly above her head. + +It was only four o'clock striking, and as soon as he had told it the +cuckoo was back behind his doors again in an instant, just as usual. +There was nothing for Griselda to feel offended at, but somehow she got +quite angry. + +"I don't care what you think, cuckoo!" she exclaimed defiantly. "I know +you came out on purpose just now, but I don't care. I _do_ hate winter, +and I _do_ hate lessons, and I _do_ think it would be nicer to be a +butterfly than a little girl." + +In her secret heart I fancy she was half in hopes that the cuckoo would +come out again, and talk things over with her. Even if he were to scold +her, she felt that it would be better than sitting there alone with +nobody to speak to, which was very dull work indeed. At the bottom of +her conscience there lurked the knowledge that what she _should_ be +doing was to be looking over her last lessons with Mr. Kneebreeches, and +refreshing her memory for the next day; but, alas! knowing one's duty is +by no means the same thing as doing it, and Griselda sat on by the +window doing nothing but grumble and work herself up into a belief that +she was one of the most-to-be-pitied little girls in all the world. So +that by the time Dorcas came to call her to tea, I doubt if she had a +single pleasant thought or feeling left in her heart. + +Things grew no better after tea, and before long Griselda asked if she +might go to bed. She was "so tired," she said; and she certainly looked +so, for ill-humour and idleness are excellent "tirers," and will soon +take the roses out of a child's cheeks, and the brightness out of her +eyes. She held up her face to be kissed by her aunts in a meekly +reproachful way, which made the old ladies feel quite uncomfortable. + +"I am by no means sure that I have done right in recalling Mr. +Kneebreeches so soon, Sister Tabitha," remarked Miss Grizzel, uneasily, +when Griselda had left the room. But Miss Tabitha was busy counting her +stitches, and did not give full attention to Miss Grizzel's observation, +so she just repeated placidly, "Oh yes, Sister Grizzel, you may be sure +you have done right in recalling Mr. Kneebreeches." + +"I am glad you think so," said Miss Tabitha, with again a little sigh of +relief. "I was only distressed to see the child looking so white and +tired." + +Upstairs Griselda was hurry-scurrying into bed. There was a lovely fire +in her room--fancy that! Was she not a poor neglected little creature? +But even this did not please her. She was too cross to be pleased with +anything; too cross to wash her face and hands, or let Dorcas brush her +hair out nicely as usual; too cross, alas, to say her prayers! She just +huddled into bed, huddling up her mind in an untidy hurry and confusion, +just as she left her clothes in an untidy heap on the floor. She would +not look into herself, was the truth of it; she shrank from doing so +because she _knew_ things had been going on in that silly little heart +of hers in a most unsatisfactory way all day, and she wanted to go to +sleep and forget all about it. + +She did go to sleep, very quickly too. No doubt she really was tired; +tired with crossness and doing nothing, and she slept very soundly. When +she woke up she felt so refreshed and rested that she fancied it must be +morning. It was dark, of course, but that was to be expected in +mid-winter, especially as the shutters were closed. + +"I wonder," thought Griselda, "I wonder if it really _is_ morning. I +should like to get up early--I went so early to bed. I think I'll just +jump out of bed and open a chink of the shutters. I'll see at once if +it's nearly morning, by the look of the sky." + +She was up in a minute, feeling her way across the room to the window, +and without much difficulty she found the hook of the shutters, +unfastened it, and threw one side open. Ah no, there was no sign of +morning to be seen. There was moonlight, but nothing else, and not so +very much of that, for the clouds were hurrying across the "orbèd +maiden's" face at such a rate, one after the other, that the light was +more like a number of pale flashes than the steady, cold shining of most +frosty moonlight nights. There was going to be a change of weather, and +the cloud armies were collecting together from all quarters; that was +the real explanation of the hurrying and skurrying Griselda saw +overhead, but this, of course, she did not understand. She only saw that +it looked wild and stormy, and she shivered a little, partly with cold, +partly with a half-frightened feeling that she could not have explained. + +"I had better go back to bed," she said to herself; "but I am not a bit +sleepy." + +She was just drawing-to the shutter again, when something caught her +eye, and she stopped short in surprise. A little bird was outside on the +windowsill--a tiny bird crouching in close to the cold glass. +Griselda's kind heart was touched in an instant. Cold as she was, she +pushed back the shutter again, and drawing a chair forward to the +window, managed to unfasten it--it was not a very heavy one--and to open +it wide enough to slip her hand gently along to the bird. It did not +start or move. + +"Can it be dead?" thought Griselda anxiously. + +But no, it was not dead. It let her put her hand round it and draw it +in, and to her delight she felt that it was soft and warm, and it even +gave a gentle peck on her thumb. + +"Poor little bird, how cold you must be," she said kindly. But, to her +amazement, no sooner was the bird safely inside the room, than it +managed cleverly to escape from her hand. It fluttered quietly up on to +her shoulder, and sang out in a soft but cheery tone, "Cuckoo, +cuckoo--cold, did you say, Griselda? Not so very, thank you." + +Griselda stept back from the window. + +"It's _you_, is it?" she said rather surlily, her tone seeming to infer +that she had taken a great deal of trouble for nothing. + +"Of course it is, and why shouldn't it be? You're not generally so sorry +to see me. What's the matter?" + +"Nothing's the matter," replied Griselda, feeling a little ashamed of +her want of civility; "only, you see, if I had known it was _you_----" She +hesitated. + +"You wouldn't have clambered up and hurt your poor fingers in opening +the window if you had known it was me--is that it, eh?" said the cuckoo. + +Somehow, when the cuckoo said "eh?" like that, Griselda was obliged to +tell just what she was thinking. + +"No, I wouldn't have _needed_ to open the window," she said. "_You_ can +get in or out whenever you like; you're not like a real bird. Of +course, you were just tricking me, sitting out there and pretending to +be a starved robin." + +There was a little indignation in her voice, and she gave her head a +toss, which nearly upset the cuckoo. + +"Dear me, dear me!" exclaimed the cuckoo. "You have a great deal to +complain of, Griselda. Your time and strength must be very valuable for +you to regret so much having wasted a little of them on me." + +Griselda felt her face grow red. What did he mean? Did he know how +yesterday had been spent? She said nothing, but she drooped her head, +and one or two tears came slowly creeping up to her eyes. + +"Child!" said the cuckoo, suddenly changing his tone, "you are very +foolish. Is a kind thought or action _ever_ wasted? Can your eyes see +what such good seeds grow into? They have wings, Griselda--kindnesses +have wings and roots, remember that--wings that never droop, and roots +that never die. What do you think I came and sat outside your window +for?" + +"Cuckoo," said Griselda humbly, "I am very sorry." + +"Very well," said the cuckoo, "we'll leave it for the present. I have +something else to see about. Are you cold, Griselda?" + +"_Very_," she replied. "I would very much like to go back to bed, +cuckoo, if you please; and there's plenty of room for you too, if you'd +like to come in and get warm." + +"There are other ways of getting warm besides going to bed," said the +cuckoo. "A nice brisk walk, for instance. I was going to ask you to come +out into the garden with me." + +Griselda almost screamed. + +"Out into the garden! _Oh_, cuckoo!" she exclaimed, "how can you think +of such a thing? Such a freezing cold night. Oh no, indeed, cuckoo, I +couldn't possibly." + +"Very well, Griselda," said the cuckoo; "if you haven't yet learnt to +trust me, there's no more to be said. Good-night." + +He flapped his wings, cried out "Cuckoo" once only, flew across the +room, and almost before Griselda understood what he was doing, had +disappeared. + +She hurried after him, stumbling against the furniture in her haste, and +by the uncertain light. The door was not open, but the cuckoo had got +through it--"by the keyhole, I dare say," thought Griselda; "he can +'scrooge' himself up any way"--for a faint "Cuckoo" was to be heard on +its other side. In a moment Griselda had opened it, and was speeding +down the long passage in the dark, guided only by the voice from time to +time heard before her, "Cuckoo, cuckoo." + +She forgot all about the cold, or rather, she did not feel it, though +the floor was of uncarpeted old oak, whose hard, polished surface would +have usually felt like ice to a child's soft, bare feet. It was a very +long passage, and to-night, somehow, it seemed longer than ever. In +fact, Griselda could have fancied she had been running along it for half +a mile or more, when at last she was brought to a standstill by finding +she could go no further. Where was she? She could not imagine! It must +be a part of the house she had never explored in the daytime, she +decided. In front of her was a little stair running downwards, and +ending in a doorway. All this Griselda could see by a bright light that +streamed in by the keyhole and through the chinks round the door--a +light so brilliant that the little girl blinked her eyes, and for a +moment felt quite dazzled and confused. + +"It came so suddenly," she said to herself; "some one must have lighted +a lamp in there all at once. But it can't be a lamp, it's too bright +for a lamp. It's more like the sun; but how ever could the sun be +shining in a room in the middle of the night? What shall I do? Shall I +open the door and peep in?" + +"Cuckoo, cuckoo," came the answer, soft but clear, from the other side. + +"Can it be a trick of the cuckoo's to get me out into the garden?" +thought Griselda; and for the first time since she had run out of her +room a shiver of cold made her teeth chatter and her skin feel creepy. + +"Cuckoo, cuckoo," sounded again, nearer this time, it seemed to +Griselda. + +"He's waiting for me. I _will_ trust him," she said resolutely. "He has +always been good and kind, and it's horrid of me to think he's going to +trick me." + +She ran down the little stair, she seized the handle of the door. It +turned easily; the door opened--opened, and closed again noiselessly +behind her, and what do you think she saw? + +"Shut your eyes for a minute, Griselda," said the cuckoo's voice beside +her; "the light will dazzle you at first. Shut them, and I will brush +them with a little daisy dew, to strengthen them." + +Griselda did as she was told. She felt the tip of the cuckoo's softest +feather pass gently two or three times over her eyelids, and a delicious +scent seemed immediately to float before her. + +"I didn't know _daisies_ had any scent," she remarked. + +"Perhaps you didn't. You forget, Griselda, that you have a great----" + +"Oh, please don't, cuckoo. Please, please don't, _dear_ cuckoo," she +exclaimed, dancing about with her hands clasped in entreaty, but her +eyes still firmly closed. "Don't say that, and I'll promise to believe +whatever you tell me. And how soon may I open my eyes, please, cuckoo?" + +"Turn round slowly, three times. That will give the dew time to take +effect," said the cuckoo. "Here goes--one--two--three. There, now." + +Griselda opened her eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +BUTTERFLY-LAND. + + + "I'd be a butterfly." + + +Griselda opened her eyes. + +What did she see? + +The loveliest, loveliest garden that ever or never a little girl's eyes +saw. As for describing it, I cannot. I must leave a good deal to your +fancy. It was just a _delicious_ garden. There was a charming mixture of +all that is needed to make a garden perfect--grass, velvety lawn rather; +water, for a little brook ran tinkling in and out, playing bo-peep among +the bushes; trees, of course, and flowers, of course, flowers of every +shade and shape. But all these beautiful things Griselda did not at +first give as much attention to as they deserved; her eyes were so +occupied with a quite unusual sight that met them. + +This was butterflies! Not that butterflies are so very uncommon; but +butterflies, as Griselda saw them, I am quite sure, children, none of +you ever saw, or are likely to see. There were such enormous numbers of +them, and the variety of their colours and sizes was so great. They were +fluttering about everywhere; the garden seemed actually alive with them. + +Griselda stood for a moment in silent delight, feasting her eyes on the +lovely things before her, enjoying the delicious sunshine which kissed +her poor little bare feet, and seemed to wrap her all up in its warm +embrace. Then she turned to her little friend. + +"Cuckoo," she said, "I thank you _so_ much. This _is_ fairyland, at +last!" + +The cuckoo smiled, I was going to say, but that would be a figure of +speech only, would it not? He shook his head gently. + +"No, Griselda," he said kindly; "this is only butterfly-land." + +"_Butterfly_-land!" repeated Griselda, with a little disappointment in +her tone. + +"Well," said the cuckoo, "it's where you were wishing to be yesterday, +isn't it?" + +Griselda did not particularly like these allusions to "yesterday." She +thought it would be as well to change the subject. + +"It's a beautiful place, whatever it is," she said, "and I'm sure, +cuckoo, I'm _very_ much obliged to you for bringing me here. Now may I +run about and look at everything? How delicious it is to feel the warm +sunshine again! I didn't know how cold I was. Look, cuckoo, my toes and +fingers are quite blue; they're only just beginning to come right again. +I suppose the sun always shines here. How nice it must be to be a +butterfly; don't you think so, cuckoo? Nothing to do but fly about." + +She stopped at last, quite out of breath. + +"Griselda," said the cuckoo, "if you want me to answer your questions, +you must ask them one at a time. You may run about and look at +everything if you like, but you had better not be in such a hurry. You +will make a great many mistakes if you are--you have made some already." + +"How?" said Griselda. + +"_Have_ the butterflies nothing to do but fly about? Watch them." + +Griselda watched. + +"They do seem to be doing something," she said, at last, "but I can't +think what. They seem to be nibbling at the flowers, and then flying +away something like bees gathering honey. _Butterflies_ don't gather +honey, cuckoo?" + +"No," said the cuckoo. "They are filling their paint-boxes." + +"What _do_ you mean?" said Griselda. + +"Come and see," said the cuckoo. + +He flew quietly along in front of her, leading the way through the +prettiest paths in all the pretty garden. The paths were arranged in +different colours, as it were; that is to say, the flowers growing along +their sides were not all "mixty-maxty," but one shade after another in +regular order--from the palest blush pink to the very deepest damask +crimson; then, again, from the soft greenish blue of the small grass +forget-me-not to the rich warm tinge of the brilliant cornflower. +_Every_ tint was there; shades, to which, though not exactly strange to +her, Griselda could yet have given no name, for the daisy dew, you see, +had sharpened her eyes to observe delicate variations of colour, as she +had never done before. + +"How beautifully the flowers are planned," she said to the cuckoo. "Is +it just to look pretty, or why?" + +"It saves time," replied the cuckoo. "The fetch-and-carry butterflies +know exactly where to go to for the tint the world-flower-painters +want." + +"Who are the fetch-and-carry butterflies, and who are the +world-flower-painters?" asked Griselda. + +"Wait a bit and you'll see, and use your eyes," answered the cuckoo. +"It'll do your tongue no harm to have a rest now and then." + +Griselda thought it as well to take his advice, though not particularly +relishing the manner in which it was given. She did use her eyes, and as +she and the cuckoo made their way along the flower alleys, she saw that +the butterflies were never idle. They came regularly, in little parties +of twos and threes, and nibbled away, as she called it, at flowers of +the same colour but different shades, till they had got what they +wanted. Then off flew butterfly No. 1 with perhaps the palest tint of +maize, or yellow, or lavender, whichever he was in quest of, followed +by No. 2 with the next deeper shade of the same, and No. 3 bringing up +the rear. + +Griselda gave a little sigh. + +"What's the matter?" said the cuckoo. + +"They work very hard," she replied, in a melancholy tone. + +"It's a busy time of year," observed the cuckoo, drily. + +After a while they came to what seemed to be a sort of centre to the +garden. It was a huge glass house, with numberless doors, in and out of +which butterflies were incessantly flying--reminding Griselda again of +bees and a beehive. But she made no remark till the cuckoo spoke again. + +"Come in," he said. + +Griselda had to stoop a good deal, but she did manage to get in without +knocking her head or doing any damage. Inside was just a mass of +butterflies. A confused mass it seemed at first, but after a while she +saw that it was the very reverse of confused. The butterflies were all +settled in rows on long, narrow, white tables, and before each was a +tiny object about the size of a flattened-out pin's head, which he was +most carefully painting with one of his tentacles, which, from time to +time, he moistened by rubbing it on the head of a butterfly waiting +patiently behind him. Behind this butterfly again stood another, who +after a while took his place, while the first attendant flew away. + +"To fill his paint-box again," remarked the cuckoo, who seemed to read +Griselda's thoughts. + +"But what _are_ they painting, cuckoo?" she inquired eagerly. + +"All the flowers in the world," replied the cuckoo. "Autumn, winter, and +spring, they're hard at work. It's only just for the three months of +summer that the butterflies have any holiday, and then a few stray ones +now and then wander up to the world, and people talk about 'idle +butterflies'! And even then it isn't true that they are idle. They go up +to take a look at the flowers, to see how their work has turned out, and +many a damaged petal they repair, or touch up a faded tint, though no +one ever knows it." + +"_I_ know it now," said Griselda. "I will never talk about idle +butterflies again--never. But, cuckoo, do they paint all the flowers +_here_, too? What a _fearful_ lot they must have to do!" + +"No," said the cuckoo; "the flowers down here are fairy flowers. They +never fade or die, they are always just as you see them. But the colours +of your flowers are all taken from them, as you have seen. Of course +they don't look the same up there," he went on, with a slight +contemptuous shrug of his cuckoo shoulders; "the coarse air and the ugly +things about must take the bloom off. The wild flowers do the best, to +my thinking; people don't meddle with them in their stupid, clumsy +way." + +"But how do they get the flowers sent up to the world, cuckoo?" asked +Griselda. + +"They're packed up, of course, and taken up at night when all of you are +asleep," said the cuckoo. "They're painted on elastic stuff, you see, +which fits itself as the plant grows. Why, if your eyes were as they are +usually, Griselda, you couldn't even _see_ the petals the butterflies +are painting now." + +"And the packing up," said Griselda; "do the butterflies do that too?" + +"No," said the cuckoo, "the fairies look after that." + +"How wonderful!" exclaimed Griselda. But before the cuckoo had time to +say more a sudden tumult filled the air. It was butterfly dinner-time! + +"Are you hungry, Griselda?" said the cuckoo. + +"Not so very," replied Griselda. + +"It's just as well perhaps that you're not," he remarked, "for I don't +know that you'd be much the better for dinner here." + +"Why not?" inquired Griselda curiously. "What do they have for dinner? +Honey? I like that very well, spread on the top of bread-and-butter, of +course--I don't think I should care to eat it alone." + +"You won't get any honey," the cuckoo was beginning; but he was +interrupted. Two handsome butterflies flew into the great glass hall, +and making straight for the cuckoo, alighted on his shoulders. They +fluttered about him for a minute or two, evidently rather excited about +something, then flew away again, as suddenly as they had appeared. + +"Those were royal messengers," said the cuckoo, turning to Griselda. +"They have come with a message from the king and queen to invite us to +a banquet which is to be held in honour of your visit." + +"What fun!" cried Griselda. "Do let's go at once, cuckoo. But, oh dear +me," she went on, with a melancholy change of tone, "I was forgetting, +cuckoo. I can't go to the banquet. I have nothing on but my night-gown. +I never thought of it before, for I'm not a bit cold." + +"Never mind," said the cuckoo, "I'll soon have that put to rights." + +[Illustration: SHE LOOKED LIKE A FAIRY QUEEN.] + +He flew off, and was back almost immediately, followed by a whole flock +of butterflies. They were of a smaller kind than Griselda had hitherto +seen, and they were of two colours only; half were blue, half yellow. +They flew up to Griselda, who felt for a moment as if she were really +going to be suffocated by them, but only for a moment. There seemed a +great buzz and flutter about her, and then the butterflies set to work +to _dress_ her. And how do you think they dressed her? With +_themselves_! They arranged themselves all over her in the cleverest +way. One set of blue ones clustered round the hem of her little white +night-gown, making a thick "_rûche_," as it were; and then there came +two or three thinner rows of yellow, and then blue again. Round her +waist they made the loveliest belt of mingled blue and yellow, and all +over the upper part of her night-gown, in and out among the pretty white +frills which Dorcas herself "goffered," so nicely, they made themselves +into fantastic trimmings of every shape and kind; bows, rosettes--I +cannot tell you what they did not imitate. + +Perhaps the prettiest ornament of all was the coronet or wreath they +made of themselves for her head, dotting over her curly brown hair too +with butterfly spangles, which quivered like dew-drops as she moved +about. No one would have known Griselda; she looked like a fairy queen, +or princess, at least, for even her little white feet had what _looked_ +like butterfly shoes upon them, though these, you will understand, were +only a sort of make-believe, as, of course, the shoes were soleless. + +"Now," said the cuckoo, when at last all was quiet again, and every blue +and every yellow butterfly seemed settled in his place, "now, Griselda, +come and look at yourself." + +He led the way to a marble basin, into which fell the waters of one of +the tinkling brooks that were to be found everywhere about the garden, +and bade Griselda look into the water mirror. It danced about rather; +but still she was quite able to see herself. She peered in with great +satisfaction, turning herself round so as to see first over one +shoulder, then over the other. + +"It _is_ lovely," she said at last. "But, cuckoo, I'm just thinking--how +shall I possibly be able to sit down without crushing ever so many?" + +"Bless you, you needn't trouble about that," said the cuckoo; "the +butterflies are quite able to take care of themselves. You don't suppose +you are the first little girl they have ever made a dress for?" + +Griselda said no more, but followed the cuckoo, walking rather +"gingerly," notwithstanding his assurances that the butterflies could +take care of themselves. At last the cuckoo stopped, in front of a sort +of banked-up terrace, in the centre of which grew a strange-looking +plant with large, smooth, spreading-out leaves, and on the two topmost +leaves, their splendid wings glittering in the sunshine, sat two +magnificent butterflies. They were many times larger than any Griselda +had yet seen; in fact, the cuckoo himself looked rather small beside +them, and they were _so_ beautiful that Griselda felt quite over-awed. +You could not have said what colour they were, for at the faintest +movement they seemed to change into new colours, each more exquisite +than the last. Perhaps I could best give you an idea of them by saying +that they were like living rainbows. + +"Are those the king and queen?" asked Griselda in a whisper. + +"Yes," said the cuckoo. "Do you admire them?" + +"I should rather think I did," said Griselda. "But, cuckoo, do they +never do anything but lie there in the sunshine?" + +"Oh, you silly girl," exclaimed the cuckoo, "always jumping at +conclusions. No, indeed, that is not how they manage things in +butterfly-land. The king and queen have worked harder than any other +butterflies. They are chosen every now and then, out of all the others, +as being the most industrious and the cleverest of all the +world-flower-painters, and then they are allowed to rest, and are fed on +the finest essences, so that they grow as splendid as you see. But even +now they are not idle; they superintend all the work that is done, and +choose all the new colours." + +"Dear me!" said Griselda, under her breath, "how clever they must be." + +Just then the butterfly king and queen stretched out their magnificent +wings, and rose upwards, soaring proudly into the air. + +"Are they going away?" said Griselda in a disappointed tone. + +"Oh no," said the cuckoo; "they are welcoming you. Hold out your hands." + +Griselda held out her hands, and stood gazing up into the sky. In a +minute or two the royal butterflies appeared again, slowly, majestically +circling downwards, till at length they alighted on Griselda's little +hands, the king on the right, the queen on the left, almost covering her +fingers with their great dazzling wings. + +"You _do_ look nice now," said the cuckoo, hopping back a few steps and +looking up at Griselda approvingly; "but it's time for the feast to +begin, as it won't do for us to be late." + +The king and queen appeared to understand. They floated away from +Griselda's hands and settled themselves, this time, at one end of a +beautiful little grass plot or lawn, just below the terrace where grew +the large-leaved plant. This was evidently their dining-room, for no +sooner were they in their place than butterflies of every kind and +colour came pouring in, in masses, from all directions. Butterflies +small and butterflies large; butterflies light and butterflies dark; +butterflies blue, pink, crimson, green, gold-colour--_every_ colour, and +far, far more colours than you could possibly imagine. + +They all settled down, round the sides of the grassy dining-table, and +in another minute a number of small white butterflies appeared, carrying +among them flower petals carefully rolled up, each containing a drop of +liquid. One of these was presented to the king, and then one to the +queen, who each sniffed at their petal for an instant, and then passed +it on to the butterfly next them, whereupon fresh petals were handed to +them, which they again passed on. + +"What are they doing, cuckoo?" said Griselda; "that's not _eating_." + +"It's their kind of eating," he replied. "They don't require any other +kind of food than a sniff of perfume; and as there are perfumes +extracted from every flower in butterfly-land, and there are far more +flowers than you could count between now and Christmas, you must allow +there is plenty of variety of dishes." + +"Um-m," said Griselda; "I suppose there is. But all the same, cuckoo, +it's a very good thing I'm not hungry, isn't it? May I pour the scent on +my pocket-handkerchief when it comes round to me? I have my handkerchief +here, you see. Isn't it nice that I brought it? It was under my pillow, +and I wrapped it round my hand to open the shutter, for the hook +scratched it once." + +"You may pour one drop on your handkerchief," said the cuckoo, "but not +more. I shouldn't like the butterflies to think you greedy." + +But Griselda grew very tired of the scent feast long before all the +petals had been passed round. The perfumes were very nice, certainly, +but there were such quantities of them--double quantities in honour of +the guest, of course! Griselda screwed up her handkerchief into a tight +little ball, so that the one drop of scent should not escape from it, +and then she kept sniffing at it impatiently, till at last the cuckoo +asked her what was the matter. + +"I am so tired of the feast," she said. "Do let us do something else, +cuckoo." + +"It is getting rather late," said the cuckoo. "But see, Griselda, they +are going to have an air-dance now." + +"What's that?" said Griselda. + +"Look, and you'll see," he replied. + +Flocks and flocks of butterflies were rising a short way into the air, +and there arranging themselves in bands according to their colours. + +"Come up on to the bank," said the cuckoo to Griselda; "you'll see them +better." + +Griselda climbed up the bank, and as from there she could look down on +the butterfly show, she saw it beautifully. The long strings of +butterflies twisted in and out of each other in the most wonderful way, +like ribbons of every hue plaiting themselves and then in an instant +unplaiting themselves again. Then the king and queen placed themselves +in the centre, and round and round in moving circles twisted and +untwisted the brilliant bands of butterflies. + +"It's like a kaleidoscope," said Griselda; "and now it's like those +twisty-twirly dissolving views that papa took me to see once. It's +_just_ like them. Oh, how pretty! Cuckoo, are they doing it all on +purpose to please me?" + +"A good deal," said the cuckoo. "Stand up and clap your hands loud three +times, to show them you're pleased." + +Griselda obeyed. "Clap" number one--all the butterflies rose up into the +air in a cloud; clap number two--they all fluttered and twirled and +buzzed about, as if in the greatest excitement; clap number three--they +all turned in Griselda's direction with a rush. + +"They're going to kiss you, Griselda," cried the cuckoo. + +Griselda felt her breath going. Up above her was the vast feathery cloud +of butterflies, fluttering, _rushing_ down upon her. + +"Cuckoo, cuckoo," she screamed, "they'll suffocate me. Oh, cuckoo!" + +"Shut your eyes, and clap your hands loud, very loud," called out the +cuckoo. + +And just as Griselda clapped her hands, holding her precious +handkerchief between her teeth, she heard him give his usual cry, +"Cuckoo, cuckoo." + +_Clap_--where were they all? + +Griselda opened her eyes--garden, butterflies, cuckoo, all had +disappeared. She was in bed, and Dorcas was knocking at the door with +the hot water. + +"Miss Grizzel said I was to wake you at your usual time this morning, +missie," she said. "I hope you don't feel too tired to get up." + +"Tired! I should think not," replied Griselda. "I was awake this morning +ages before you, I can tell you, my dear Dorcas. Come here for a minute, +Dorcas, please," she went on. "There now, sniff my handkerchief. What do +you think of that?" + +"It's beautiful," said Dorcas. "It's out of the big blue chinay bottle +on your auntie's table, isn't it, missie?" + +"Stuff and nonsense," replied Griselda; "it's scent of my own, Dorcas. +Aunt Grizzel never had any like it in her life. There now! Please give +me my slippers, I want to get up and look over my lessons for Mr. +Kneebreeches before he comes. Dear me," she added to herself, as she +was putting on her slippers, "how pretty my feet did look with the blue +butterfly shoes! It was very good of the cuckoo to take me there, but I +don't think I shall ever wish to be a butterfly again, now I know how +hard they work! But I'd like to do my lessons well to-day. I fancy it'll +please the dear old cuckoo." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +MASTER PHIL. + + + "Who comes from the world of flowers? + Daisy and crocus, and sea-blue bell, + And violet shrinking in dewy cell-- + Sly cells that know the secrets of night, + When earth is bathed in fairy light-- + Scarlet, and blue, and golden flowers." + + +And so Mr. Kneebreeches had no reason to complain of his pupil that day. + +And Miss Grizzel congratulated herself more heartily than ever on her +wise management of children. + +And Miss Tabitha repeated that Sister Grizzel might indeed congratulate +herself. + +And Griselda became gradually more and more convinced that the only way +as yet discovered of getting through hard tasks is to set to work and +do them; also, that grumbling, as things are at present arranged in this +world, does not _always_, nor I may say _often_, do good; furthermore, +that an ill-tempered child is not, on the whole, likely to be as much +loved as a good-tempered one; lastly, that if you wait long enough, +winter will go and spring will come. + +For this was the case this year, after all! Spring had only been sleepy +and lazy, and in such a case what could poor old winter do but fill the +vacant post till she came? Why he should be so scolded and reviled for +faithfully doing his best, as he often is, I really don't know. Not that +all the ill words he gets have much effect on him--he comes again just +as usual, whatever we say of or to him. I suppose his feelings have long +ago been frozen up, or surely before this he would have taken +offence--well for us that he has not done so! + +But when the spring did come at last this year, it would be impossible +for me to tell you how Griselda enjoyed it. It was like new life to her +as well as to the plants, and flowers, and birds, and insects. Hitherto, +you see, she had been able to see very little of the outside of her +aunt's house; and charming as the inside was, the outside, I must say, +was still "charminger." There seemed no end to the little up-and-down +paths and alleys, leading to rustic seats and quaint arbours; no limits +to the little pine-wood, down into which led the dearest little +zig-zaggy path you ever saw, all bordered with snow-drops and primroses +and violets, and later on with periwinkles, and wood anemones, and those +bright, starry, white flowers, whose name no two people agree about. + +This wood-path was the place, I think, which Griselda loved the best. +The bowling-green was certainly very delightful, and so was the terrace +where the famous roses grew; but lovely as the roses were (I am +speaking just now, of course, of later on in the summer, when they were +all in bloom), Griselda could not enjoy them as much as the +wild-flowers, for she was forbidden to gather or touch them, except with +her funny round nose! + +"You may _scent_ them, my dear," said Miss Grizzel, who was of opinion +that smell was not a pretty word; "but I cannot allow anything more." + +And Griselda did "scent" them, I assure you. She burrowed her whole rosy +face in the big ones; but gently, for she did not want to spoil them, +both for her aunt's sake, and because, too, she had a greater regard for +flowers now that she knew the secret of how they were painted, and what +a great deal of trouble the butterflies take about them. + +But after a while one grows tired of "scenting" roses; and even the +trying to walk straight across the bowling-green with her eyes shut, +from the arbour at one side to the arbour exactly like it at the other, +grew stupid, though no doubt it would have been capital fun with a +companion to applaud or criticize. + +So the wood-path became Griselda's favourite haunt. As the summer grew +on, she began to long more than ever for a companion--not so much for +play, as for some one to play with. She had lessons, of course, just as +many as in the winter; but with the long days, there seemed to come a +quite unaccountable increase of play-time, and Griselda sometimes found +it hang heavy on her hands. She had not seen or heard anything of the +cuckoo either, save, of course, in his "official capacity" of +time-teller, for a very long time. + +"I suppose," she thought, "he thinks I don't need amusing, now that the +fine days are come and I can play in the garden; and certainly, if I +had _any one_ to play with, the garden would be perfectly lovely." + +But, failing companions, she did the best she could for herself, and +this was why she loved the path down into the wood so much. There was a +sort of mystery about it; it might have been the path leading to the +cottage of Red-Ridinghood's grandmother, or a path leading to fairyland +itself. There were all kinds of queer, nice, funny noises to be heard +there--in one part of it especially, where Griselda made herself a seat +of some moss-grown stones, and where she came so often that she got to +know all the little flowers growing close round about, and even the +particular birds whose nests were hard by. + +She used to sit there and _fancy_--fancy that she heard the wood-elves +chattering under their breath, or the little underground gnomes and +kobolds hammering at their fairy forges. And the tinkling of the brook +in the distance sounded like the enchanted bells round the necks of the +fairy kine, who are sent out to pasture sometimes on the upper world +hill-sides. For Griselda's head was crammed full, perfectly full, of +fairy lore; and the mandarins' country, and butterfly-land, were quite +as real to her as the every-day world about her. + +But all this time she was not forgotten by the cuckoo, as you will see. + +One day she was sitting in her favourite nest, feeling, notwithstanding +the sunshine, and the flowers, and the soft sweet air, and the pleasant +sounds all about, rather dull and lonely. For though it was only May, it +was really quite a hot day, and Griselda had been all the morning at her +lessons, and had tried very hard, and done them very well, and now she +felt as if she deserved some reward. Suddenly in the distance, she heard +a well-known sound, "Cuckoo, cuckoo." + +"Can that be the cuckoo?" she said to herself; and in a moment she felt +sure that it must be. For, for some reason that I do not know enough +about the habits of real "flesh and blood" cuckoos to explain, that bird +was not known in the neighbourhood where Griselda's aunts lived. Some +twenty miles or so further south it was heard regularly, but all this +spring Griselda had never caught the sound of its familiar note, and she +now remembered hearing it never came to these parts. + +So, "it must be my cuckoo," she said to herself. "He must be coming out +to speak to me. How funny! I have never seen him by daylight." + +She listened. Yes, again there it was, "Cuckoo, cuckoo," as plain as +possible, and nearer than before. + +"Cuckoo," cried Griselda, "do come and talk to me. It's such a long time +since I have seen you, and I have nobody to play with." + +But there was no answer. Griselda held her breath to listen, but there +was nothing to be heard. + +"Unkind cuckoo!" she exclaimed. "He is tricking me, I do believe; and +to-day too, just when I was so dull and lonely." + +The tears came into her eyes, and she was beginning to think herself +very badly used, when suddenly a rustling in the bushes beside her made +her turn round, more than half expecting to see the cuckoo himself. But +it was not he. The rustling went on for a minute or two without anything +making its appearance, for the bushes were pretty thick just there, and +any one scrambling up from the pinewood below would have had rather hard +work to get through, and indeed for a very big person such a feat would +have been altogether impossible. + +It was not a very big person, however, who was causing all the rustling, +and crunching of branches, and general commotion, which now absorbed +Griselda's attention. She sat watching for another minute in perfect +stillness, afraid of startling by the slightest movement the squirrel or +rabbit or creature of some kind which she expected to see. At last--was +that a squirrel or rabbit--that rosy, round face, with shaggy, fair hair +falling over the eager blue eyes, and a general look of breathlessness +and over-heatedness and determination? + +A squirrel or a rabbit! No, indeed, but a very sturdy, very merry, very +ragged little boy. + +"Where are that cuckoo? Does _you_ know?" were the first words he +uttered, as soon as he had fairly shaken himself, though not by any +means all his clothes, free of the bushes (for ever so many pieces of +jacket and knickerbockers, not to speak of one boot and half his hat, +had been left behind on the way), and found breath to say something. + +[Illustration: "WHERE ARE THAT CUCKOO?"] + +Griselda stared at him for a moment without speaking. She was so +astonished. It was months since she had spoken to a child, almost since +she had seen one, and about children younger than herself she knew very +little at any time, being the baby of the family at home, you see, +and having only big brothers older than herself for play-fellows. + +"Who are you?" she said at last. "What's your name, and what do you +want?" + +"My name's Master Phil, and I want that cuckoo," answered the little +boy. "He camed up this way. I'm sure he did, for he called me all the +way." + +"He's not here," said Griselda, shaking her head; "and this is my aunts' +garden. No one is allowed to come here but friends of theirs. You had +better go home; and you have torn your clothes so." + +"This aren't a garden," replied the little fellow undauntedly, looking +round him; "this are a wood. There are blue-bells and primroses here, +and that shows it aren't a garden--not anybody's garden, I mean, with +walls round, for nobody to come in." + +"But it _is_," said Griselda, getting rather vexed. + +"If it isn't a garden it's _grounds_, private grounds, and nobody +should come without leave. This path leads down to the wood, and there's +a door in the wall at the bottom to get into the lane. You may go down +that way, little boy. No one comes scrambling up the way you did." + +"But I want to find the cuckoo," said the little boy. "I do so want to +find the cuckoo." + +His voice sounded almost as if he were going to cry, and his pretty, +hot, flushed face puckered up. Griselda's heart smote her; she looked at +him more carefully. He was such a very little boy, after all; she did +not like to be cross to him. + +"How old are you?" she asked. + +"Five and a bit. I had a birthday after the summer, and if I'm good, +nurse says perhaps I'll have one after next summer too. Do you ever have +birthdays?" he went on, peering up at Griselda. "Nurse says she used to +when she was young, but she never has any now." + +"_Have_ you a nurse?" asked Griselda, rather surprised; for, to tell the +truth, from "Master Phil's" appearance, she had not felt at all sure +what _sort_ of little boy he was, or rather what sort of people he +belonged to. + +"Of course I have a nurse, and a mother too," said the little boy, +opening wide his eyes in surprise at the question. "Haven't you? Perhaps +you're too big, though. People leave off having nurses and mothers when +they're big, don't they? Just like birthdays. But _I_ won't. I won't +never leave off having a mother, any way. I don't care so much about +nurse and birthdays, not _kite_ so much. Did you care when you had to +leave off, when you got too big?" + +"I hadn't to leave off because I got big," said Griselda sadly. "I left +off when I was much littler than you," she went on, unconsciously +speaking as Phil would best understand her. "My mother died." + +"I'm werry sorry," said Phil; and the way in which he said it quite +overcame Griselda's unfriendliness. "But perhaps you've a nice nurse. My +nurse is rather nice; but she _will_ 'cold me to-day, won't she?" he +added, laughing, pointing to the terrible rents in his garments. "These +are my very oldestest things; that's a good thing, isn't it? Nurse says +I don't look like Master Phil in these, but when I have on my blue +welpet, then I look like Master Phil. I shall have my blue welpet when +mother comes." + +"Is your mother away?" said Griselda. + +"Oh yes, she's been away a long time; so nurse came here to take care of +me at the farmhouse, you know. Mother was ill, but she's better now, and +some day she'll come too." + +"Do you like being at the farmhouse? Have you anybody to play with?" +said Griselda. + +Phil shook his curly head. "I never have anybody to play with," he said. +"I'd like to play with you if you're not too big. And do you think you +could help me to find the cuckoo?" he added insinuatingly. + +"What do you know about the cuckoo?" said Griselda. + +"He called me," said Phil, "he called me lots of times; and to-day nurse +was busy, so I thought I'd come. And do you know," he added +mysteriously, "I do believe the cuckoo's a fairy, and when I find him +I'm going to ask him to show me the way to fairyland." + +"He says we must all find the way ourselves," said Griselda, quite +forgetting to whom she was speaking. + +"_Does_ he?" cried Phil, in great excitement. "Do you know him, then? +and have you asked him? Oh, do tell me." + +Griselda recollected herself. "You couldn't understand," she said. "Some +day perhaps I'll tell you--I mean if ever I see you again." + +"But I may see you again," said Phil, settling himself down comfortably +beside Griselda on her mossy stone. "You'll let me come, won't you? I +like to talk about fairies, and nurse doesn't understand. And if the +cuckoo knows you, perhaps that's why he called me to come to play with +you." + +"How did he call you?" asked Griselda. + +"First," said Phil gravely, "it was in the night. I was asleep, and I +had been wishing I had somebody to play with, and then I d'eamed of the +cuckoo--such a nice d'eam. And when I woke up I heard him calling me, +and I wasn't d'eaming then. And then when I was in the field he called +me, but I _couldn't_ find him, and nurse said 'Nonsense.' And to-day he +called me again, so I camed up through the bushes. And mayn't I come +again? Perhaps if we both tried together we could find the way to +fairyland. Do you think we could?" + +"I don't know," said Griselda, dreamily. + +"There's a great deal to learn first, the cuckoo says." + +"Have you learnt a great deal?" (he called it "a gate deal") asked Phil, +looking up at Griselda with increased respect. "_I_ don't know scarcely +nothing. Mother was ill such a long time before she went away, but I +know she wanted me to learn to read books. But nurse is too old to teach +me." + +"Shall I teach you?" said Griselda. "I can bring some of my old books +and teach you here after I have done my own lessons." + +"And then mother _would_ be surprised when she comes back," said Master +Phil, clapping his hands. "Oh, _do_. And when I've learnt to read a +great deal, do you think the cuckoo would show us the way to fairyland?" + +"I don't think it was that sort of learning he meant," said Griselda. +"But I dare say that would help. I _think_," she went on, lowering her +voice a little, and looking down gravely into Phil's earnest eyes, "I +_think_ he means mostly learning to be very good--very, _very_ good, you +know." + +"Gooder than you?" said Phil. + +"Oh dear, yes; lots and lots gooder than me," replied Griselda. + +"_I_ think you're very good," observed Phil, in a parenthesis. Then he +went on with his cross-questioning. + +"Gooder than mother?" + +"I don't know your mother, so how can I tell how good she is?" said +Griselda. + +"_I_ can tell you," said Phil, importantly. "She is just as good as--as +good as--as good as _good_. That's what she is." + +"You mean she couldn't be better," said Griselda, smiling. + +"Yes, that'll do, if you like. Would that be good enough for us to be, +do you think?" + +"We must ask the cuckoo," said Griselda. "But I'm sure it would be a +good thing for you to learn to read. You must ask your nurse to let you +come here every afternoon that it's fine, and I'll ask my aunt." + +"I needn't ask nurse," said Phil composedly; "she'll never know where I +am, and I needn't tell her. She doesn't care what I do, except tearing +my clothes; and when she scolds me, _I_ don't care." + +"_That_ isn't good, Phil," said Griselda gravely. "You'll never be as +good as good if you speak like that." + +"What should I say, then? Tell me," said the little boy submissively. + +"You should ask nurse to let you come to play with me, and tell her I'm +much bigger than you, and I won't let you tear your clothes. And you +should tell her you're very sorry you've torn them to-day." + +"Very well," said Phil, "I'll say that. But, oh see!" he exclaimed, +darting off, "there's a field mouse! If only I could catch him!" + +Of course he couldn't catch him, nor could Griselda either; very ready, +though, she was to do her best. But it was great fun all the same, and +the children laughed heartily and enjoyed themselves tremendously. And +when they were tired they sat down again and gathered flowers for +nosegays, and Griselda was surprised to find how clever Phil was about +it. He was much quicker than she at spying out the prettiest blossoms, +however hidden behind tree, or stone, or shrub. And he told her of all +the best places for flowers near by, and where grew the largest +primroses and the sweetest violets, in a way that astonished her. + +"You're such a little boy," she said; "how do you know so much about +flowers?" + +"I've had no one else to play with," he said innocently. "And then, you +know, the fairies are so fond of them." + +When Griselda thought it was time to go home, she led little Phil down +the wood-path, and through the door in the wall opening on to the lane. + +"Now you can find your way home without scrambling through any more +bushes, can't you, Master Phil?" she said. + +"Yes, thank you, and I'll come again to that place to-morrow afternoon, +shall I?" asked Phil. "I'll know when--after I've had my dinner and +raced three times round the big field, then it'll be time. That's how it +was to-day." + +"I should think it would do if you _walked_ three times--or twice if you +like--round the field. It isn't a good thing to race just when you've +had your dinner," observed Griselda sagely. "And you mustn't try to come +if it isn't fine, for my aunts won't let me go out if it rains even the +tiniest bit And of course you must ask your nurse's leave." + +"Very well," said little Phil as he trotted off. "I'll try to remember +all those things. I'm so glad you'll play with me again; and if you see +the cuckoo, please thank him." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +UP AND DOWN THE CHIMNEY. + + + "_Helper_. Well, but if it was all dream, it would be the same as if + it was all real, would it not? + + "_Keeper_. Yes, I see. I mean, Sir, I do _not_ see."--_A Liliput + Revel_. + + +_Not_ having "just had her dinner," and feeling very much inclined for +her tea, Griselda ran home at a great rate. + +She felt, too, in such good spirits; it had been so delightful to have a +companion in her play. + +"What a good thing it was I didn't make Phil run away before I found out +what a nice little boy he was," she said to herself. "I must look out my +old reading books to-night. I shall so like teaching him, poor little +boy, and the cuckoo will be pleased at my doing something useful, I'm +sure." + +Tea was quite ready, in fact waiting for her, when she came in. This was +a meal she always had by herself, brought up on a tray to Dorcas's +little sitting-room, where Dorcas waited upon her. And sometimes when +Griselda was in a particularly good humour she would beg Dorcas to sit +down and have a cup of tea with her--a liberty the old servant was far +too dignified and respectful to have thought of taking, unless specially +requested to do so. + +This evening, as you know, Griselda was in a very particularly good +humour, and besides this, so very full of her adventures, that she would +have been glad of an even less sympathising listener than Dorcas was +likely to be. + +"Sit down, Dorcas, and have some more tea, do," she said coaxingly. "It +looks ever so much more comfortable, and I'm sure you could eat a +little more if you tried, whether you've had your tea in the kitchen or +not. I'm _fearfully_ hungry, I can tell you. You'll have to cut a whole +lot more bread and butter, and not 'ladies' slices' either." + +"How your tongue does go, to be sure, Miss Griselda," said Dorcas, +smiling, as she seated herself on the chair Griselda had drawn in for +her. + +"And why shouldn't it?" said Griselda saucily. "It doesn't do it any +harm. But oh, Dorcas, I've had such fun this afternoon--really, you +couldn't guess what I've been doing." + +"Very likely not, missie," said Dorcas. + +"But you might try to guess. Oh no, I don't think you need--guessing +takes such a time, and I want to tell you. Just fancy, Dorcas, I've been +playing with a little boy in the wood." + +"Playing with a little boy, Miss Griselda!" exclaimed Dorcas, aghast. + +"Yes, and he's coming again to-morrow, and the day after, and every +day, I dare say," said Griselda. "He _is_ such a nice little boy." + +"But, missie," began Dorcas. + +"Well? What's the matter? You needn't look like that--as if I had done +something naughty," said Griselda sharply. + +"But you'll tell your aunt, missie?" + +"Of course," said Griselda, looking up fearlessly into Dorcas's face +with her bright grey eyes. "Of course; why shouldn't I? I must ask her +to give the little boy leave to come into _our_ grounds; and I told the +little boy to be sure to tell his nurse, who takes care of him, about +his playing with me." + +"His nurse," repeated Dorcas, in a tone of some relief. "Then he must be +quite a little boy, perhaps Miss Grizzel would not object so much in +that case." + +"Why should she object at all? She might know I wouldn't want to play +with a naughty rude boy," said Griselda. + +"She thinks all boys rude and naughty, I'm afraid, missie," said Dorcas. +"All, that is to say, excepting your dear papa. But then, of course, she +had the bringing up of _him_ in her own way from the beginning." + +"Well, I'll ask her, any way," said Griselda, "and if she says I'm not +to play with him, I shall think--I know what I shall _think_ of Aunt +Grizzel, whether I _say_ it or not." + +And the old look of rebellion and discontent settled down again on her +rosy face. + +"Be careful, missie, now do, there's a dear good girl," said Dorcas +anxiously, an hour later, when Griselda, dressed as usual in her little +white muslin frock, was ready to join her aunts at dessert. + +But Griselda would not condescend to make any reply. + +"Aunt Grizzel," she said suddenly, when she had eaten an orange and +three biscuits and drunk half a glass of home-made elderberry wine, +"Aunt Grizzel, when I was out in the garden to-day--down the wood-path, +I mean--I met a little boy, and he played with me, and I want to know if +he may come every day to play with me." + +Griselda knew she was not making her request in a very amiable or +becoming manner; she knew, indeed, that she was making it in such a way +as was almost certain to lead to its being refused; and yet, though she +was really so very, very anxious to get leave to play with little Phil, +she took a sort of spiteful pleasure in injuring her own cause. + +How _foolish_ ill-temper makes us! Griselda had allowed herself to get +so angry at the _thought_ of being thwarted that had her aunt looked up +quietly and said at once, "Oh yes, you may have the little boy to play +with you whenever you like," she would really, in a strange distorted +sort of way, have been _disappointed_. + +But, of course, Miss Grizzel made no such reply. Nothing less than a +miracle could have made her answer Griselda otherwise than as she did. +Like Dorcas, for an instant, she was utterly "flabbergasted," if you +know what that means. For she was really quite an old lady, you know, +and sensible as she was, things upset her much more easily than when she +was younger. + +Naughty Griselda saw her uneasiness, and enjoyed it. + +"Playing with a boy!" exclaimed Miss Grizzel. "A boy in my grounds, and +you, my niece, to have played with him!" + +"Yes," said Griselda coolly, "and I want to play with him again." + +"Griselda," said her aunt, "I am too astonished to say more at present. +Go to bed." + +"Why should I go to bed? It is not my bed-time," cried Griselda, blazing +up. "What have I done to be sent to bed as if I were in disgrace?" + +"Go to bed," repeated Miss Grizzel. "I will speak to you to-morrow." + +"You are very unfair and unjust," said Griselda, starting up from her +chair. "That's all the good of being honest and telling everything. I +might have played with the little boy every day for a month and you +would never have known, if I hadn't told you." + +She banged across the room as she spoke, and out at the door, slamming +it behind her rudely. Then upstairs like a whirlwind; but when she got +to her own room, she sat down on the floor and burst into tears, and +when Dorcas came up, nearly half an hour later, she was still in the +same place, crouched up in a little heap, sobbing bitterly. + +"Oh, missie, missie," said Dorcas, "it's just what I was afraid of!" + +As Griselda rushed out of the room Miss Grizzel leant back in her chair +and sighed deeply. + +"Already," she said faintly. "She was never so violent before. Can one +afternoon's companionship with rudeness have already contaminated her? +Already, Tabitha--can it be so?" + +"Already," said Miss Tabitha, softly shaking her head, which somehow +made her look wonderfully like an old cat, for she felt cold of an +evening and usually wore a very fine woolly shawl of a delicate grey +shade, and the borders of her cap and the ruffles round her throat and +wrists were all of fluffy, downy white--"already," she said. + +"Yet," said Miss Grizzel, recovering herself a little, "it is true what +the child said. She might have deceived us. Have I been hard upon her, +Sister Tabitha?" + +"Hard upon her! Sister Grizzel," said Miss Tabitha with more energy than +usual; "no, certainly not. For once, Sister Grizzel, I disagree with +you. Hard upon her! Certainly not." + +But Miss Grizzel did not feel happy. + +When she went up to her own room at night she was surprised to find +Dorcas waiting for her, instead of the younger maid. + +"I thought you would not mind having me, instead of Martha, to-night, +ma'am," she said, "for I did so want to speak to you about Miss +Griselda. The poor, dear young lady has gone to bed so very unhappy." + +"But do you know what she has done, Dorcas?" said Miss Grizzel. +"Admitted a _boy_, a rude, common, impertinent _boy_, into my precincts, +and played with him--with a _boy_, Dorcas." + +"Yes, ma'am," said Dorcas. "I know all about it, ma'am. Miss Griselda +has told me all. But if you would allow me to give an opinion, it isn't +quite so bad. He's quite a little boy, ma'am--between five and six--only +just about the age Miss Griselda's dear papa was when he first came to +us, and, by all I can hear, quite a little gentleman." + +"A little gentleman," repeated Miss Grizzel, "and not six years old! +That is less objectionable than I expected. What is his name, as you +know so much, Dorcas?" + +"Master Phil," replied Dorcas. "That is what he told Miss Griselda, and +she never thought to ask him more. But I'll tell you how we could get to +hear more about him, I think, ma'am. From what Miss Griselda says, I +believe he is staying at Mr. Crouch's farm, and that, you know, ma'am, +belongs to my Lady Lavander, though it is a good way from Merrybrow +Hall. My lady is pretty sure to know about the child, for she knows all +that goes on among her tenants, and I remember hearing that a little +gentleman and his nurse had come to Mr. Crouch's to lodge for six +months." + +Miss Grizzel listened attentively. + +"Thank you, Dorcas," she said, when the old servant had left off +speaking. "You have behaved with your usual discretion. I shall drive +over to Merrybrow to-morrow, and make inquiry. And you may tell Miss +Griselda in the morning what I purpose doing; but tell her also that, +as a punishment for her rudeness and ill-temper, she must have breakfast +in her own room to-morrow, and not see me till I send for her. Had she +restrained her temper and explained the matter, all this distress might +have been saved." + +Dorcas did not wait till "to-morrow morning;" she could not bear to +think of Griselda's unhappiness. From her mistress's room she went +straight to the little girl's, going in very softly, so as not to +disturb her should she be sleeping. + +"Are you awake, missie?" she said gently. + +Griselda started up. + +"Yes," she exclaimed. "Is it you, cuckoo? I'm quite awake." + +"Bless the child," said Dorcas to herself, "how her head does run on +Miss Sybilla's cuckoo. It's really wonderful. There's more in such +things than some people think." + +But aloud she only replied-- + +"It's Dorcas, missie. No fairy, only old Dorcas come to comfort you a +bit. Listen, missie. Your auntie is going over to Merrybrow Hall +to-morrow to inquire about this little Master Phil from my Lady +Lavander, for we think it's at one of her ladyship's farms that he and +his nurse are staying, and if she hears that he's a nice-mannered little +gentleman, and comes of good parents--why, missie, there's no saying but +that you'll get leave to play with him as much as you like." + +"But not to-morrow, Dorcas," said Griselda. "Aunt Grizzel never goes to +Merrybrow till the afternoon. She won't be back in time for me to play +with Phil to-morrow." + +"No, but next day, perhaps," said Dorcas. + +"Oh, but that won't do," said Griselda, beginning to cry again. "Poor +little Phil will be coming up to the wood-path _to-morrow_, and if he +doesn't find me, he'll be _so_ unhappy--perhaps he'll never come again +if I don't meet him to-morrow." + +Dorcas saw that the little girl was worn out and excited, and not yet +inclined to take a reasonable view of things. + +"Go to sleep, missie," she said kindly, "and don't think anything more +about it till to-morrow It'll be all right, you'll see." + +Her patience touched Griselda. + +"You are very kind, Dorcas," she said. "I don't mean to be cross to +_you_; but I can't bear to think of poor little Phil. Perhaps he'll sit +down on my mossy stone and cry. Poor little Phil!" + +But notwithstanding her distress, when Dorcas had left her she did feel +her heart a little lighter, and somehow or other before long she fell +asleep. + +When she awoke it seemed to be suddenly, and she had the feeling that +something had disturbed her. She lay for a minute or two perfectly +still--listening. Yes; there it was--the soft, faint rustle in the air +that she knew so well. It seemed as if something was moving away from +her. + +"Cuckoo," she said gently, "is that you?" + +A moment's pause, then came the answer--the pretty greeting she +expected. + +"Cuckoo, cuckoo," soft and musical. Then the cuckoo spoke. + +"Well, Griselda," he said, "and how are you? It's a good while since we +have had any fun together." + +"That's not _my_ fault," said Griselda sharply. She was not yet feeling +quite as amiable as might have been desired, you see. "That's +_certainly_ not my fault," she repeated. + +"I never said it was," replied the cuckoo. "Why will you jump at +conclusions so? It's a very bad habit, for very often you jump _over_ +them, you see, and go too far. One should always _walk_ up to +conclusions, very slowly and evenly, right foot first, then left, one +with another--that's the way to get where you want to go, and feel sure +of your ground. Do you see?" + +"I don't know whether I do or not, and I'm not going to speak to you if +you go on at me like that. You might see I don't want to be lectured +when I am so unhappy." + +"What are you unhappy about?" + +"About Phil, of course. I won't tell you, for I believe you know," said +Griselda. "Wasn't it you that sent him to play with me? I was so +pleased, and I thought it was very kind of you; but it's all spoilt +now." + +"But I heard Dorcas saying that your aunt is going over to consult my +Lady Lavander about it," said the cuckoo. "It'll be all right; you +needn't be in such low spirits about nothing." + +"Were you in the room _then_?" said Griselda. "How funny you are, +cuckoo. But it isn't all right. Don't you see, poor little Phil will be +coming up the wood-path to-morrow afternoon to meet me, and I won't be +there! I can't bear to think of it." + +"Is that all?" said the cuckoo. "It really is extraordinary how some +people make troubles out of nothing! We can easily tell Phil not to come +till the day after. Come along." + +"Come along," repeated Griselda; "what do you mean?" + +"Oh, I forgot," said the cuckoo. "You don't understand. Put out your +hand. There, do you feel me?" + +"Yes," said Griselda, stroking gently the soft feathers which seemed to +be close under her hand. "Yes, I feel you." + +"Well, then," said the cuckoo, "put your arms round my neck, and hold me +firm. I'll lift you up." + +"How _can_ you talk such nonsense, cuckoo?" said Griselda. "Why, one of +my little fingers would clasp your neck. How can I put my arms round +it?" + +"Try," said the cuckoo. + +Somehow Griselda had to try. + +She held out her arms in the cuckoo's direction, as if she expected his +neck to be about the size of a Shetland pony's, or a large Newfoundland +dog's; and, to her astonishment, so it was! A nice, comfortable, +feathery neck it felt--so soft that she could not help laying her head +down upon it, and nestling in the downy cushion. + +"That's right," said the cuckoo. + +Then he seemed to give a little spring, and Griselda felt herself +altogether lifted on to his back. She lay there as comfortably as +possible--it felt so firm as well as soft. Up he flew a little way--then +stopped short. + +"Are you all right?" he inquired. "You're not afraid of falling off?" + +"Oh no," said Griselda; "not a bit." + +"You needn't be," said the cuckoo, "for you couldn't if you tried. I'm +going on, then." + +"Where to?" said Griselda. + +"Up the chimney first," said the cuckoo. + +"But there'll never be room," said Griselda. "I might _perhaps_ crawl up +like a sweep, hands and knees, you know, like going up a ladder. But +stretched out like this--it's just as if I were lying on a sofa--I +_couldn't_ go up the chimney." + +"Couldn't you?" said the cuckoo. "We'll see. _I_ intend to go, any way, +and to take you with me. Shut your eyes--one, two, three--here +goes--we'll be up the chimney before you know." + +It was quite true. Griselda shut her eyes tight. She felt nothing but a +pleasant sort of rush. Then she heard the cuckoo's voice, saying-- + +"Well, wasn't that well done? Open your eyes and look about you." + +Griselda did so. Where were they? + +They were floating about above the top of the house, which Griselda saw +down below them, looking dark and vast. She felt confused and +bewildered. + +"Cuckoo," she said, "I don't understand. Is it I that have grown little, +or you that have grown big?" + +"Whichever you please," said the cuckoo. "You have forgotten. I told you +long ago it is all a matter of fancy." + +"Yes, if everything grew little _together_," persisted Griselda; "but it +isn't everything. It's just you or me, or both of us. No, it can't be +both of us. And I don't think it can be me, for if any of me had grown +little all would, and my eyes haven't grown little, for everything looks +as big as usual, only _you_ a great deal bigger. My eyes can't have +grown bigger without the rest of me, surely, for the moon looks just the +same. And I must have grown little, or else we couldn't have got up the +chimney. Oh, cuckoo, you have put all my thinking into such a muddle!" + +"Never mind," said the cuckoo. "It'll show you how little consequence +big and little are of. Make yourself comfortable all the same. Are you +all right? Shut your eyes if you like. I'm going pretty fast." + +"Where to?" said Griselda. + +"To Phil, of course," said the cuckoo. "What a bad memory you have! Are +you comfortable?" + +"_Very_, thank you," replied Griselda, giving the cuckoo's neck an +affectionate hug as she spoke. + +"That'll do, thank you. Don't throttle me, if it's quite the same to +you," said the cuckoo. "Here goes--one, two, three," and off he flew +again. + +Griselda shut her eyes and lay still. It was delicious--the gliding, yet +darting motion, like nothing she had ever felt before. It did not make +her the least giddy, either; but a slightly sleepy feeling came over +her. She felt no inclination to open her eyes; and, indeed, at the rate +they were going, she could have distinguished very little had she done +so. + +Suddenly the feeling in the air about her changed. For an instant it +felt more _rushy_ than before, and there was a queer, dull sound in her +ears. Then she felt that the cuckoo had stopped. + +"Where are we?" she asked. + +"We've just come _down_ a chimney again," said the cuckoo. "Open your +eyes and clamber down off my back, but don't speak loud, or you'll waken +him, and that wouldn't do. There you are--the moonlight's coming in +nicely at the window--you can see your way." + +Griselda found herself in a little bedroom, quite a tiny one, and by the +look of the simple furniture and the latticed window, she saw that she +was not in a grand house. But everything looked very neat and nice, and +on a little bed in one corner lay a lovely sleeping child. It was Phil! +He looked so pretty asleep--his shaggy curls all tumbling about, his +rosy mouth half open as if smiling, one little hand tossed over his +head, the other tight clasping a little basket which he had insisted on +taking to bed with him, meaning as soon as he was dressed the next +morning to run out and fill it with flowers for the little girl he had +made friends with. + +Griselda stepped up to the side of the bed on tiptoe. The cuckoo had +disappeared, but Griselda heard his voice. It seemed to come from a +little way up the chimney. + +"Don't wake him," said the cuckoo, "but whisper what you want to say +into his ear, as soon as I have called him. He'll understand; he's +accustomed to my ways." + +Then came the old note, soft and musical as ever-- + +"Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo. Listen, Phil," said the cuckoo, and without +opening his eyes a change passed over the little boy's face. Griselda +could see that he was listening to hear her message. + +"He thinks he's dreaming, I suppose," she said to herself with a smile. +Then she whispered softly-- + +"Phil, dear, don't come to play with me to-morrow, for I can't come. But +come the day after. I'll be at the wood-path then." + +"Welly well," murmured Phil. Then he put out his two arms towards +Griselda, all without opening his eyes, and she, bending down, kissed +him softly. + +"Phil's so sleepy," he whispered, like a baby almost. Then he turned +over and went to sleep more soundly than before. + +"That'll do," said the cuckoo. "Come along, Griselda." + +Griselda obediently made her way to the place whence the cuckoo's voice +seemed to come. + +"Shut your eyes and put your arms round my neck again," said the cuckoo. + +She did not hesitate this time. It all happened just as before. There +came the same sort of rushy sound; then the cuckoo stopped, and +Griselda opened her eyes. + +They were up in the air again--a good way up, too, for some grand old +elms that stood beside the farmhouse were gently waving their topmost +branches a yard or two from where the cuckoo was poising himself and +Griselda. + +"Where shall we go to now?" he said. "Or would you rather go home? Are +you tired?" + +"Tired!" exclaimed Griselda. "I should rather think not. How could I be +tired, cuckoo?" + +"Very well, don't excite yourself about nothing, whatever you do," said +the cuckoo. "Say where you'd like to go." + +"How can I?" said Griselda. "You know far more nice places than I do." + +"You don't care to go back to the mandarins, or the butterflies, I +suppose?" asked the cuckoo. + +[Illustration: "TIRED! HOW COULD I BE TIRED, CUCKOO?"] + +"No, thank you," said Griselda; "I'd like something new. And I'm not +sure that I care for seeing any more countries of that kind, unless +you could take me to the _real_ fairyland." + +"_I_ can't do that, you know," said the cuckoo. + +Just then a faint "soughing" sound among the branches suggested another +idea to Griselda. + +"Cuckoo," she exclaimed, "take me to the sea. It's _such_ a time since I +saw the sea. I can fancy I hear it; do take me to see it." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOON. + + + "That after supper time has come, + And silver dews the meadow steep. + And all is silent in the home, + And even nurses are asleep, + That be it late, or be it soon, + Upon this lovely night in June + They both will step into the moon." + + +"Very well," said the cuckoo. "You would like to look about you a little +on the way, perhaps, Griselda, as we shall not be going down chimneys, +or anything of that kind just at present." + +"Yes," said Griselda. "I think I should. I'm rather tired of shutting my +eyes, and I'm getting quite accustomed to flying about with you, +cuckoo." + +"Turn on your side, then," said the cuckoo, "and you won't have to twist +your neck to see over my shoulder. Are you comfortable now? And, +by-the-by, as you may be cold, just feel under my left wing. You'll find +the feather mantle there, that you had on once before. Wrap it round +you. I tucked it in at the last moment, thinking you might want it." + +"Oh, you dear, kind cuckoo!" cried Griselda. "Yes, I've found it. I'll +tuck it all round me like a rug--that's it. I _am_ so warm now, cuckoo." + +"Here goes, then," said the cuckoo, and off they set. Had ever a little +girl such a flight before? Floating, darting, gliding, sailing--no words +can describe it. Griselda lay still in delight, gazing all about her. + +"How lovely the stars are, cuckoo!" she said. "Is it true they're all +great, big _suns_? I'd rather they weren't. I like to think of them as +nice, funny little things." + +"They're not all suns," said the cuckoo. "Not all those you're looking +at now." + +"I like the twinkling ones best," said Griselda. "They look so +good-natured. Are they _all_ twirling about always, cuckoo? Mr. +Kneebreeches has just begun to teach me astronomy, and _he_ says they +are; but I'm not at all sure that he knows much about it." + +"He's quite right all the same," replied the cuckoo. + +"Oh dear me! How tired they must be, then!" said Griselda. "Do they +never rest just for a minute?" + +"Never." + +"Why not?" + +"Obeying orders," replied the cuckoo. + +Griselda gave a little wriggle. + +"What's the use of it?" she said. "It would be just as nice if they +stood still now and then." + +"Would it?" said the cuckoo. "I know some body who would soon find +fault if they did. What would you say to no summer; no day, or no night, +whichever it happened not to be, you see; nothing growing, and nothing +to eat before long? That's what it would be if they stood still, you +see, because----" + +"Thank you, cuckoo," interrupted Griselda. "It's very nice to hear +you--I mean, very dreadful to think of, but I don't want you to explain. +I'll ask Mr. Kneebreeches when I'm at my lessons. You might tell me one +thing, however. What's at the other side of the moon?" + +"There's a variety of opinions," said the cuckoo. + +"What are they? Tell me the funniest." + +"Some say all the unfinished work of the world is kept there," said the +cuckoo. + +"_That's_ not funny," said Griselda. "What a messy place it must be! +Why, even _my_ unfinished work makes quite a heap. I don't like that +opinion at all, cuckoo. Tell me another." + +"I _have_ heard," said the cuckoo, "that among the places there you +would find the country of the little black dogs. You know what sort of +creatures those are?" + +"Yes, I suppose so," said Griselda, rather reluctantly. + +"There are a good many of them in this world, as of course you know," +continued the cuckoo. "But up there, they are much worse than here. When +a child has made a great pet of one down here, I've heard tell the +fairies take him up there when his parents and nurses think he's +sleeping quietly in his bed, and make him work hard all night, with his +own particular little black dog on his back. And it's so dreadfully +heavy--for every time he takes it on his back down here it grows a pound +heavier up there--that by morning the child is quite worn out. I dare +say you've noticed how haggard and miserable some ill-tempered children +get to look--now you'll know the reason." + +"Thank you, cuckoo," said Griselda again; "but I can't say I like this +opinion about the other side of the moon any better than the first. If +you please, I would rather not talk about it any more." + +"Oh, but it's not so bad an idea after all," said the cuckoo. "Lots of +children, they say, get quite cured in the country of the little black +dogs. It's this way--for every time a child refuses to take the dog on +his back down here it grows a pound lighter up there, so at last any +sensible child learns how much better it is to have nothing to say to it +at all, and gets out of the way of it, you see. Of course, there _are_ +children whom nothing would cure, I suppose. What becomes of them I +really can't say. Very likely they get crushed into pancakes by the +weight of the dogs at last, and then nothing more is ever heard of +them." + +"Horrid!" said Griselda, with a shudder. "Don't let's talk about it any +more, cuckoo; tell me your _own_ opinion about what there really is on +the other side of the moon." + +The cuckoo was silent for a moment. Then suddenly he stopped short in +the middle of his flight. + +"Would you like to see for yourself, Griselda?" he said. "There would be +about time to do it," he added to himself, "and it would fulfil her +other wish, too." + +"See the moon for myself, do you mean?" cried Griselda, clasping her +hands. "I should rather think I would. Will you really take me there, +cuckoo?" + +"To the other side," said the cuckoo. "I couldn't take you to this +side." + +"Why not? Not that I'd care to go to this side as much as to the other; +for, of course, we can _see_ this side from here. But I'd like to know +why you couldn't take me there." + +"For _reasons_," said the cuckoo drily. "I'll give you one if you like. +If I took you to this side of the moon you wouldn't be yourself when you +got there." + +"Who would I be, then?" + +"Griselda," said the cuckoo, "I told you once that there are a great +many things you don't know. Now, I'll tell you something more. There are +a great many things you're not _intended_ to know." + +"Very well," said Griselda. "But do tell me when you're going on again, +and where you are going to take me to. There's no harm my asking that?" + +"No," said the cuckoo. "I'm going on immediately, and I'm going to take +you where you wanted to go to, only you must shut your eyes again, and +lie perfectly still without talking, for I must put on steam--a good +deal of steam--and I can't talk to you. Are you all right?" + +"All right," said Griselda. + +She had hardly said the words when she seemed to fall asleep. The +rushing sound in the air all round her increased so greatly that she was +conscious of nothing else. For a moment or two she tried to remember +where she was, and where she was going, but it was useless. She forgot +everything, and knew nothing more of what was passing till--till she +heard the cuckoo again. + +"Cuckoo, cuckoo; wake up, Griselda," he said. + +Griselda sat up. + +Where was she? + +Not certainly where she had been when she went to sleep. Not on the +cuckoo's back, for there he was standing beside her, as tiny as usual. +Either he had grown little again, or she had grown big--which, she +supposed, it did not much matter. Only it was very queer! + +"Where am I, cuckoo?" she said. + +"Where you wished to be," he replied. "Look about you and see." + +Griselda looked about her. What did she see? Something that I can only +give you a faint idea of, children; something so strange and unlike what +she had ever seen before, that only in a dream could you see it as +Griselda saw it. And yet _why_ it seemed to her so strange and unnatural +I cannot well explain; if I could, my words would be as good as +pictures, which I know they are not. + +After all, it was only the sea she saw; but such a great, strange, +silent sea, for there were no waves. Griselda was seated on the shore, +close beside the water's edge, but it did not come lapping up to her +feet in the pretty, coaxing way that _our_ sea does when it is in a good +humour. There were here and there faint ripples on the surface, caused +by the slight breezes which now and then came softly round Griselda's +face, but that was all. King Canute might have sat "from then till now" +by this still, lifeless ocean without the chance of reading his silly +attendants a lesson--if, indeed, there ever were such silly people, +which I very much doubt. + +Griselda gazed with all her eyes. Then she suddenly gave a little +shiver. + +"What's the matter?" said the cuckoo. "You have the mantle on--you're +not cold?" + +"No," said Griselda, "I'm not cold; but somehow, cuckoo, I feel a little +frightened. The sea is so strange, and so dreadfully big; and the light +is so queer, too. What is the light, cuckoo? It isn't moonlight, is it?" + +"Not exactly," said the cuckoo. "You can't both have your cake and eat +it, Griselda. Look up at the sky. There's no moon there, is there?" + +"No," said Griselda; "but what lots of stars, cuckoo. The light comes +from them, I suppose? And where's the sun, cuckoo? Will it be rising +soon? It isn't always like this up here, is it?" + +"Bless you, no," said the cuckoo. "There's sun enough, and rather too +much, sometimes. How would you like a day a fortnight long, and nights +to match? If it had been daytime here just now, I couldn't have brought +you. It's just about the very middle of the night now, and in about a +week of _your_ days the sun will begin to rise, because, you see----" + +"Oh, _dear_ cuckoo, please don't explain!" cried Griselda. "I'll promise +to ask Mr. Kneebreeches, I will indeed. In fact, he was telling me +something just like it to-day or yesterday--which should I say?--at my +astronomy lesson. And that makes it so strange that you should have +brought me up here to-night to see for myself, doesn't it, cuckoo?" + +"An odd coincidence," said the cuckoo. + +"What _would_ Mr. Kneebreeches think if I told him where I had been?" +continued Griselda. "Only, you see, cuckoo, I never tell anybody about +what I see when I am with you." + +"No," replied the cuckoo; "better not. ('Not that you could if you +tried,' he added to himself.) You're not frightened now, Griselda, are +you?" + +"No, I don't think I am," she replied. "But, cuckoo, isn't this sea +_awfully_ big?" + +"Pretty well," said the cuckoo. "Just half, or nearly half, the size of +the moon; and, no doubt, Mr. Kneebreeches has told you that the moon's +diameter and circumference are respec----" + +"Oh _don't_, cuckoo!" interrupted Griselda, beseechingly. "I want to +enjoy myself, and not to have lessons. Tell me something funny, cuckoo. +Are there any mermaids in the moon-sea?" + +"Not exactly," said the cuckoo. + +"What a stupid way to answer," said Griselda. "There's no sense in that; +there either must be or must not be. There couldn't be half mermaids." + +"I don't know about that," replied the cuckoo. "They might have been +here once and have left their tails behind them, like Bopeep's sheep, +you know; and some day they might be coming to find them again, you +know. That would do for 'not exactly,' wouldn't it?" + +"Cuckoo, you're laughing at me," said Griselda. "Tell me, are there any +mermaids, or fairies, or water-sprites, or any of those sort of +creatures here?" + +"I must still say 'not exactly,'" said the cuckoo. "There are beings +here, or rather there have been, and there may be again; but you, +Griselda, can know no more than this." + +His tone was rather solemn, and again Griselda felt a little "eerie." + +"It's a dreadfully long way from home, any way," she said. "I feel as +if, when I go back, I shall perhaps find I have been away fifty years or +so, like the little boy in the fairy story. Cuckoo, I think I would like +to go home. Mayn't I get on your back again?" + +"Presently," said the cuckoo. "Don't be uneasy, Griselda. Perhaps I'll +take you home by a short cut." + +"Was ever any child here before?" asked Griselda, after a little pause. + +"Yes," said the cuckoo. + +"And did they get safe home again?" + +"Quite," said the cuckoo. "It's so silly of you, Griselda, to have all +these ideas still about far and near, and big and little, and long and +short, after all I've taught you and all you've seen." + +"I'm very sorry," said Griselda humbly; "but you see, cuckoo, I can't +help it. I suppose I'm made so." + +"Perhaps," said the cuckoo, meditatively. + +He was silent for a minute. Then he spoke again. "Look over there, +Griselda," he said. "There's the short cut." + +Griselda looked. Far, far over the sea, in the silent distance, she saw +a tiny speck of light. It was very tiny; but yet the strange thing was +that, far away as it appeared, and minute as it was, it seemed to throw +off a thread of light to Griselda's very feet--right across the great +sheet of faintly gleaming water. And as Griselda looked, the thread +seemed to widen and grow, becoming at the same time brighter and +clearer, till at last it lay before her like a path of glowing light. + +"Am I to walk along there?" she said softly to the cuckoo. + +"No," he replied; "wait." + +Griselda waited, looking still, and presently in the middle of the +shining streak she saw something slowly moving--something from which the +light came, for the nearer it got to her the shorter grew the glowing +path, and behind the moving object the sea looked no brighter than +before it had appeared. + +At last--at last, it came quite near--near enough for Griselda to +distinguish clearly what it was. + +It was a little boat--the prettiest, the loveliest little boat that ever +was seen; and it was rowed by a little figure that at first sight +Griselda felt certain was a fairy. For it was a child with bright hair +and silvery wings, which with every movement sparkled and shone like a +thousand diamonds. + +Griselda sprang up and clapped her hands with delight. At the sound, the +child in the boat turned and looked at her. For one instant she could +not remember where she had seen him before; then she exclaimed, +joyfully-- + +"It is Phil! Oh, cuckoo, it is Phil. Have you turned into a fairy, +Phil?" + +But, alas, as she spoke the light faded away, the boy's figure +disappeared, the sea and the shore and the sky were all as they had been +before, lighted only by the faint, strange gleaming of the stars. Only +the boat remained. Griselda saw it close to her, in the shallow water, a +few feet from where she stood. + +"Cuckoo," she exclaimed in a tone of reproach and disappointment, "where +is Phil gone? Why did you send him away?" + +"I didn't send him away," said the cuckoo. "You don't understand. Never +mind, but get into the boat. It'll be all right, you'll see." + +"But are we to go away and leave Phil here, all alone at the other side +of the moon?" said Griselda, feeling ready to cry. + +"Oh, you silly girl!" said the cuckoo. "Phil's all right, and in some +ways he has a great deal more sense than you, I can tell you. Get into +the boat and make yourself comfortable; lie down at the bottom and cover +yourself up with the mantle. You needn't be afraid of wetting your feet +a little, moon water never gives cold. There, now." + +Griselda did as she was told. She was beginning to feel rather tired, +and it certainly was very comfortable at the bottom of the boat, with +the nice warm feather-mantle well tucked round her. + +"Who will row?" she said sleepily. "_You_ can't, cuckoo, with your tiny +little claws, you could never hold the oars, I'm----" + +"Hush!" said the cuckoo; and whether he rowed or not Griselda never +knew. + +Off they glided somehow, but it seemed to Griselda that _somebody_ +rowed, for she heard the soft dip, dip of the oars as they went along, +so regularly that she couldn't help beginning to count in time--one, +two, three, four--on, on--she thought she had got nearly to a hundred, +when---- + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +"CUCKOO, CUCKOO, GOOD-BYE!" + + + "Children, try to be good! + That is the end of all teaching; + Easily understood, + And very easy in preaching. + And if you find it hard, + Your efforts you need but double; + Nothing deserves reward + Unless it has given as trouble." + + +--When she forgot everything, and fell fast, fast asleep, to wake, of +course, in her own little bed as usual! + +"One of your tricks again, Mr. Cuckoo," she said to herself with a +smile. "However, I don't mind. It _was_ a short cut home, and it was +very comfortable in the boat, and I certainly saw a great deal last +night, and I'm very much obliged to you--particularly for making it all +right with Phil about not coming to play with me to-day. Ah! that +reminds me, I'm in disgrace. I wonder if Aunt Grizzel will really make +me stay in my room all day. How tired I shall be, and what will Mr. +Kneebreeches think! But it serves me right. I _was_ very cross and +rude." + +There came a tap at the door. It was Dorcas with the hot water. + +"Good morning, missie," she said gently, not feeling, to tell the truth, +very sure as to what sort of a humour "missie" was likely to be found in +this morning. "I hope you've slept well." + +"Exceedingly well, thank you, Dorcas. I've had a delightful night," +replied Griselda amiably, smiling to herself at the thought of what +Dorcas would say if she knew where she had been, and what she had been +doing since last she saw her. + +"That's good news," said Dorcas in a tone of relief; "and I've good +news for you, too, missie. At least, I hope you'll think it so. Your +aunt has ordered the carriage for quite early this morning--so you see +she really wants to please you, missie, about playing with little Master +Phil; and if to-morrow's a fine day, we'll be sure to find some way of +letting him know to come." + +"Thank you, Dorcas. I hope it will be all right, and that Lady Lavander +won't say anything against it. I dare say she won't. I feel ever so much +happier this morning, Dorcas; and I'm very sorry I was so rude to Aunt +Grizzel, for of course I know I _should_ obey her." + +"That's right, missie," said Dorcas approvingly. + +"It seems to me, Dorcas," said Griselda dreamily, when, a few minutes +later, she was standing by the window while the old servant brushed out +her thick, wavy hair, "it seems to me, Dorcas, that it's _all_ 'obeying +orders' together. There's the sun now, just getting up, and the moon +just going to bed--_they_ are always obeying, aren't they? I wonder why +it should be so hard for people--for children, at least." + +"To be sure, missie, you do put it a way of your own," replied Dorcas, +somewhat mystified; "but I see how you mean, I think, and it's quite +true. And it _is_ a hard lesson to learn." + +"I want to learn it _well_, Dorcas," said Griselda, resolutely. "So will +you please tell Aunt Grizzel that I'm very sorry about last night, and +I'll do just as she likes about staying in my room or anything. But, if +she _would_ let me, I'd far rather go down and do my lessons as usual +for Mr. Kneebreeches. I won't ask to go out in the garden; but I would +like to please Aunt Grizzel by doing my lessons _very_ well." + +Dorcas was both delighted and astonished. Never had she known her little +"missie" so altogether submissive and reasonable. + +"I only hope the child's not going to be ill," she said to herself. But +she proved a skilful ambassadress, notwithstanding her misgivings; and +Griselda's imprisonment confined her only to the bounds of the house and +terrace walk, instead of within the four walls of her own little room, +as she had feared. + +Lessons _were_ very well done that day, and Mr. Kneebreeches' report was +all that could be wished. + +"I am particularly gratified," he remarked to Miss Grizzel, "by the +intelligence and interest Miss Griselda displays with regard to the +study of astronomy, which I have recently begun to give her some +elementary instruction in. And, indeed, I have no fault to find with the +way in which any of the young lady's tasks are performed." + +"I am extremely glad to hear it," replied Miss Grizzel graciously, and +the kiss with which she answered Griselda's request for forgiveness was +a very hearty one. + +And it was "all right" about Phil. + +Lady Lavander knew all about him; his father and mother were friends of +hers, for whom she had a great regard, and for some time she had been +intending to ask the little boy to spend the day at Merrybrow Hall, to +be introduced to her god-daughter Griselda. So, _of course_, as Lady +Lavander knew all about him, there could be no objection to his playing +in Miss Grizzel's garden! + +And "to-morrow" turned out a fine day. So altogether you can imagine +that Griselda felt very happy and light-hearted as she ran down the +wood-path to meet her little friend, whose rosy face soon appeared among +the bushes. + +"What did you do yesterday, Phil?" asked Griselda. "Were you sorry not +to come to play with me?" + +"No," said Phil mysteriously, "I didn't mind. I was looking for the way +to fairyland to show you, and I do believe I've found it. Oh, it _is_ +such a pretty way." + +Griselda smiled. + +"I'm afraid the way to fairyland isn't so easily found," she said. "But +I'd like to hear about where you went. Was it far?" + +"A good way," said Phil. "Won't you come with me? It's in the wood. I +can show you quite well, and we can be back by tea-time." + +"Very well," said Griselda; and off they set. + +Whether it was the way to fairyland or not, it was not to be wondered at +that little Phil thought so. He led Griselda right across the wood to a +part where she had never been before. It was pretty rough work part of +the way. The children had to fight with brambles and bushes, and here +and there to creep through on hands and knees, and Griselda had to +remind Phil several times of her promise to his nurse that his clothes +should not be the worse for his playing with her, to prevent his +scrambling through "anyhow" and leaving bits of his knickerbockers +behind him. + +But when at last they reached Phil's favourite spot all their troubles +were forgotten. Oh, how pretty it was! It was a sort of tiny glade in +the very middle of the wood--a little green nest enclosed all round by +trees, and right through it the merry brook came rippling along as if +rejoicing at getting out into the sunlight again for a while. And all +the choicest and sweetest of the early summer flowers seemed to be +collected here in greater variety and profusion than in any other part +of the wood. + +"_Isn't_ it nice?" said Phil, as he nestled down beside Griselda on the +soft, mossy grass. "It must have been a fairies' garden some time, I'm +sure, and I shouldn't wonder if one of the doors into fairyland is +hidden somewhere here, if only we could find it." + +"If only!" said Griselda. "I don't think we shall find it, Phil; but, +any way, this is a lovely place you've found, and I'd like to come here +very often." + +Then at Phil's suggestion they set to work to make themselves a house in +the centre of this fairies' garden, as he called it. They managed it +very much to their own satisfaction, by dragging some logs of wood and +big stones from among the brushwood hard by, and filling the holes up +with bracken and furze. + +"And if the fairies _do_ come here," said Phil, "they'll be very pleased +to find a house all ready, won't they?" + +Then they had to gather flowers to ornament the house inside, and dry +leaves and twigs all ready for a fire in one corner. Altogether it was +quite a business, I can assure you, and when it was finished they were +very hot and very tired and _rather_ dirty. Suddenly a thought struck +Griselda. + +"Phil," she said, "it must be getting late." + +"Past tea-time?" he said coolly. + +"I dare say it is. Look how low down the sun has got. Come, Phil, we +must be quick. Where is the place we came out of the wood at?" + +"Here," said Phil, diving at a little opening among the bushes. + +Griselda followed him. He had been a good guide hitherto, and she +certainly could not have found her way alone. They scrambled on for some +way, then the bushes suddenly seemed to grow less thick, and in a minute +they came out upon a little path. + +"Phil," said Griselda, "this isn't the way we came." + +"Isn't it?" said Phil, looking about him. "Then we must have comed the +wrong way." + +"I'm afraid so," said Griselda, "and it seems to be so late already. I'm +so sorry, for Aunt Grizzel will be vexed, and I did so want to please +her. Will your nurse be vexed, Phil?" + +"I don't care if she are," replied Phil valiantly. + +"You shouldn't say that, Phil. You know we _shouldn't_ have stayed so +long playing." + +"Nebber mind," said Phil. "If it was mother I would mind. Mother's so +good, you don't know. And she never 'colds me, except when I _am_ +naughty--so I _do_ mind." + +"She wouldn't like you to be out so late, I'm sure," said Griselda in +distress, "and it's most my fault, for I'm the biggest. Now, which way +_shall_ we go?" + +They had followed the little path till it came to a point where two +roads, rough cart-ruts only, met; or, rather, where the path ran across +the road. Right, or left, or straight on, which should it be? Griselda +stood still in perplexity. Already it was growing dusk; already the +moon's soft light was beginning faintly to glimmer through the branches. +Griselda looked up to the sky. + +"To think," she said to herself--"to think that I should not know my way +in a little bit of a wood like this--I that was up at the other side of +the moon last night." + +The remembrance put another thought into her mind. + +"Cuckoo, cuckoo," she said softly, "couldn't you help us?" + +Then she stood still and listened, holding Phil's cold little hands in +her own. + +She was not disappointed. Presently, in the distance, came the +well-known cry, "cuckoo, cuckoo," so soft and far away, but yet so +clear. + +Phil clapped his hands. + +"He's calling us," he cried joyfully. "He's going to show us the way. +That's how he calls me always. Good cuckoo, we're coming;" and, pulling +Griselda along, he darted down the road to the right--the direction from +whence came the cry. + +They had some way to go, for they had wandered far in a wrong direction, +but the cuckoo never failed them. Whenever they were at a loss--whenever +the path turned or divided, they heard his clear, sweet call; and, +without the least misgiving, they followed it, till at last it brought +them out upon the high-road, a stone's throw from Farmer Crouch's gate. + +"I know the way now, good cuckoo," exclaimed Phil. "I can go home alone +now, if your aunt will be vexed with you." + +"No," said Griselda, "I must take you quite all the way home, Phil dear. +I promised to take care of you, and if nurse scolds any one it must be +me, not you." + +There was a little bustle about the door of the farmhouse as the +children wearily came up to it. Two or three men were standing together +receiving directions from Mr. Crouch himself, and Phil's nurse was +talking eagerly. Suddenly she caught sight of the truants. + +"Here he is, Mr. Crouch!" she exclaimed. "No need now to send to look +for him. Oh, Master Phil, how could you stay out so late? And to-night +of all nights, just when your--I forgot, I mustn't say. Come in to the +parlour at once--and this little girl, who is she?" + +"She isn't a little girl, she's a young lady," said Master Phil, putting +on his lordly air, "and she's to come into the parlour and have some +supper with me, and then some one must take her home to her auntie's +house--that's what I say." + +More to please Phil than from any wish for "supper," for she was really +in a fidget to get home, Griselda let the little boy lead her into the +parlour. But she was for a moment perfectly startled by the cry that +broke from him when he opened the door and looked into the room. A lady +was standing there, gazing out of the window, though in the quickly +growing darkness she could hardly have distinguished the little figure +she was watching for so anxiously. + +The noise of the door opening made her look round. + +"Phil," she cried, "my own little Phil; where have you been to? You +didn't know I was waiting here for you, did you?" + +"Mother, mother!" shouted Phil, darting into his mother's arms. + +But Griselda drew back into the shadow of the doorway, and tears filled +her eyes as for a minute or two she listened to the cooings and +caressings of the mother and son. + +Only for a minute, however. Then Phil called to her. + +"Mother, mother," he cried again, "you must kiss Griselda, too! She's +the little girl that is so kind, and plays with me; and she has no +mother," he added in a lower tone. + +The lady put her arm round Griselda, and kissed her, too. She did not +seem surprised. + +"I think I know about Griselda," she said very kindly, looking into her +face with her gentle eyes, blue and clear like Phil's. + +And then Griselda found courage to say how uneasy she was about the +anxiety her aunts would be feeling, and a messenger was sent off at once +to tell of her being safe at the farm. + +But Griselda herself the kind lady would not let go till she had had +some nice supper with Phil, and was both warmed and rested. + +"And what were you about, children, to lose your way?" she asked +presently. + +"I took Griselda to see a place that I thought was the way to fairyland, +and then we stayed to build a house for the fairies, in case they come, +and then we came out at the wrong side, and it got dark," explained +Phil. + +"And _was_ it the way to fairyland?" asked his mother, smiling. + +Griselda shook her head as she replied-- + +"Phil doesn't understand yet," she said gently. "He isn't old enough. +The way to the true fairyland is hard to find, and we must each find it +for ourselves, mustn't we?" + +She looked up in the lady's face as she spoke, and saw that _she_ +understood. + +"Yes, dear child," she answered softly, and perhaps a very little sadly. +"But Phil and you may help each other, and I perhaps may help you both." + +Griselda slid her hand into the lady's. "You're not going to take Phil +away, are you?" she whispered. + +"No, I have come to stay here," she answered, "and Phil's father is +coming too, soon. We are going to live at the White House--the house on +the other side of the wood, on the way to Merrybrow. Are you glad, +children?" + + * * * * * + +Griselda had a curious dream that night--merely a dream, nothing else. +She dreamt that the cuckoo came once more; this time, he told her, to +say "good-bye." + +"For you will not need me now," he said. + +"I leave you in good hands, Griselda. You have friends now who will +understand you--friends who will help you both to work and to play. +Better friends than the mandarins, or the butterflies, or even than your +faithful old cuckoo." + +And when Griselda tried to speak to him, to thank him for his goodness, +to beg him still sometimes to come to see her, he gently fluttered away. +"Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo," he warbled; but somehow the last "cuckoo" +sounded like "good-bye." + +In the morning, when Griselda awoke, her pillow was wet with tears. Thus +many stories end. She was happy, very happy in the thought of her kind +new friends; but there were tears for the one she felt she had said +farewell to, even though he was only a cuckoo in a clock. + + +London: Printed by William Clowes and Sons, Limited, +Stamford Street and Charing Cross. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CUCKOO CLOCK*** + + +******* This file should be named 15569-8.txt or 15569-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/5/6/15569 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: The Cuckoo Clock</p> +<p>Author: Mrs. Molesworth</p> +<p>Release Date: April 6, 2005 [eBook #15569]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CUCKOO CLOCK***</p> +<p> </p> +<h4>E-text prepared by Ted Garvin, Chuck Greif,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (www.pgdp.net)</h4> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<a name="BOAT" id="BOAT"></a> +<div class="center"> + <img src="images/01.png" + alt="IT WAS A LITTLE BOAT." title="IT WAS A LITTLE BOAT." /> +</div> +<h4>IT WAS A LITTLE BOAT.</h4> + +<hr /> + +<h1>THE CUCKOO CLOCK</h1> + +<h2>BY MRS. MOLESWORTH,</h2> + +<h3>AUTHOR OF "HERR BABY," "CARROTS," "GRANDMOTHER DEAR," ETC.</h3> + +<div class="center"> + <img src="images/title.png" + alt="Title Page" title="Title Page" /> +</div> + +<h3>ILLUSTRATED BY WALTER CRANE.</h3> + +<p> </p> +<h5>London: MACMILLAN AND CO. AND NEW YORK.</h5> + +<h4>1895</h4> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h3>TO</h3> + +<h3>MARY JOSEPHINE,</h3> + +<h3>AND TO THE DEAR MEMORY OF HER BROTHER,</h3> + +<h3>THOMAS GRINDAL,</h3> + +<h3>BOTH FRIENDLY LITTLE CRITICS OF</h3> +<h3>MY CHILDREN'S STORIES.</h3> + +<h3><i>Edinburgh</i>, 1877.</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<br /> +<br /> +<div class='center'> +<ul> +<li> <a href="#CHAPTER_I"><b>I. THE OLD HOUSE</b></a> </li> +<li> <a href="#CHAPTER_II"><b>II. <i>IM</i>PATIENT GRISELDA</b></a> </li> +<li> <a href="#CHAPTER_III"><b>III. OBEYING ORDERS</b></a> </li> +<li> <a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><b>IV. THE COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS</b></a> </li> +<li> <a href="#CHAPTER_V"><b>V. PICTURES</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><b>VI. RUBBED THE WRONG WAY</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><b>VII. BUTTERFLY-LAND</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><b>VIII. MASTER PHIL</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><b>IX. UP AND DOWN THE CHIMNEY</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#CHAPTER_X"><b>X. THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOON</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><b>XI. "CUCKOO, CUCKOO, GOOD-BYE!"</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS"><b>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.</b></a></li> +</ul></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS" id="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS"></a>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS:</h2> + +<div class='center'> + +<b><a href="#BOAT">IT WAS A LITTLE BOAT</a></b><br /><br /> +<b><a href="#SPEAK">"WHY WON'T YOU SPEAK TO ME?"</a></b><br /><br /> +<b><a href="#MANDARINS">MANDARINS NODDING</a></b><br /><br /> +<b><a href="#AUNTS">"MY AUNTS MUST HAVE COME BACK!"</a></b><br /><br /> +<b><a href="#QUEEN">SHE LOOKED LIKE A FAIRY QUEEN</a></b><br /><br /> +<b><a href="#CUCKOO">"WHERE ARE THAT CUCKOO?"</a></b><br /><br /> +<b><a href="#TIRED">"TIRED! HOW COULD I BE TIRED, CUCKOO?"</a></b><br /><br /> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h3>THE OLD HOUSE.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>"Somewhat back from the village street</p> +<p>Stands the old-fashioned country seat."</p> +</div></div> + +<p>Once upon a time in an old town, in an old street, there stood a very +old house. Such a house as you could hardly find nowadays, however you +searched, for it belonged to a gone-by time—a time now quite passed +away.</p> + +<p>It stood in a street, but yet it was not like a town house, for though +the front opened right on to the pavement, the back windows looked out +upon a beautiful, quaintly terraced garden, with old trees growing so +thick and close together that in summer it was like living on the edge +of a forest to be near them; and even in winter the web of their +interlaced branches hid all clear view behind.</p> + +<p>There was a colony of rooks in this old garden. Year after year they +held their parliaments and cawed and chattered and fussed; year after +year they built their nests and hatched their eggs; year after year, I +<i>suppose</i>, the old ones gradually died off and the young ones took their +place, though, but for knowing this <i>must</i> be so, no one would have +suspected it, for to all appearance the rooks were always the same—ever +and always the same.</p> + +<p>Time indeed seemed to stand still in and all about the old house, as if +it and the people who inhabited it had got <i>so</i> old that they could not +get any older, and had outlived the possibility of change.</p> + +<p>But one day at last there did come a change. Late in the dusk of an +autumn afternoon a carriage drove up to the door of the old house, came +rattling over the stones with a sudden noisy clatter that sounded quite +impertinent, startling the rooks just as they were composing themselves +to rest, and setting them all wondering what could be the matter.</p> + +<p>A little girl was the matter! A little girl in a grey merino frock and +grey beaver bonnet, grey tippet and grey gloves—all grey together, even +to her eyes, all except her round rosy face and bright brown hair. Her +name even was rather grey, for it was Griselda.</p> + +<p>A gentleman lifted her out of the carriage and disappeared with her into +the house, and later that same evening the gentleman came out of the +house and got into the carriage which had come back for him again, and +drove away. That was all that the rooks saw of the change that had come +to the old house. Shall we go inside to see more?</p> + +<p>Up the shallow, wide, old-fashioned staircase, past the wainscoted +walls, dark and shining like a mirror, down a long narrow passage with +many doors, which but for their gleaming brass handles one would not +have known were there, the oldest of the three old servants led little +Griselda, so tired and sleepy that her supper had been left almost +untasted, to the room prepared for her. It was a queer room, for +everything in the house was queer; but in the dancing light of the fire +burning brightly in the tiled grate, it looked cheerful enough.</p> + +<p>"I am glad there's a fire," said the child. "Will it keep alight till +the morning, do you think?"</p> + +<p>The old servant shook her head.</p> + +<p>"'Twould not be safe to leave it so that it would burn till morning," +she said. "When you are in bed and asleep, little missie, you won't want +the fire. Bed's the warmest place."</p> + +<p>"It isn't for that I want it," said Griselda; "it's for the light I like +it. This house all looks so dark to me, and yet there seem to be lights +hidden in the walls too, they shine so."</p> + +<p>The old servant smiled.</p> + +<p>"It will all seem strange to you, no doubt," she said; "but you'll get +to like it, missie. 'Tis a <i>good</i> old house, and those that know best +love it well."</p> + +<p>"Whom do you mean?" said Griselda. "Do you mean my great-aunts?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes, and others beside," replied the old woman. "The rooks love it +well, and others beside. Did you ever hear tell of the 'good people,' +missie, over the sea where you come from?"</p> + +<p>"Fairies, do you mean?" cried Griselda, her eyes sparkling. "Of course +I've <i>heard</i> of them, but I never saw any. Did you ever?"</p> + +<p>"I couldn't say," answered the old woman.</p> + +<p>"My mind is not young like yours, missie, and there are times when +strange memories come back to me as of sights and sounds in a dream. I +am too old to see and hear as I once could. We are all old here, missie. +'Twas time something young came to the old house again."</p> + +<p>"How strange and queer everything seems!" thought Griselda, as she got +into bed. "I don't feel as if I belonged to it a bit. And they are all +<i>so</i> old; perhaps they won't like having a child among them?"</p> + +<p>The very same thought that had occurred to the rooks! They could not +decide as to the fors and againsts at all, so they settled to put it to +the vote the next morning, and in the meantime they and Griselda all +went to sleep.</p> + +<p>I never heard if <i>they</i> slept well that night; after such unusual +excitement it was hardly to be expected they would. But Griselda, being +a little girl and not a rook, was so tired that two minutes after she +had tucked herself up in bed she was quite sound asleep, and did not +wake for several hours.</p> + +<p>"I wonder what it will all look like in the morning," was her last +waking thought. "If it was summer now, or spring, I shouldn't +mind—there would always be something nice to do then."</p> + +<p>As sometimes happens, when she woke again, very early in the morning, +long before it was light, her thoughts went straight on with the same +subject.</p> + +<p>"If it was summer now, or spring," she repeated to herself, just as if +she had not been asleep at all—like the man who fell into a trance for +a hundred years just as he was saying "it is bitt—" and when he woke up +again finished the sentence as if nothing had happened—"erly cold." "If +only it was spring," thought Griselda.</p> + +<p>Just as she had got so far in her thoughts, she gave a great start. What +was it she heard? Could her wish have come true? Was this fairyland +indeed that she had got to, where one only needs to <i>wish</i>, for it to +<i>be</i>? She rubbed her eyes, but it was too dark to see; <i>that</i> was not +very fairyland-like, but her ears she felt certain had not deceived her: +she was quite, quite sure that she had heard the cuckoo!</p> + +<p>She listened with all her might, but she did not hear it again. Could +it, after all, have been fancy? She grew sleepy at last, and was just +dropping off when—yes, there it was again, as clear and distinct as +possible—"Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!" three, four, <i>five</i> times, then +perfect silence as before.</p> + +<p>"What a funny cuckoo," said Griselda to herself. "I could almost fancy +it was in the house. I wonder if my great-aunts have a tame cuckoo in a +cage? I don't <i>think</i> I ever heard of such a thing, but this is such a +queer house; everything seems different in it—perhaps they have a tame +cuckoo. I'll ask them in the morning. It's very nice to hear, whatever +it is."</p> + +<p>And, with a pleasant feeling of companionship, a sense that she was not +the only living creature awake in this dark world, Griselda lay +listening, contentedly enough, for the sweet, fresh notes of the +cuckoo's friendly greeting. But before it sounded again through the +silent house she was once more fast asleep. And this time she slept till +daylight had found its way into all but the <i>very</i> darkest nooks and +crannies of the ancient dwelling.</p> + +<p>She dressed herself carefully, for she had been warned that her aunts +loved neatness and precision; she fastened each button of her grey +frock, and tied down her hair as smooth as such a brown tangle <i>could</i> +be tied down; and, absorbed with these weighty cares, she forgot all +about the cuckoo for the time. It was not till she was sitting at +breakfast with her aunts that she remembered it, or rather was reminded +of it, by some little remark that was made about the friendly robins on +the terrace walk outside.</p> + +<p>"Oh, aunt," she exclaimed, stopping short half-way the journey to her +mouth of a spoonful of bread and milk, "have you got a cuckoo in a +cage?"</p> + +<p>"A cuckoo in a cage," repeated her elder aunt, Miss Grizzel; "what is +the child talking about?"</p> + +<p>"In a cage!" echoed Miss Tabitha, "a cuckoo in a cage!"</p> + +<p>"There is a cuckoo somewhere in the house," said Griselda; "I heard it +in the night. It couldn't have been out-of-doors, could it? It would be +too cold."</p> + +<p>The aunts looked at each other with a little smile. "So like her +grandmother," they whispered. Then said Miss Grizzel—</p> + +<p>"We have a cuckoo, my dear, though it isn't in a cage, and it isn't +exactly the sort of cuckoo you are thinking of. It lives in a clock."</p> + +<p>"In a clock," repeated Miss Tabitha, as if to confirm her sister's +statement.</p> + +<p>"In a clock!" exclaimed Griselda, opening her grey eyes very wide.</p> + +<p>It sounded something like the three bears, all speaking one after the +other, only Griselda's voice was not like Tiny's; it was the loudest of +the three.</p> + +<p>"In a clock!" she exclaimed; "but it can't be alive, then?"</p> + +<p>"Why not?" said Miss Grizzel.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," replied Griselda, looking puzzled.</p> + +<p>"I knew a little girl once," pursued Miss Grizzel, "who was quite of +opinion the cuckoo <i>was</i> alive, and nothing would have persuaded her it +was not. Finish your breakfast, my dear, and then if you like you shall +come with me and see the cuckoo for yourself."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Aunt Grizzel," said Griselda, going on with her bread and +milk.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Miss Tabitha, "you shall see the cuckoo for yourself."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Aunt Tabitha," said Griselda. It was rather a bother to have +always to say "thank you," or "no, thank you," twice, but Griselda +thought it was polite to do so, as Aunt Tabitha always repeated +everything that Aunt Grizzel said. It wouldn't have mattered so much if +Aunt Tabitha had said it <i>at once</i> after Miss Grizzel, but as she +generally made a little pause between, it was sometimes rather awkward. +But of course it was better to say "thank you" or "no, thank you" twice +over than to hurt Aunt Tabitha's feelings.</p> + +<p>After breakfast Aunt Grizzel was as good as her word. She took Griselda +through several of the rooms in the house, pointing out all the +curiosities, and telling all the histories of the rooms and their +contents; and Griselda liked to listen, only in every room they came +to, she wondered <i>when</i> they would get to the room where lived the +cuckoo.</p> + +<p>Aunt Tabitha did not come with them, for she was rather rheumatic. On +the whole, Griselda was not sorry. It would have taken such a <i>very</i> +long time, you see, to have had all the histories twice over, and +possibly, if Griselda had got tired, she might have forgotten about the +"thank you's" or "no, thank you's" twice over.</p> + +<p>The old house looked quite as queer and quaint by daylight as it had +seemed the evening before; almost more so indeed, for the view from the +windows added to the sweet, odd "old-fashionedness" of everything.</p> + +<p>"We have beautiful roses in summer," observed Miss Grizzel, catching +sight of the direction in which the child's eyes were wandering.</p> + +<p>"I wish it was summer. I do love summer," said Griselda. "But there is a +very rosy scent in the rooms even now, Aunt Grizzel, though it is +winter, or nearly winter."</p> + +<p>Miss Grizzel looked pleased.</p> + +<p>"My pot-pourri," she explained.</p> + +<p>They were just then standing in what she called the "great saloon," a +handsome old room, furnished with gold-and-white chairs, that must once +have been brilliant, and faded yellow damask hangings. A feeling of awe +had crept over Griselda as they entered this ancient drawing-room. What +grand parties there must have been in it long ago! But as for dancing in +it <i>now</i>—dancing, or laughing, or chattering—such a thing was quite +impossible to imagine!</p> + +<p>Miss Grizzel crossed the room to where stood in one corner a marvellous +Chinese cabinet, all black and gold and carving. It was made in the +shape of a temple, or a palace—Griselda was not sure which. Any way, it +was very delicious and wonderful. At the door stood, one on each side, +two solemn mandarins; or, to speak more correctly, perhaps I should +say, a mandarin and his wife, for the right-hand figure was evidently +intended to be a lady.</p> + +<p>Miss Grizzel gently touched their heads. Forthwith, to Griselda's +astonishment, they began solemnly to nod.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how do you make them do that, Aunt Grizzel?" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Never you mind, my dear; it wouldn't do for <i>you</i> to try to make them +nod. They wouldn't like it," replied Miss Grizzel mysteriously. "Respect +to your elders, my dear, always remember that. The mandarins are <i>many</i> +years older than you—older than I myself, in fact."</p> + +<p>Griselda wondered, if this were so, how it was that Miss Grizzel took +such liberties with them herself, but she said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Here is my last summer's pot-pourri," continued Miss Grizzel, touching +a great china jar on a little stand, close beside the cabinet. "You may +smell it, my dear."</p> + +<p>Nothing loth, Griselda buried her round little nose in the fragrant +leaves.</p> + +<p>"It's lovely," she said. "May I smell it whenever I like, Aunt Grizzel?"</p> + +<p>"We shall see," replied her aunt. "It isn't <i>every</i> little girl, you +know, that we could trust to come into the great saloon alone."</p> + +<p>"No," said Griselda meekly.</p> + +<p>Miss Grizzel led the way to a door opposite to that by which they had +entered. She opened it and passed through, Griselda following, into a +small ante-room.</p> + +<p>"It is on the stroke of ten," said Miss Grizzel, consulting her watch; +"now, my dear, you shall make acquaintance with our cuckoo."</p> + +<p>The cuckoo "that lived in a clock!" Griselda gazed round her eagerly. +Where was the clock? She could see nothing in the least like one, only +up on the wall in one corner was what looked like a miniature house, of +dark brown carved wood. It was not so <i>very</i> like a house, but it +certainly had a roof—a roof with deep projecting eaves; and, looking +closer, yes, it <i>was</i> a clock, after all, only the figures, which had +once been gilt, had grown dim with age, like everything else, and the +hands at a little distance were hardly to be distinguished from the +face.</p> + +<p>Miss Grizzel stood perfectly still, looking up at the clock; Griselda +beside her, in breathless expectation. Presently there came a sort of +distant rumbling. <i>Something</i> was going to happen. Suddenly two little +doors above the clock face, which Griselda had not known were there, +sprang open with a burst and out flew a cuckoo, flapped his wings, and +uttered his pretty cry, "Cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo!" Miss Grizzel counted +aloud, "Seven, eight, nine, ten." "Yes, he never makes a mistake," she +added triumphantly. "All these long years I have never known him wrong. +There are no such clocks made nowadays, I can assure you, my dear."</p> + +<p>"But <i>is</i> it a clock? Isn't he alive?" exclaimed Griselda. "He looked at +me and nodded his head, before he flapped his wings and went in to his +house again—he did indeed, aunt," she said earnestly; "just like +saying, 'How do you do?' to me."</p> + +<p>Again Miss Grizzel smiled, the same odd yet pleased smile that Griselda +had seen on her face at breakfast. "Just what Sybilla used to say," she +murmured. "Well, my dear," she added aloud, "it is quite right he +<i>should</i> say, 'How do you do?' to you. It is the first time he has seen +<i>you</i>, though many a year ago he knew your dear grandmother, and your +father, too, when he was a little boy. You will find him a good friend, +and one that can teach you many lessons."</p> + +<p>"What, Aunt Grizzel?" inquired Griselda, looking puzzled.</p> + +<p>"Punctuality, for one thing, and faithful discharge of duty," replied +Miss Grizzel.</p> + +<p>"May I come to see the cuckoo—to watch for him coming out, sometimes?" +asked Griselda, who felt as if she could spend all day looking up at the +clock, watching for her little friend's appearance.</p> + +<p>"You will see him several times a day," said her aunt, "for it is in +this little room I intend you to prepare your tasks. It is nice and +quiet, and nothing to disturb you, and close to the room where your Aunt +Tabitha and I usually sit."</p> + +<p>So saying, Miss Grizzel opened a second door in the little ante-room, +and, to Griselda's surprise, at the foot of a short flight of stairs +through another door, half open, she caught sight of her Aunt Tabitha, +knitting quietly by the fire, in the room in which they had breakfasted.</p> + +<p>"What a <i>very</i> funny house it is, Aunt Grizzel," she said, as she +followed her aunt down the steps. "Every room has so many doors, and you +come back to where you were just when you think you are ever so far +off. I shall never be able to find my way about."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, you will, my dear, very soon," said her aunt encouragingly.</p> + +<p>"She is very kind," thought Griselda; "but I wish she wouldn't call my +lessons tasks. It makes them sound so dreadfully hard. But, any way, I'm +glad I'm to do them in the room where that dear cuckoo lives."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3><i>IM</i>PATIENT GRISELDA.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">"... fairies but seldom appear;</p> +<p>If we do wrong we must expect</p> +<p class="i2">That it will cost us dear!"</p> +</div></div> + + +<p>It was all very well for a few days. Griselda found plenty to amuse +herself with while the novelty lasted, enough to prevent her missing +<i>very</i> badly the home she had left "over the sea," and the troop of +noisy merry brothers who teased and petted her. Of course she <i>missed</i> +them, but not "dreadfully." She was neither homesick nor "dull."</p> + +<p>It was not quite such smooth sailing when lessons began. She did not +dislike lessons; in fact, she had always thought she was rather fond of +them. But the having to do them alone was not lively, and her teachers +were very strict. The worst of all was the writing and arithmetic +master, a funny little old man who wore knee-breeches and took snuff, +and called her aunt "Madame," bowing formally whenever he addressed her. +He screwed Griselda up into such an unnatural attitude to write her +copies, that she really felt as if she would never come straight and +loose again; and the arithmetic part of his instructions was even worse. +Oh! what sums in addition he gave her! Griselda had never been partial +to sums, and her rather easy-going governess at home had not, to tell +the truth, been partial to them either. And Mr.—I can't remember the +little old gentleman's name. Suppose we call him Mr. Kneebreeches—Mr. +Kneebreeches, when he found this out, conscientiously put her back to +the very beginning.</p> + +<p>It was dreadful, really. He came twice a week, and the days he didn't +come were as bad as those he did, for he left her a whole <i>row</i> I was +going to say, but you couldn't call Mr. Kneebreeches' addition sums +"rows," they were far too fat and wide across to be so spoken of!—whole +slatefuls of these terrible mountains of figures to climb wearily to the +top of. And not to climb <i>once</i> up merely. <i>The</i> terrible thing was Mr. +Kneebreeches' favourite method of what he called "proving." I can't +explain it—it is far beyond my poor powers—but it had something to do +with cutting off the top line, after you had added it all up and had +actually done the sum, you understand—cutting off the top line and +adding the long rows up again without it, and then joining it on again +somewhere else.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't mind so much," said poor Griselda, one day, "if it was any +good. But you see, Aunt Grizzel, it isn't. For I'm just as likely to do +the <i>proving</i> wrong as the sum itself—more likely, for I'm always so +tired when I get to the proving—and so all that's proved is that +<i>something's</i> wrong, and I'm sure that isn't any good, except to make me +cross."</p> + +<p>"Hush!" said her aunt gravely. "That is not the way for a little girl to +speak. Improve these golden hours of youth, Griselda; they will never +return."</p> + +<p>"I hope not," muttered Griselda, "if it means doing sums."</p> + +<p>Miss Grizzel fortunately was a little deaf; she did not hear this +remark. Just then the cuckoo clock struck eleven.</p> + +<p>"Good little cuckoo," said Miss Grizzel. "What an example he sets you. +His life is spent in the faithful discharge of duty;" and so saying she +left the room.</p> + +<p>The cuckoo was still telling the hour—eleven took a good while. It +seemed to Griselda that the bird repeated her aunt's last words. +"Faith—ful, dis—charge, of—your, du—ty," he said, "faith—ful."</p> + +<p>"You horrid little creature!" exclaimed Griselda in a passion; "what +business have you to mock me?"</p> + +<p>She seized a book, the first that came to hand, and flung it at the bird +who was just beginning his eleventh cuckoo. He disappeared with a snap, +disappeared without flapping his wings, or, as Griselda always fancied +he did, giving her a friendly nod, and in an instant all was silent.</p> + +<p>Griselda felt a little frightened. What had she done? She looked up at +the clock. It seemed just the same as usual, the cuckoo's doors closely +shut, no sign of any disturbance. Could it have been her fancy only that +he had sprung back more hastily than he would have done but for her +throwing the book at him? She began to hope so, and tried to go on with +her lessons. But it was no use. Though she really gave her best +attention to the long addition sums, and found that by so doing she +managed them much better than before, she could not feel happy or at +ease. Every few minutes she glanced up at the clock, as if expecting the +cuckoo to come out, though she knew quite well there was no chance of +his doing so till twelve o'clock, as it was only the hours, not the half +hours and quarters, that he told.</p> + +<p>"I wish it was twelve o'clock," she said to herself anxiously more than +once.</p> + +<p>If only the clock had not been so very high up on the wall, she would +have been tempted to climb up and open the little doors, and peep in to +satisfy herself as to the cuckoo's condition. But there was no +possibility of this. The clock was far, very far above her reach, and +there was no high piece of furniture standing near, upon which she could +have climbed to get to it. There was nothing to be done but to wait for +twelve o'clock.</p> + +<p>And, after all, she did not wait for twelve o'clock, for just about +half-past eleven, Miss Grizzel's voice was heard calling to her to put +on her hat and cloak quickly, and come out to walk up and down the +terrace with her.</p> + +<p>"It is fine just now," said Miss Grizzel, "but there is a prospect of +rain before long. You must leave your lessons for the present, and +finish them in the afternoon."</p> + +<p>"I have finished them," said Griselda, meekly.</p> + +<p>"<i>All</i>?" inquired her aunt.</p> + +<p>"Yes, all," replied Griselda.</p> + +<p>"Ah, well, then, this afternoon, if the rain holds off, we shall drive +to Merrybrow Hall, and inquire for the health of your dear godmother, +Lady Lavander," said Miss Grizzel.</p> + +<p>Poor Griselda! There were few things she disliked more than a drive with +her aunts. They went in the old yellow chariot, with all the windows up, +and of course Griselda had to sit with her back to the horses, which +made her very uncomfortable when she had no air, and had to sit still +for so long.</p> + +<p>Merrybrow Hall was a large house, quite as old and much grander, but not +nearly so wonderful as the home of Griselda's aunts. It was six miles +off, and it took a very long time indeed to drive there in the rumbling +old chariot, for the old horses were fat and wheezy, and the old +coachman fat and wheezy too. Lady Lavander was, of course, old too—very +old indeed, and rather grumpy and very deaf. Miss Grizzel and Miss +Tabitha had the greatest respect for her; she always called them "My +dear," as if they were quite girls, and they listened to all she said as +if her words were of gold. For some mysterious reason she had been +invited to be Griselda's godmother; but, as she had never shown her any +proof of affection beyond giving her a prayer-book, and hoping, whenever +she saw her, that she was "a good little miss," Griselda did not feel +any particular cause for gratitude to her.</p> + +<p>The drive seemed longer and duller than ever this afternoon, but +Griselda bore it meekly; and when Lady Lavander, as usual, expressed her +hopes about her, the little girl looked down modestly, feeling her +cheeks grow scarlet. "I am not a good little girl at all," she felt +inclined to call out. "I'm very bad and cruel. I believe I've killed the +dear little cuckoo."</p> + +<p>What <i>would</i> the three old ladies have thought if she had called it out? +As it was, Lady Lavander patted her approvingly, said she loved to see +young people modest and humble-minded, and gave her a slice of very +highly-spiced, rather musty gingerbread, which Griselda couldn't bear.</p> + +<p>All the way home Griselda felt in a fever of impatience to rush up to +the ante-room and see if the cuckoo was all right again. It was late and +dark when the chariot at last stopped at the door of the old house. Miss +Grizzel got out slowly, and still more slowly Miss Tabitha followed +her. Griselda was obliged to restrain herself and move demurely.</p> + +<p>"It is past your supper-time, my dear," said Miss Grizzel. "Go up at +once to your room, and Dorcas shall bring some supper to you. Late hours +are bad for young people."</p> + +<p>Griselda obediently wished her aunts good-night, and went quietly +upstairs. But once out of sight, at the first landing, she changed her +pace. She turned to the left instead of to the right, which led to her +own room, and flew rather than ran along the dimly-lighted passage, at +the end of which a door led into the great saloon. She opened the door. +All was quite dark. It was impossible to fly or run across the great +saloon! Even in daylight this would have been a difficult matter. +Griselda <i>felt</i> her way as best she could, past the Chinese cabinet and +the pot-pourri jar, till she got to the ante-room door. It was open, and +now, knowing her way better, she hurried in. But what was the use? All +was silent, save the tick-tick of the cuckoo clock in the corner. Oh, if +<i>only</i> the cuckoo would come out and call the hour as usual, what a +weight would be lifted off Griselda's heart!</p> + +<p>She had no idea what o'clock it was. It might be close to the hour, or +it might be just past it. She stood listening for a few minutes, then +hearing Miss Grizzel's voice in the distance, she felt that she dared +not stay any longer, and turned to feel her way out of the room again. +Just as she got to the door it seemed to her that something softly +brushed her cheek, and a very, very faint "cuckoo" sounded as it were in +the air close to her.</p> + +<p>Startled, but not frightened, Griselda stood perfectly still.</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo," she said, softly. But there was no answer.</p> + +<p>Again the tones of Miss Grizzel's voice coming upstairs reached her +ear.</p> + +<p>"I <i>must</i> go," said Griselda; and finding her way across the saloon +without, by great good luck, tumbling against any of the many breakable +treasures with which it was filled, she flew down the long passage +again, reaching her own room just before Dorcas appeared with her +supper.</p> + +<p>Griselda slept badly that night. She was constantly dreaming of the +cuckoo, fancying she heard his voice, and then waking with a start to +find it was <i>only</i> fancy. She looked pale and heavy-eyed when she came +down to breakfast the next morning; and her Aunt Tabitha, who was alone +in the room when she entered, began immediately asking her what was the +matter.</p> + +<p>"I am sure you are going to be ill, child," she said, nervously. "Sister +Grizzel must give you some medicine. I wonder what would be the best. +Tansy tea is an excellent thing when one has taken cold, or——"</p> + +<p>But the rest of Miss Tabitha's sentence was never heard, for at this +moment Miss Grizzel came hurriedly into the room—her cap awry, her +shawl disarranged, her face very pale. I hardly think any one had ever +seen her so discomposed before.</p> + +<p>"Sister Tabitha!" she exclaimed, "what can be going to happen? The +cuckoo clock has stopped."</p> + +<p>"The cuckoo clock has stopped!" repeated Miss Tabitha, holding up her +hands; "<i>im</i>possible!"</p> + +<p>"But it has, or rather I should say—dear me, I am so upset I cannot +explain myself—the <i>cuckoo</i> has stopped. The clock is going on, but the +cuckoo has not told the hours, and Dorcas is of opinion that he left off +doing so yesterday. What can be going to happen? What shall we do?"</p> + +<p>"What can we do?" said Miss Tabitha. "Should we send for the +watch-maker?"</p> + +<p>Miss Grizzel shook her head.</p> + +<p>"'Twould be worse than useless. Were we to search the world over, we +could find no one to put it right. Fifty years and more, Tabitha, fifty +years and more, it has never missed an hour! We are getting old, +Tabitha, our day is nearly over; perhaps 'tis to remind us of this."</p> + +<p>Miss Tabitha did not reply. She was weeping silently. The old ladies +seemed to have forgotten the presence of their niece, but Griselda could +not bear to see their distress. She finished her breakfast as quickly as +she could, and left the room.</p> + +<p>On her way upstairs she met Dorcas.</p> + +<p>"Have you heard what has happened, little missie?" said the old servant.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Griselda.</p> + +<p>"My ladies are in great trouble," continued Dorcas, who seemed inclined +to be more communicative than usual, "and no wonder. For fifty years +that clock has never gone wrong."</p> + +<p>"Can't it be put right?" asked the child.</p> + +<p>Dorcas shook her head.</p> + +<p>"No good would come of interfering," she said. "What must be, must be. +The luck of the house hangs on that clock. Its maker spent a good part +of his life over it, and his last words were that it would bring good +luck to the house that owned it, but that trouble would follow its +silence. It's my belief," she added solemnly, "that it's a <i>fairy</i> +clock, neither more nor less, for good luck it has brought there's no +denying. There are no cows like ours, missie—their milk is a proverb +hereabouts; there are no hens like ours for laying all the year round; +there are no roses like ours. And there's always a friendly feeling in +this house, and always has been. 'Tis not a house for wrangling and +jangling, and sharp words. The 'good people' can't stand that. Nothing +drives them away like ill-temper or anger."</p> + +<p>Griselda's conscience gave her a sharp prick. Could it be <i>her</i> doing +that trouble was coming upon the old house? What a punishment for a +moment's fit of ill-temper.</p> + +<p>"I wish you wouldn't talk that way, Dorcas," she said; "it makes me so +unhappy."</p> + +<p>"What a feeling heart the child has!" said the old servant as she went +on her way downstairs. "It's true—she is very like Miss Sybilla."</p> + +<p>That day was a very weary and sad one for Griselda. She was oppressed by +a feeling she did not understand. She knew she had done wrong, but she +had sorely repented it, and "I do think the cuckoo might have come back +again," she said to herself, "if he is a fairy; and if he isn't, it +can't be true what Dorcas says."</p> + +<p>Her aunts made no allusion to the subject in her presence, and almost +seemed to have forgotten that she had known of their distress. They were +more grave and silent than usual, but otherwise things went on in their +ordinary way. Griselda spent the morning "at her tasks," in the +ante-room, but was thankful to get away from the tick-tick of the clock +in the corner and out into the garden.</p> + +<p>But there, alas! it was just as bad. The rooks seemed to know that +something was the matter; they set to work making such a chatter +immediately Griselda appeared that she felt inclined to run back into +the house again.</p> + +<p>"I am sure they are talking about me," she said to herself. "Perhaps +they are fairies too. I am beginning to think I don't like fairies."</p> + +<p>She was glad when bed-time came. It was a sort of reproach to her to see +her aunts so pale and troubled; and though she tried to persuade herself +that she thought them very silly, she could not throw off the +uncomfortable feeling.</p> + +<p>She was so tired when she went to bed—tired in the disagreeable way +that comes from a listless, uneasy day—that she fell asleep at once and +slept heavily. When she woke, which she did suddenly, and with a start, +it was still perfectly dark, like the first morning that she had wakened +in the old house. It seemed to her that she had not wakened of +herself—something had roused her. Yes! there it was again, a very, +<i>very</i> soft distant "cuckoo." <i>Was</i> it distant? She could not tell. +Almost she could have fancied it was close to her.</p> + +<p>"If it's that cuckoo come back again, I'll catch him!" exclaimed +Griselda.</p> + +<p>She darted out of bed, felt her way to the door, which was closed, and +opening it let in a rush of moonlight from the unshuttered passage +window. In another moment her little bare feet were pattering along the +passage at full speed, in the direction of the great saloon.</p> + +<p>For Griselda's childhood among the troop of noisy brothers had taught +her one lesson—she was afraid of nothing. Or rather perhaps I should +say she had never learnt that there was anything to be afraid of! And is +there?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3>OBEYING ORDERS.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>"Little girl, thou must thy part fulfil,</p> +<p class="i2">If we're to take kindly to ours:</p> +<p>Then pull up the weeds with a will,</p> +<p class="i2">And fairies will cherish the flowers."</p> +</div></div> + + +<p>There was moonlight, though not so much, in the saloon and the +ante-room, too; for though the windows, like those in Griselda's +bed-room, had the shutters closed, there was a round part at the top, +high up, which the shutters did not reach to, and in crept, through +these clear uncovered panes, quite as many moonbeams, you may be sure, +as could find their way.</p> + +<p>Griselda, eager though she was, could not help standing still a moment +to admire the effect.</p> + +<p>"It looks prettier with the light coming in at those holes at the top +than even if the shutters were open," she said to herself. "How +goldy-silvery the cabinet looks; and, yes, I do declare, the mandarins +are nodding! I wonder if it is out of politeness to me, or does Aunt +Grizzel come in last thing at night and touch them to make them keep +nodding till morning? I <i>suppose</i> they're a sort of policemen to the +palace; and I dare say there are all sorts of beautiful things inside. +How I should like to see all through it!"</p> + +<p>But at this moment the faint tick-tick of the cuckoo clock in the next +room, reaching her ear, reminded her of the object of this midnight +expedition of hers. She hurried into the ante-room.</p> + +<p>It looked darker than the great saloon, for it had but one window. But +through the uncovered space at the top of this window there penetrated +some brilliant moonbeams, one of which lighted up</p> +<a name="SPEAK" id="SPEAK"></a> +<div class="center"> + <img src="images/02.png" + alt=""WHY WON'T YOU SPEAK TO ME?"" title=""WHY WON'T YOU SPEAK TO ME?"" /> +</div> +<h4>"WHY WON'T YOU SPEAK TO ME?"</h4> + +<div class='noindent'> +brightly the face of the clock with its queer over-hanging eaves. +</div> +<p>Griselda approached it and stood below, looking up.</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo," she said softly—very softly.</p> + +<p>But there was no reply.</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo," she repeated rather more loudly. "Why won't you speak to me? I +know you are there, and you're not asleep, for I heard your voice in my +own room. Why won't you come out, cuckoo?"</p> + +<p>"Tick-tick" said the clock, but there was no other reply.</p> + +<p>Griselda felt ready to cry.</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo," she said reproachfully, "I didn't think you were so +hard-hearted. I have been <i>so</i> unhappy about you, and I was so pleased +to hear your voice again, for I thought I had killed you, or hurt you +very badly; and I didn't <i>mean</i> to hurt you, cuckoo. I was sorry the +moment I had done it, <i>dreadfully</i> sorry. Dear cuckoo, won't you +forgive me?"</p> + +<p>There was a little sound at last—a faint <i>coming</i> sound, and by the +moonlight Griselda saw the doors open, and out flew the cuckoo. He stood +still for a moment, looked round him as it were, then gently flapped his +wings, and uttered his usual note—"Cuckoo."</p> + +<p>Griselda stood in breathless expectation, but in her delight she could +not help very softly clapping her hands.</p> + +<p>The cuckoo cleared his throat. You never heard such a funny little noise +as he made; and then, in a very clear, distinct, but yet "cuckoo-y" +voice, he spoke.</p> + +<p>"Griselda," he said, "are you truly sorry?"</p> + +<p>"I told you I was," she replied. "But I didn't <i>feel</i> so very naughty, +cuckoo. I didn't, really. I was only vexed for one minute, and when I +threw the book I seemed to be a very little in fun, too. And it made me +so unhappy when you went away, and my poor aunts have been dreadfully +unhappy too. If you hadn't come back I should have told them to-morrow +what I had done. I would have told them before, but I was afraid it +would have made them more unhappy. I thought I had hurt you dreadfully."</p> + +<p>"So you did," said the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>"But you <i>look</i> quite well," said Griselda.</p> + +<p>"It was <i>my feelings</i>," replied the cuckoo; "and I couldn't help going +away. I have to obey orders like other people."</p> + +<p>Griselda stared. "How do you mean?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Never mind. You can't understand at present," said the cuckoo. "You can +understand about obeying <i>your</i> orders, and you see, when you don't, +things go wrong."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Griselda humbly, "they certainly do. But, cuckoo," she +continued, "I never used to get into tempers at home—<i>hardly</i> never, +at least; and I liked my lessons then, and I never was scolded about +them."</p> + +<p>"What's wrong here, then?" said the cuckoo. "It isn't often that things +go wrong in this house."</p> + +<p>"That's what Dorcas says," said Griselda. "It must be with my being a +child—my aunts and the house and everything have got out of children's +ways."</p> + +<p>"About time they did," remarked the cuckoo drily.</p> + +<p>"And so," continued Griselda, "it is really very dull. I have lots of +lessons, but it isn't so much that I mind. It is that I've no one to +play with."</p> + +<p>"There's something in that," said the cuckoo. He flapped his wings and +was silent for a minute or two. "I'll consider about it," he observed at +last.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Griselda, not exactly knowing what else to say.</p> + +<p>"And in the meantime," continued the cuckoo, "you'd better obey present +orders and go back to bed."</p> + +<p>"Shall I say good-night to you, then?" asked Griselda somewhat timidly.</p> + +<p>"You're quite welcome to do so," replied the cuckoo. "Why shouldn't +you?"</p> + +<p>"You see I wasn't sure if you would like it," returned Griselda, "for of +course you're not like a person, and—and—I've been told all sorts of +queer things about what fairies like and don't like."</p> + +<p>"Who said I was a fairy?" inquired the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>"Dorcas did, and, <i>of course</i>, my own common sense did too," replied +Griselda. "You must be a fairy—you couldn't be anything else."</p> + +<p>"I might be a fairyfied cuckoo," suggested the bird.</p> + +<p>Griselda looked puzzled.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand," she said, "and I don't think it could make much +difference. But whatever you are, I wish you would tell me one thing."</p> + +<p>"What?" said the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>"I want to know, now that you've forgiven me for throwing the book at +you, have you come back for good?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not for evil," replied the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>Griselda gave a little wriggle. "Cuckoo, you're laughing at me," she +said. "I mean, have you come back to stay and cuckoo as usual and make +my aunts happy again?"</p> + +<p>"You'll see in the morning," said the cuckoo. "Now go off to bed."</p> + +<p>"Good night," said Griselda, "and thank you, and please don't forget to +let me know when you've considered."</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo, cuckoo," was her little friend's reply. Griselda thought it was +meant for good night, but the fact of the matter was that at that exact +second of time it was two o'clock in the morning.</p> + +<p>She made her way back to bed. She had been standing some time talking to +the cuckoo, but, though it was now well on in November, she did not feel +the least cold, nor sleepy! She felt as happy and light-hearted as +possible, and she wished it was morning, that she might get up. Yet the +moment she laid her little brown curly head on the pillow, she fell +asleep; and it seemed to her that just as she dropped off a soft +feathery wing brushed her cheek gently and a tiny "Cuckoo" sounded in +her ear.</p> + +<p>When she woke it was bright morning, really bright morning, for the +wintry sun was already sending some clear yellow rays out into the pale +grey-blue sky.</p> + +<p>"It must be late," thought Griselda, when she had opened the shutters +and seen how light it was. "I must have slept a long time. I feel so +beautifully unsleepy now. I must dress quickly—how nice it will be to +see my aunts look happy again! I don't even care if they scold me for +being late."</p> + +<p>But, after all, it was not so much later than usual; it was only a much +brighter morning than they had had for some time. Griselda did dress +herself very quickly, however. As she went downstairs two or three of +the clocks in the house, for there were several, were striking eight. +These clocks must have been a little before the right time, for it was +not till they had again relapsed into silence that there rang out from +the ante-room the clear sweet tones, eight times repeated, of "Cuckoo."</p> + +<p>Miss Grizzel and Miss Tabitha were already at the breakfast-table, but +they received their little niece most graciously. Nothing was said about +the clock, however, till about half-way through the meal, when Griselda, +full of eagerness to know if her aunts were aware of the cuckoo's +return, could restrain herself no longer.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Grizzel," she said, "isn't the cuckoo all right again?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my dear. I am delighted to say it is," replied Miss Grizzel.</p> + +<p>"Did you get it put right, Aunt Grizzel?" inquired Griselda, slyly.</p> + +<p>"Little girls should not ask so many questions," replied Miss Grizzel, +mysteriously. "It <i>is</i> all right again, and that is enough. During fifty +years that cuckoo has never, till yesterday, missed an hour. If you, in +your sphere, my dear, do as well during fifty years, you won't have done +badly."</p> + +<p>"No, indeed, you won't have done badly," repeated Miss Tabitha.</p> + +<p>But though the two old ladies thus tried to improve the occasion by a +little lecturing, Griselda could see that at the bottom of their hearts +they were both so happy that, even if she had been very naughty indeed, +they could hardly have made up their minds to scold her.</p> + +<p>She was not at all inclined to be naughty this day. She had something +to think about and look forward to, which made her quite a different +little girl, and made her take heart in doing her lessons as well as she +possibly could.</p> + +<p>"I wonder when the cuckoo will have considered enough about my having no +one to play with?" she said to herself, as she was walking up and down +the terrace at the back of the house.</p> + +<p>"Caw, caw!" screamed a rook just over her head, as if in answer to her +thought.</p> + +<p>Griselda looked up at him.</p> + +<p>"Your voice isn't half so pretty as the cuckoo's, Mr. Rook," she said. +"All the same, I dare say I should make friends with you, if I +understood what you meant. How funny it would be to know all the +languages of the birds and the beasts, like the prince in the fairy +tale! I wonder if I should wish for that, if a fairy gave me a wish? No, +I don't think I would. I'd <i>far</i> rather have the fairy carpet that would +take you anywhere you liked in a minute. I'd go to China to see if all +the people there look like Aunt Grizzel's mandarins; and I'd first of +all, of course, go to fairyland."</p> + +<p>"You must come in now, little missie," said Dorcas's voice. +"Miss Grizzel says you have had play enough, and there's +a nice fire in the ante-room for you to do your lessons by."</p> + +<p>"Play!" repeated Griselda indignantly, as she turned to follow the old +servant. "Do you call walking up and down the terrace 'play,' Dorcas? I +mustn't loiter even to pick a flower, if there were any, for fear of +catching cold, and I mustn't run for fear of overheating myself. I +declare, Dorcas, if I don't have some play soon, or something to amuse +me, I think I'll run away."</p> + +<p>"Nay, nay, missie, don't talk like that. You'd never do anything so +naughty, and you so like Miss Sybilla, who was so good."</p> + +<p>"Dorcas, I'm tired of being told I'm like Miss Sybilla," said Griselda, +impatiently. "She was my grandmother; no one would like to be told they +were like their grandmother. It makes me feel as if my face must be all +screwy up and wrinkly, and as if I should have spectacles on and a wig."</p> + +<p>"<i>That</i> is not like what Miss Sybilla was when I first saw her," said +Dorcas. "She was younger than you, missie, and as pretty as a fairy."</p> + +<p>"<i>Was</i> she?" exclaimed Griselda, stopping short.</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed she was. She might have been a fairy, so sweet she was and +gentle—and yet so merry. Every creature loved her; even the animals +about seemed to know her, as if she was one of themselves. She brought +good luck to the house, and it was a sad day when she left it."</p> + +<p>"I thought you said it was the cuckoo that brought good luck?" said +Griselda.</p> + +<p>"Well, so it was. The cuckoo and Miss Sybilla came here the same day. It +was left to her by her mother's father, with whom she had lived since +she was a baby, and when he died she came here to her sisters. She +wasn't <i>own</i> sister to my ladies, you see, missie. Her mother had come +from Germany, and it was in some strange place there, where her +grandfather lived, that the cuckoo clock was made. They make wonderful +clocks there, I've been told, but none more wonderful than our cuckoo, +I'm sure."</p> + +<p>"No, I'm <i>sure</i> not," said Griselda, softly. "Why didn't Miss Sybilla +take it with her when she was married and went away?"</p> + +<p>"She knew her sisters were so fond of it. It was like a memory of her +left behind for them. It was like a part of her. And do you know, +missie, the night she died—she died soon after your father was born, a +year after she was married—for a whole hour, from twelve to one, that +cuckoo went on cuckooing in a soft, sad way, like some living creature +in trouble. Of course, we did not know anything was wrong with her, and +folks said something had caught some of the springs of the works; but +<i>I</i> didn't think so, and never shall. And——"</p> + +<p>But here Dorcas's reminiscences were abruptly brought to a close by Miss +Grizzel's appearance at the other end of the terrace.</p> + +<p>"Griselda, what are you loitering so for? Dorcas, you should have +hastened, not delayed Miss Griselda."</p> + +<p>So Griselda was hurried off to her lessons, and Dorcas to her kitchen. +But Griselda did not much mind. She had plenty to think of and wonder +about, and she liked to do her lessons in the ante-room, with the +tick-tick of the clock in her ears, and the feeling that <i>perhaps</i> the +cuckoo was watching her through some invisible peep-hole in his closed +doors.</p> + +<p>"And if he sees," thought Griselda, "if he sees how hard I am trying to +do my lessons well, it will perhaps make him be quick about +'considering.'"</p> + +<p>So she did try very hard. And she didn't speak to the cuckoo when he +came out to say it was four o'clock. She was busy, and he was busy. She +felt it was better to wait till he gave her some sign of being ready to +talk to her again.</p> + +<p>For fairies, you know, children, however charming, are sometimes +<i>rather</i> queer to have to do with. They don't like to be interfered +with, or treated except with very great respect, and they have their own +ideas about what is proper and what isn't, I can assure you.</p> + +<p>I suppose it was with working so hard at her lessons—most people would +say it was with having been up the night before, running about the house +in the moonlight; but as she had never felt so "fresh" in her life as +when she got up that morning, it could hardly have been that—that +Griselda felt so tired and sleepy that evening, she could hardly keep +her eyes open. She begged to go to bed quite half an hour earlier than +usual, which made Miss Tabitha afraid again that she was going to be +ill. But as there is nothing better for children than to go to bed +early, even if they <i>are</i> going to be ill, Miss Grizzel told her to say +good-night, and to ask Dorcas to give her a wine-glassful of elderberry +wine, nice and hot, after she was in bed.</p> + +<p>Griselda had no objection to the elderberry wine, though she felt she +was having it on false pretences. She certainly did not need it to send +her to sleep, for almost before her head touched the pillow she was as +sound as a top. She had slept a good long while, when again she wakened +suddenly—just as she had done the night before, and again with the +feeling that something had wakened her. And the queer thing was that the +moment she was awake she felt so <i>very</i> awake—she had no inclination to +stretch and yawn and hope it wasn't quite time to get up, and think how +nice and warm bed was, and how cold it was outside! She sat straight up, +and peered out into the darkness, feeling quite ready for an adventure.</p> + +<p>"Is it you, cuckoo?" she said softly.</p> + +<p>There was no answer, but listening intently, the child fancied she heard +a faint rustling or fluttering in the corner of the room by the door. +She got up and, feeling her way, opened it, and the instant she had done +so she heard, a few steps only in front of her it seemed, the familiar +notes, very, <i>very</i> soft and whispered, "Cuckoo, cuckoo."</p> + +<p>It went on and on, down the passage, Griselda trotting after. There was +no moon to-night, heavy clouds had quite hidden it, and outside the rain +was falling heavily. Griselda could hear it on the window-panes, through +the closed shutters and all. But dark as it was, she made her way along +without any difficulty, down the passage, across the great saloon, in +through the ante-room door, guided only by the little voice now and then +to be heard in front of her. She came to a standstill right before the +clock, and stood there for a minute or two patiently waiting.</p> + +<p>She had not very long to wait. There came the usual murmuring sound, +then the doors above the clock face opened—she heard them open, it was +far too dark to see—and in his ordinary voice, clear and distinct (it +was just two o'clock, so the cuckoo was killing two birds with one +stone, telling the hour and greeting Griselda at once), the bird sang +out, "Cuckoo, cuckoo."</p> + +<p>"Good evening, cuckoo," said Griselda, when he had finished.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, you mean," said the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, then, cuckoo," said Griselda. "Have you considered about +me, cuckoo?"</p> + +<p>The cuckoo cleared his throat.</p> + +<p>"Have you learnt to obey orders yet, Griselda?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"I'm trying," replied Griselda. "But you see, cuckoo, I've not had very +long to learn in—it was only last night you told me, you know."</p> + +<p>The cuckoo sighed.</p> + +<p>"You've a great deal to learn, Griselda."</p> + +<p>"I dare say I have," she said. "But I can tell you one thing, +cuckoo—whatever lessons I have, I <i>couldn't</i> ever have any worse than +those addition sums of Mr. Kneebreeches'. I have made up my mind about +that, for to-day, do you know, cuckoo——"</p> + +<p>"Yesterday," corrected the cuckoo. "Always be exact in your statements, +Griselda."</p> + +<p>"Well, yesterday, then," said Griselda, rather tartly; "though when you +know quite well what I mean, I don't see that you need be so <i>very</i> +particular. Well, as I was saying, I tried and <i>tried</i>, but still they +were fearful. They were, indeed."</p> + +<p>"You've a great deal to learn, Griselda," repeated the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>"I wish you wouldn't say that so often," said Griselda. "I thought you +were going to <i>play</i> with me."</p> + +<p>"There's something in that," said the cuckoo, "there's something in +that. I should like to talk about it. But we could talk more comfortably +if you would come up here and sit beside me."</p> + +<p>Griselda thought her friend must be going out of his mind.</p> + +<p>"Sit beside you up there!" she exclaimed. "Cuckoo, how <i>could</i> I? I'm +far, far too big."</p> + +<p>"Big!" returned the cuckoo. "What do you mean by big? It's all a matter +of fancy. Don't you know that if the world and everything in it, +counting yourself of course, was all made little enough to go into a +walnut, you'd never find out the difference."</p> + +<p>"<i>Wouldn't</i> I?" said Griselda, feeling rather muddled; "but, <i>not</i> +counting myself, cuckoo, I would then, wouldn't I?"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," said the cuckoo hastily; "you've a great deal to learn, and +one thing is, not to <i>argue</i>. Nobody should argue; it's a shocking bad +habit, and ruins the digestion. Come up here and sit beside me +comfortably. Catch hold of the chain; you'll find you can manage if you +try."</p> + +<p>"But it'll stop the clock," said Griselda. "Aunt Grizzel said I was +never to touch the weights or the chains."</p> + +<p>"Stuff," said the cuckoo; "it won't stop the clock. Catch hold of the +chains and swing yourself up. There now—I told you you could manage +it."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3>THE COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>"We're all nodding, nid-nid-nodding."</p> +</div></div> + +<p><i>How</i> she managed it she never knew; but, somehow or other, it <i>was</i> +managed. She seemed to slide up the chain just as easily as in a general +way she would have slidden down, only without any disagreeable +anticipation of a bump at the end of the journey. And when she got to +the top how wonderfully different it looked from anything she could have +expected! The doors stood open, and Griselda found them quite big +enough, or herself quite small enough—which it was she couldn't tell, +and as it was all a matter of fancy she decided not to trouble to +inquire—to pass through quite comfortably.</p> + +<p>And inside there was the most charming little snuggery imaginable. It +was something like a saloon railway carriage—it seemed to be all lined +and carpeted and everything, with rich mossy red velvet; there was a +little round table in the middle and two arm-chairs, on one of which sat +the cuckoo—"quite like other people," thought Griselda to +herself—while the other, as he pointed out to Griselda by a little nod, +was evidently intended for her.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said she, sitting down on the chair as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"Are you comfortable?" inquired the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>"Quite," replied Griselda, looking about her with great satisfaction. +"Are all cuckoo clocks like this when you get up inside them?" she +inquired. "I can't think how there's room for this dear little place +between the clock and the wall. Is it a hole cut out of the wall on +purpose, cuckoo?"</p> + +<p>"Hush!" said the cuckoo, "we've got other things to talk about. First, +shall I lend you one of my mantles? You may feel cold."</p> + +<p>"I don't just now," replied Griselda; "but perhaps I <i>might</i>."</p> + +<p>She looked at her little bare feet as she spoke, and wondered why <i>they</i> +weren't cold, for it was very chilblainy weather.</p> + +<p>The cuckoo stood up, and with one of his claws reached from a corner +where it was hanging a cloak which Griselda had not before noticed. For +it was hanging wrong side out, and the lining was red velvet, very like +what the sides of the little room were covered with, so it was no wonder +she had not noticed it.</p> + +<p>Had it been hanging the <i>right</i> side out she must have done so; this +side was so very wonderful!</p> + +<p>It was all feathers—feathers of every shade and colour, but +beautifully worked in, somehow, so as to lie quite smoothly and evenly, +one colour melting away into another like those in a prism, so that you +could hardly tell where one began and another ended.</p> + +<p>"What a <i>lovely</i> cloak!" said Griselda, wrapping it round her and +feeling even more comfortable than before, as she watched the rays of +the little lamp in the roof—I think I was forgetting to tell you that +the cuckoo's boudoir was lighted by a dear little lamp set into the red +velvet roof like a pearl in a ring—playing softly on the brilliant +colours of the feather mantle.</p> + +<p>"It's better than lovely," said the cuckoo, "as you shall see. Now, +Griselda," he continued, in the tone of one coming to business—"now, +Griselda, let us talk."</p> + +<p>"We have been talking," said Griselda, "ever so long. I am very +comfortable. When you say 'let us talk' like that, it makes me forget +all I wanted to say. Just let me sit still and say whatever comes into +my head."</p> + +<p>"That won't do," said the cuckoo; "we must have a plan of action."</p> + +<p>"A what?" said Griselda.</p> + +<p>"You see you <i>have</i> a great deal to learn," said the cuckoo +triumphantly. "You don't understand what I say."</p> + +<p>"But I didn't come up here to learn," said Griselda; "I can do that down +there;" and she nodded her head in the direction of the ante-room table. +"I want to play."</p> + +<p>"Just so," said the cuckoo; "that's what I want to talk about. What do +you call 'play'—blindman's-buff and that sort of thing?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Griselda, considering. "I'm getting rather too big for that +kind of play. Besides, cuckoo, you and I alone couldn't have much fun at +blindman's-buff; there'd be only me to catch you or you to catch me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, we could easily get more," said the cuckoo. "The mandarins would be +pleased to join."</p> + +<p>"The mandarins!" repeated Griselda. "Why, cuckoo, they're not alive! How +could they play?"</p> + +<p>The cuckoo looked at her gravely for a minute, then shook his head.</p> + +<p>"You have a <i>great</i> deal to learn," he said solemnly. "Don't you know +that <i>everything's</i> alive?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Griselda, "I don't; and I don't know what you mean, and I +don't think I want to know what you mean. I want to talk about playing."</p> + +<p>"Well," said the cuckoo, "talk."</p> + +<p>"What I call playing," pursued Griselda, "is—I have thought about it +now, you see—is being amused. If you will amuse me, cuckoo, I will +count that you are playing with me."</p> + +<p>"How shall I amuse you?" inquired he.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's for you to find out!" exclaimed Griselda. "You might tell +me fairy stories, you know: if you're a fairy you should know lots; +or—oh yes, of course that would be far nicer—if you are a fairy you +might take me with you to fairyland."</p> + +<p>Again the cuckoo shook his head.</p> + +<p>"That," said he, "I cannot do."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" said Griselda. "Lots of children have been there."</p> + +<p>"I doubt it," said the cuckoo. "<i>Some</i> may have been, but not lots. And +some may have thought they had been there who hadn't really been there +at all. And as to those who have been there, you may be sure of one +thing—they were not <i>taken</i>, they found their own way. No one ever was +<i>taken</i> to fairyland—to the real fairyland. They may have been taken to +the neighbouring countries, but not to fairyland itself."</p> + +<p>"And how is one ever to find one's own way there?" asked Griselda.</p> + +<p>"That I cannot tell you either," replied the cuckoo. "There are many +roads there; you may find yours some day. And if ever you do find it, be +sure you keep what you see of it well swept and clean, and then you may +see further after a while. Ah, yes, there are many roads and many doors +into fairyland!"</p> + +<p>"Doors!" cried Griselda. "Are there any doors into fairyland in this +house?"</p> + +<p>"Several," said the cuckoo; "but don't waste your time looking for them +at present. It would be no use."</p> + +<p>"Then how will you amuse me?" inquired Griselda, in a rather +disappointed tone.</p> + +<p>"Don't you care to go anywhere except to fairyland?" said the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, there are lots of places I wouldn't mind seeing. Not geography +sort of places—it would be just like lessons to go to India and Africa +and all those places—but <i>queer</i> places, like the mines where the +goblins make diamonds and precious stones, and the caves down under the +sea where the mermaids live. And—oh, I've just thought—now I'm so nice +and little, I <i>would</i> like to go all over the mandarins' palace in the +great saloon."</p> + +<p>"That can be easily managed," said the cuckoo; "but—excuse me for an +instant," he exclaimed suddenly. He gave a spring forward and +disappeared. Then Griselda heard his voice outside the doors, "Cuckoo, +cuckoo, cuckoo." It was three o'clock.</p> + +<p>The doors opened again to let him through, and he re-settled himself on +his chair. "As I was saying," he went on, "nothing could be easier. But +that palace, as you call it, has an entrance on the other side, as well +as the one you know."</p> + +<p>"Another door, do you mean?" said Griselda. "How funny! Does it go +through the wall? And where does it lead to?"</p> + +<p>"It leads," replied the cuckoo, "it leads to the country of the Nodding +Mandarins."</p> + +<p>"<i>What</i> fun!" exclaimed Griselda, clapping her hands. "Cuckoo, do let us +go there. How can we get down? You can fly, but must I slide down the +chain again?"</p> + +<p>"Oh dear, no," said the cuckoo, "by no means. You have only to stretch +out your feather mantle, flap it as if it was wings—so"—he flapped his +own wings encouragingly—"wish, and there you'll be."</p> + +<p>"Where?" said Griselda bewilderedly.</p> + +<p>"Wherever you wish to be, of course," said the cuckoo. "Are you ready? +Here goes."</p> + +<p>"Wait—wait a moment," cried Griselda. "Where am I to wish to be?"</p> + +<p>"Bless the child!" exclaimed the cuckoo. "Where <i>do</i> you wish to be? You +said you wanted to visit the country of the Nodding Mandarins."</p> + +<p>"Yes; but am I to wish first to be in the palace in the great saloon?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly," replied the cuckoo. "That is the entrance to Mandarin Land, +and you said you would like to see through it. So—you're surely ready +now?"</p> + +<p>"A thought has just struck me," said Griselda. "How will you know what +o'clock it is, so as to come back in time to tell the next hour? My +aunts will get into such a fright if you go wrong again! Are you sure we +shall have time to go to the mandarins' country to-night?"</p> + +<p>"Time!" repeated the cuckoo; "what is time? Ah, Griselda, you have a +<i>very</i> great deal to learn! What do you mean by time?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," replied Griselda, feeling rather snubbed. "Being slow or +quick—I suppose that's what I mean."</p> + +<p>"And what is slow, and what is quick?" said the cuckoo. "<i>All</i> a matter +of fancy! If everything that's been done since the world was made till +now, was done over again in five minutes, you'd never know the +difference."</p> +<a name="MANDARINS" id="MANDARINS"></a> +<div class="center"> + <img src="images/03.png" + alt="MANDARINS NODDING." title="MANDARINS NODDING." /> +</div> +<h4>MANDARINS NODDING.</h4> +<p>"Oh, cuckoo, I wish you wouldn't!" cried poor Griselda; "you're worse +than sums, you do so puzzle me. It's like what you said about nothing +being big or little, only it's worse. Where would all the days and hours +be if there was nothing but minutes? Oh, cuckoo, you said you'd amuse +me, and you do nothing but puzzle me."</p> + +<p>"It was your own fault. You wouldn't get ready," said the cuckoo. +"<i>Now</i>, here goes! Flap and wish."</p> + +<p>Griselda flapped and wished. She felt a sort of rustle in the air, that +was all—then she found herself standing with the cuckoo in front of the +Chinese cabinet, the door of which stood open, while the mandarins on +each side, nodding politely, seemed to invite them to enter. Griselda +hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Go on," said the cuckoo, patronizingly; "ladies first."</p> + +<p>Griselda went on. To her surprise, inside the cabinet it was quite +light, though where the light came from that illuminated all the queer +corners and recesses and streamed out to the front, where stood the +mandarins, she could not discover.</p> + +<p>The "palace" was not quite as interesting as she had expected. There +were lots of little rooms in it opening on to balconies commanding, no +doubt, a splendid view of the great saloon; there were ever so many +little staircases leading to more little rooms and balconies; but it all +seemed empty and deserted.</p> + +<p>"I don't care for it," said Griselda, stopping short at last; "it's all +the same, and there's nothing to see. I thought my aunts kept ever so +many beautiful things in here, and there's nothing."</p> + +<p>"Come along, then," said the cuckoo. "I didn't expect you'd care for the +palace, as you called it, much. Let us go out the other way."</p> + +<p>He hopped down a sort of little staircase near which they were standing, +and Griselda followed him willingly enough. At the foot they found +themselves in a vestibule, much handsomer than the entrance at the other +side, and the cuckoo, crossing it, lifted one of his claws and touched a +spring in the wall. Instantly a pair of large doors flew open in the +middle, revealing to Griselda the prettiest and most curious sight she +had ever seen.</p> + +<p>A flight of wide shallow steps led down from this doorway into a long, +long avenue bordered by stiffly growing trees, from the branches of +which hung innumerable lamps of every colour, making a perfect network +of brilliance as far as the eye could reach.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how lovely!" cried Griselda, clapping her hands. "It'll be like +walking along a rainbow. Cuckoo, come quick."</p> + +<p>"Stop," said the cuckoo; "we've a good way to go. There's no need to +walk. Palanquin!"</p> + +<p>He flapped his wings, and instantly a palanquin appeared at the foot of +the steps. It was made of carved ivory, and borne by four +Chinese-looking figures with pigtails and bright-coloured jackets. A +feeling came over Griselda that she was dreaming, or else that she had +seen this palanquin before. She hesitated. Suddenly she gave a little +jump of satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"I know," she exclaimed. "It's exactly like the one that stands under a +glass shade on Lady Lavander's drawing-room mantelpiece. I wonder if it +is the very one? Fancy me being able to get <i>into</i> it!"</p> + +<p>She looked at the four bearers. Instantly they all nodded.</p> + +<p>"What do they mean?" asked Griselda, turning to the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>"Get in," he replied.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'm just going to get in," she said; "but what do <i>they</i> mean when +they nod at me like that?"</p> + +<p>"They mean, of course, what I tell you—'Get in,'" said the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>"Why don't they say so, then?" persisted Griselda, getting in, however, +as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"Griselda, you have a <i>very</i> great——" began the cuckoo, but Griselda +interrupted him.</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo," she exclaimed, "if you say that again, I'll jump out of the +palanquin and run away home to bed. Of course I've a great deal to +learn—that's why I like to ask questions about everything I see. Now, +tell me where we are going."</p> + +<p>"In the first place," said the cuckoo, "are you comfortable?"</p> + +<p>"Very," said Griselda, settling herself down among the cushions.</p> + +<p>It was a change from the cuckoo's boudoir. There were no chairs or +seats, only a number of very, <i>very</i> soft cushions covered with green +silk. There were green silk curtains all round, too, which you could +draw or not as you pleased, just by touching a spring. Griselda stroked +the silk gently. It was not "fruzzley" silk, if you know what that +means; it did not make you feel as if your nails wanted cutting, or as +if all the rough places on your skin were being rubbed up the wrong way; +its softness was like that of a rose or pansy petal.</p> + +<p>"What nice silk!" said Griselda. "I'd like a dress of it. I never +noticed that the palanquin was lined so nicely," she continued, "for I +suppose it <i>is</i> the one from Lady Lavander's mantelpiece? There couldn't +be two so exactly like each other."</p> + +<p>The cuckoo gave a sort of whistle.</p> + +<p>"What a goose you are, my dear!" he exclaimed. "Excuse me," he +continued, seeing that Griselda looked rather offended; "I didn't mean +to hurt your feelings, but you won't let me say the other thing, you +know. The palanquin from Lady Lavander's! I should think not. You might +as well mistake one of those horrible paper roses that Dorcas sticks in +her vases for one of your aunt's Gloires de Dijon! The palanquin from +Lady Lavander's—a clumsy human imitation not worth looking at!"</p> + +<p>"I didn't know," said Griselda humbly. "Do they make such beautiful +things in Mandarin Land?"</p> + +<p>"Of course," said the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>Griselda sat silent for a minute or two, but very soon she recovered her +spirits.</p> + +<p>"Will you please tell me where we are going?" she asked again.</p> + +<p>"You'll see directly," said the cuckoo; "not that I mind telling you. +There's to be a grand reception at one of the palaces to-night. I +thought you'd like to assist at it. It'll give you some idea of what a +palace is like. By-the-by, can you dance?"</p> + +<p>"A little," replied Griselda.</p> + +<p>"Ah, well, I dare say you will manage. I've ordered a court dress for +you. It will be all ready when we get there."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Griselda.</p> + +<p>In a minute or two the palanquin stopped. The cuckoo got out, and +Griselda followed him.</p> + +<p>She found that they were at the entrance to a <i>very</i> much grander palace +than the one in her aunt's saloon. The steps leading up to the door were +very wide and shallow, and covered with a gold embroidered carpet, which +<i>looked</i> as if it would be prickly to her bare feet, but which, on the +contrary, when she trod upon it, felt softer than the softest moss. She +could see very little besides the carpet, for at each side of the steps +stood rows and rows of mandarins, all something like, but a great deal +grander than, the pair outside her aunt's cabinet; and as the cuckoo +hopped and Griselda walked up the staircase, they all, in turn, row by +row, began solemnly to nod. It gave them the look of a field of very +high grass, through which, any one passing, leaves for the moment a +trail, till all the heads bob up again into their places.</p> + +<p>"What do they mean?" whispered Griselda.</p> + +<p>"It's a royal salute," said the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>"A salute!" said Griselda. "I thought that meant kissing or guns."</p> + +<p>"Hush!" said the cuckoo, for by this time they had arrived at the top of +the staircase; "you must be dressed now."</p> + +<p>Two mandariny-looking young ladies, with porcelain faces and +three-cornered head-dresses, stepped forward and led Griselda into a +small ante-room, where lay waiting for her the most magnificent dress +you ever saw. But how <i>do</i> you think they dressed her? It was all by +nodding. They nodded to the blue and silver embroidered jacket, and in a +moment it had fitted itself on to her. They nodded to the splendid +scarlet satin skirt, made very short in front and very long behind, and +before Griselda knew where she was, it was adjusted quite correctly. +They nodded to the head-dress, and the sashes, and the necklaces and +bracelets, and forthwith they all arranged themselves. Last of all, they +nodded to the dearest, sweetest little pair of high-heeled shoes +imaginable—all silver, and blue, and gold, and scarlet, and everything +mixed up together, <i>only</i> they were rather a stumpy shape about the +toes, and Griselda's bare feet were encased in them, and, to her +surprise, quite comfortably so.</p> + +<p>"They don't hurt me a bit," she said aloud; "yet they didn't look the +least the shape of my foot."</p> + +<p>But her attendants only nodded; and turning round, she saw the cuckoo +waiting for her. He did not speak either, rather to her annoyance, but +gravely led the way through one grand room after another to the grandest +of all, where the entertainment was evidently just about to begin. And +everywhere there were mandarins, rows and rows, who all set to work +nodding as fast as Griselda appeared. She began to be rather tired of +royal salutes, and was glad when, at last, in profound silence, the +procession, consisting of the cuckoo and herself, and about half a dozen +"mandarins," came to a halt before a kind of daïs, or raised seat, at +the end of the hall.</p> + +<p>Upon this daïs stood a chair—a throne of some kind, Griselda supposed +it to be—and upon this was seated the grandest and gravest personage +she had yet seen.</p> + +<p>"Is he the king of the mandarins?" she whispered. But the cuckoo did not +reply; and before she had time to repeat the question, the very grand +and grave person got down from his seat, and coming towards her, offered +her his hand, at the same time nodding—first once, then two or three +times together, then once again. Griselda seemed to know what he meant. +He was asking her to dance.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she said. "I can't dance <i>very</i> well, but perhaps you won't +mind."</p> + +<p>The king, if that was his title, took not the slightest notice of her +reply, but nodded again—once, then two or three times together, then +once alone, just as before. Griselda did not know what to do, when +suddenly she felt something poking her head. It was the cuckoo—he had +lifted his claw, and was tapping her head to make her nod. So she +nodded—once, twice together, then once—that appeared to be enough. The +king nodded once again; an invisible band suddenly struck up the +loveliest music, and off they set to the places of honour reserved for +them in the centre of the room, where all the mandarins were assembling.</p> + +<p>What a dance that was! It began like a minuet and ended something like +the hay-makers. Griselda had not the least idea what the figures or +steps were, but it did not matter. If she did not know, her shoes or +something about her did; for she got on famously. The music was +lovely—"so the mandarins can't be deaf, though they are dumb," thought +Griselda, "which is one good thing about them." The king seemed to enjoy +it as much as she did, though he never smiled or laughed; any one could +have seen he liked it by the way he whirled and twirled himself about. +And between the figures, when they stopped to rest for a little, +Griselda got on very well too. There was no conversation, or rather, if +there was, it was all nodding.</p> + +<p>So Griselda nodded too, and though she did not know what her nods meant, +the king seemed to understand and be quite pleased; and when they had +nodded enough, the music struck up again, and off they set, harder than +before.</p> + +<p>And every now and then tiny little mandariny boys appeared with trays +filled with the most delicious fruits and sweetmeats. Griselda was not a +greedy child, but for once in her life she really <i>did</i> feel rather so. +I cannot possibly describe these delicious things; just think of +whatever in all your life was the most "lovely" thing you ever eat, and +you may be sure they tasted like that. Only the cuckoo would not eat +any, which rather distressed Griselda. He walked about among the +dancers, apparently quite at home; and the mandarins did not seem at all +surprised to see him, though he did look rather odd, being nearly, if +not quite, as big as any of them. Griselda hoped he was enjoying +himself, considering that she had to thank him for all the fun <i>she</i> was +having, but she felt a little conscience-stricken when she saw that he +wouldn't eat anything.</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo," she whispered; she dared not talk out loud—it would have +seemed so remarkable, you see. "Cuckoo," she said, very, very softly, "I +wish you would eat something. You'll be so tired and hungry."</p> + +<p>"No, thank you," said the cuckoo; and you can't think how pleased +Griselda was at having succeeded in making him speak. "It isn't my way. +I hope you are enjoying yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>very</i> much," said Griselda. "I——"</p> + +<p>"Hush!" said the cuckoo; and looking up, Griselda saw a number of +mandarins, in a sort of procession, coming their way.</p> + +<p>When they got up to the cuckoo they set to work nodding, two or three at +a time, more energetically than usual. When they stopped, the cuckoo +nodded in return, and then hopped off towards the middle of the room.</p> + +<p>"They're very fond of good music, you see," he whispered as he passed +Griselda; "and they don't often get it."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3>PICTURES.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>"And she is always beautiful,</p> +<p class="i2">And always is eighteen!"</p> +</div></div> + + +<p>When he got to the middle of the room the cuckoo cleared his throat, +flapped his wings, and began to sing. Griselda was quite astonished. She +had had no idea that her friend was so accomplished. It wasn't +"cuckooing" at all; it was real singing, like that of the nightingale or +the thrush, or like something prettier than either. It made Griselda +think of woods in summer, and of tinkling brooks flowing through them, +with the pretty brown pebbles sparkling up through the water; and then +it made her think of something sad—she didn't know what; perhaps it +was of the babes in the wood and the robins covering them up with +leaves—and then again, in a moment, it sounded as if all the merry +elves and sprites that ever were heard of had escaped from fairyland, +and were rolling over and over with peals of rollicking laughter. And at +last, all of a sudden, the song came to an end.</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo!" rang out three times, clear and shrill. The +cuckoo flapped his wings, made a bow to the mandarins, and retired to +his old corner.</p> + +<p>There was no buzz of talk, as is usual after a performance has come to a +close, but there was a great buzz of nodding, and Griselda, wishing to +give the cuckoo as much praise as she could, nodded as hard as any of +them. The cuckoo really looked quite shy at receiving so much applause. +But in a minute or two the music struck up and the dancing began +again—one, two, three: it seemed a sort of mazurka this time, which +suited the mandarins very well, as it gave them a chance of nodding to +mark the time.</p> + +<p>Griselda had once learnt the mazurka, so she got on even better than +before—only she would have liked it more if her shoes had had sharper +toes; they looked so stumpy when she tried to point them. All the same, +it was very good fun, and she was not too well pleased when she suddenly +felt the little sharp tap of the cuckoo on her head, and heard him +whisper—</p> + +<p>"Griselda, it's time to go."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear, why?" she asked. "I'm not a bit tired. Why need we go yet?"</p> + +<p>"Obeying orders," said the cuckoo; and after that, Griselda dared not +say another word. It was very nearly as bad as being told she had a +great deal to learn.</p> + +<p>"Must I say good-bye to the king and all the people?" she inquired; but +before the cuckoo had time to answer, she gave a little squeal. "Oh, +cuckoo," she cried, "you've trod on my foot."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," said the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>"I must take off my shoe; it does so hurt," she went on.</p> + +<p>"Take it off, then," said the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>Griselda stooped to take off her shoe. "Are we going home in the pal—?" +she began to say; but she never finished the sentence, for just as she +had got her shoe off she felt the cuckoo throw something round her. It +was the feather mantle.</p> + +<p>And Griselda knew nothing more till she opened her eyes the next +morning, and saw the first early rays of sunshine peeping in through the +chinks of the closed shutters of her little bedroom.</p> + +<p>She rubbed her eyes, and sat up in bed. Could it have been a dream?</p> + +<p>"What could have made me fall asleep so all of a sudden?" she thought. +"I wasn't the least sleepy at the mandarins' ball. What fun it was! I +believe that cuckoo made me fall asleep on purpose to make me fancy it +was a dream. <i>Was</i> it a dream?"</p> + +<p>She began to feel confused and doubtful, when suddenly she felt +something hurting her arm, like a little lump in the bed. She felt with +her hand to see if she could smooth it away, and drew out—one of the +shoes belonging to her court dress! The very one she had held in her +hand at the moment the cuckoo spirited her home again to bed.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Mr. Cuckoo!" she exclaimed, "you meant to play me a trick, but you +haven't succeeded, you see."</p> + +<p>She jumped out of bed and unfastened one of the window-shutters, then +jumped in again to admire the little shoe in comfort. It was even +prettier than she had thought it at the ball. She held it up and looked +at it. It was about the size of the first joint of her little finger. +"To think that I should have been dancing with you on last night!" she +said to the shoe. "And yet the cuckoo says being big or little is all a +matter of fancy. I wonder what he'll think of to amuse me next?"</p> + +<p>She was still holding up the shoe and admiring it when Dorcas came with +the hot water.</p> + +<p>"Look, Dorcas," she said.</p> + +<p>"Bless me, it's one of the shoes off the Chinese dolls in the saloon," +exclaimed the old servant. "How ever did you get that, missie? Your +aunts wouldn't be pleased."</p> + +<p>"It just isn't one of the Chinese dolls' shoes, and if you don't believe +me, you can go and look for yourself," said Griselda. "It's my very own +shoe, and it was given me to my own self."</p> + +<p>Dorcas looked at her curiously, but said no more, only as she was going +out of the room Griselda heard her saying something about "so very like +Miss Sybilla."</p> + +<p>"I wonder what 'Miss Sybilla' <i>was</i> like?" thought Griselda. "I have a +good mind to ask the cuckoo. He seems to have known her very well."</p> + +<p>It was not for some days that Griselda had a chance of asking the cuckoo +anything. She saw and heard nothing of him—nothing, that is to say, but +his regular appearance to tell the hours as usual.</p> + +<p>"I suppose," thought Griselda, "he thinks the mandarins' ball was fun +enough to last me a good while. It really was very good-natured of him +to take me to it, so I mustn't grumble."</p> + +<p>A few days after this poor Griselda caught cold. It was not a very bad +cold, I must confess, but her aunts made rather a fuss about it. They +wanted her to stay in bed, but to this Griselda so much objected that +they did not insist upon it.</p> + +<p>"It would be so dull," she said piteously. "Please let me stay in the +ante-room, for all my things are there; and, then, there's the cuckoo."</p> + +<p>Aunt Grizzel smiled at this, and Griselda got her way. But even in the +ante-room it was rather dull. Miss Grizzel and Miss Tabitha were obliged +to go out, to drive all the way to Merrybrow Hall, as Lady Lavander sent +a messenger to say that she had an attack of influenza, and wished to +see her friends at once.</p> + +<p>Miss Tabitha began to cry—she was so tender-hearted.</p> + +<p>"Troubles never come singly," said Miss Grizzel, by way of consolation.</p> + +<p>"No, indeed, they never come singly," said Miss Tabitha, shaking her +head and wiping her eyes.</p> + +<p>So off they set; and Griselda, in her arm-chair by the ante-room fire, +with some queer little old-fashioned books of her aunts', which she had +already read more than a dozen times, beside her by way of amusement, +felt that there was one comfort in her troubles—she had escaped the +long weary drive to her godmother's.</p> + +<p>But it was very dull. It got duller and duller. Griselda curled herself +up in her chair, and wished she could go to sleep, though feeling quite +sure she couldn't, for she had stayed in bed much later than usual this +morning, and had been obliged to spend the time in sleeping, for want of +anything better to do.</p> + +<p>She looked up at the clock.</p> + +<p>"I don't know even what to wish for," she said to herself. "I don't feel +the least inclined to play at anything, and I shouldn't care to go to +the mandarins again. Oh, cuckoo, cuckoo, I am so dull; couldn't you +think of anything to amuse me?"</p> + +<p>It was not near "any o'clock." But after waiting a minute or two, it +seemed to Griselda that she heard the soft sound of "coming" that always +preceded the cuckoo's appearance. She was right. In another moment she +heard his usual greeting, "Cuckoo, cuckoo!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, cuckoo!" she exclaimed, "I am so glad you have come at last. I <i>am</i> +so dull, and it has nothing to do with lessons this time. It's that I've +got such a bad cold, and my head's aching, and I'm so tired of reading, +all by myself."</p> + +<p>"What would you like to do?" said the cuckoo. "You don't want to go to +see the mandarins again?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no; I couldn't dance."</p> + +<p>"Or the mermaids down under the sea?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear, no," said Griselda, with a little shiver, "it would be far +too cold. I would just like to stay where I am, if some one would tell +me stories. I'm not even sure that I could listen to stories. What could +you do to amuse me, cuckoo?"</p> + +<p>"Would you like to see some pictures?" said the cuckoo. "I could show +you pictures without your taking any trouble."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, that would be beautiful," cried Griselda. "What pictures will +you show me? Oh, I know. I would like to see the place where you were +born—where that very, very clever man made you and the clock, I mean."</p> + +<p>"Your great-great-grandfather," said the cuckoo. "Very well. Now, +Griselda, shut your eyes. First of all, I am going to sing."</p> + +<p>Griselda shut her eyes, and the cuckoo began his song. It was something +like what he had sung at the mandarins' palace, only even more +beautiful. It was so soft and dreamy, Griselda felt as if she could have +sat there for ever, listening to it.</p> + +<p>The first notes were low and murmuring. Again they made Griselda think +of little rippling brooks in summer, and now and then there came a sort +of hum as of insects buzzing in the warm sunshine near. This humming +gradually increased, till at last Griselda was conscious of nothing +more—<i>everything</i> seemed to be humming, herself too, till at last she +fell asleep.</p> + +<p>When she opened her eyes, the ante-room and everything in it, except the +arm-chair on which she was still curled up, had disappeared—melted away +into a misty cloud all round her, which in turn gradually faded, till +before her she saw a scene quite new and strange. It was the first of +the cuckoo's "pictures."</p> + +<p>An old, quaint room, with a high, carved mantelpiece, and a bright fire +sparkling in the grate. It was not a pretty room—it had more the look +of a workshop of some kind; but it was curious and interesting. All +round, the walls were hung with clocks and strange mechanical toys. +There was a fiddler slowly fiddling, a gentleman and lady gravely +dancing a minuet, a little man drawing up water in a bucket out of a +glass vase in which gold fish were swimming about—all sorts of queer +figures; and the clocks were even queerer. There was one intended to +represent the sun, moon, and planets, with one face for the sun and +another for the moon, and gold and silver stars slowly circling round +them; there was another clock with a tiny trumpeter perched on a ledge +above the face, who blew a horn for the hours. I cannot tell you half +the strange and wonderful things there were.</p> + +<p>Griselda was so interested in looking at all these queer machines, that +she did not for some time observe the occupant of the room. And no +wonder; he was sitting in front of a little table, so perfectly still, +much more still than the un-living figures around him. He was examining, +with a magnifying glass, some small object he held in his hand, so +closely and intently that Griselda, forgetting she was only looking at a +"picture," almost held her breath for fear she should disturb him. He +was a very old man, his coat was worn and threadbare in several places, +looking as if he spent a great part of his life in one position. Yet he +did not look <i>poor</i>, and his face, when at last he lifted it, was mild +and intelligent and very earnest.</p> + +<p>While Griselda was watching him closely there came a soft tap at the +door, and a little girl danced into the room. The dearest little girl +you ever saw, and <i>so</i> funnily dressed! Her thick brown hair, rather +lighter than Griselda's, was tied in two long plaits down her back. She +had a short red skirt with silver braid round the bottom, and a white +chemisette with beautiful lace at the throat and wrists, and over that +again a black velvet bodice, also trimmed with silver. And she had a +great many trinkets, necklaces, and bracelets, and ear-rings, and a sort +of little silver coronet; no, it was not like a coronet, it was a band +with a square piece of silver fastened so as to stand up at each side of +her head something like a horse's blinkers, only they were not placed +over her eyes.</p> + +<p>She made quite a jingle as she came into the room, and the old man +looked up with a smile of pleasure.</p> + +<p>"Well, my darling, and are you all ready for your <i>fête</i>?" he said; and +though the language in which he spoke was quite strange to Griselda, she +understood his meaning perfectly well.</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear grandfather; and isn't my dress lovely?" said the child. "I +should be <i>so</i> happy if only you were coming too, and would get yourself +a beautiful velvet coat like Mynheer van Huyten."</p> + +<p>The old man shook his head.</p> + +<p>"I have no time for such things, my darling," he replied; "and besides, +I am too old. I must work—work hard to make money for my pet when I am +gone, that she may not be dependent on the bounty of those English +sisters."</p> + +<p>"But I won't care for money when you are gone, grandfather," said the +child, her eyes filling with tears. "I would rather just go on living in +this little house, and I am sure the neighbours would give me something +to eat, and then I could hear all your clocks ticking, and think of you. +I don't want you to sell all your wonderful things for money for me, +grandfather. They would remind me of you, and money wouldn't."</p> + +<p>"Not all, Sybilla, not all," said the old man. "The best of all, the +<i>chef-d'oeuvre</i> of my life, shall not be sold. It shall be yours, and +you will have in your possession a clock that crowned heads might seek +in vain to purchase."</p> + +<p>His dim old eyes brightened, and for a moment he sat erect and strong.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean the cuckoo clock?" said Sybilla, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes, my darling, the cuckoo clock, the crowning work of my life—a +clock that shall last long after I, and perhaps thou, my pretty child, +are crumbling into dust; a clock that shall last to tell my +great-grandchildren to many generations that the old Dutch mechanic was +not altogether to be despised."</p> + +<p>Sybilla sprang into his arms.</p> + +<p>"You are not to talk like that, little grandfather," she said. "I shall +teach my children and my grandchildren to be so proud of you—oh, so +proud!—as proud as I am of you, little grandfather."</p> + +<p>"Gently, my darling," said the old man, as he placed carefully on the +table the delicate piece of mechanism he held in his hand, and tenderly +embraced the child. "Kiss me once again, my pet, and then thou must go; +thy little friends will be waiting."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>As he said these words the mist slowly gathered, again before Griselda's +eyes—the first of the cuckoo's pictures faded from her sight.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>When she looked again the scene was changed, but this time it was not a +strange one, though Griselda had gazed at it for some moments before +she recognized it. It was the great saloon, but it looked very +different from what she had ever seen it. Forty years or so make a +difference in rooms as well as in people!</p> + +<p>The faded yellow damask hangings were rich and brilliant. There were +bouquets of lovely flowers arranged about the tables; wax lights were +sending out their brightness in every direction, and the room was filled +with ladies and gentlemen in gay attire.</p> + +<p>Among them, after a time, Griselda remarked two ladies, no longer very +young, but still handsome and stately, and something whispered to her +that they were her two aunts, Miss Grizzel and Miss Tabitha.</p> + +<p>"Poor aunts!" she said softly to herself; "how old they have grown since +then."</p> + +<p>But she did not long look at them; her attention was attracted by a much +younger lady—a mere girl she seemed, but oh, so sweet and pretty! She +was dancing with a gentleman whose eyes looked as if they saw no one +else, and she herself seemed brimming over with youth and happiness. Her +very steps had joy in them.</p> + +<p>"Well, Griselda," whispered a voice, which she knew was the cuckoo's; +"so you don't like to be told you are like your grandmother, eh?"</p> + +<p>Griselda turned round sharply to look for the speaker, but he was not to +be seen. And when she turned again, the picture of the great saloon had +faded away.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>One more picture.</p> + +<p>Griselda looked again. She saw before her a country road in full summer +time; the sun was shining, the birds were singing, the trees covered +with their bright green leaves—everything appeared happy and joyful. +But at last in the distance she saw, slowly approaching, a group of a +few people, all walking together, carrying in their centre something +long and narrow, which, though the black cloth covering it was almost +hidden by the white flowers with which it was thickly strewn, Griselda +knew to be a coffin.</p> + +<p>It was a funeral procession, and in the place of chief mourner, with +pale, set face, walked the same young man whom Griselda had last seen +dancing with the girl Sybilla in the great saloon.</p> + +<p>The sad group passed slowly out of sight; but as it disappeared there +fell upon the ear the sounds of sweet music, lovelier far than she had +heard before—lovelier than the magic cuckoo's most lovely songs—and +somehow, in the music, it seemed to the child's fancy there were mingled +the soft strains of a woman's voice.</p> + +<p>"It is Sybilla singing," thought Griselda dreamily, and with that she +fell asleep again.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>When she woke she was in the arm-chair by the ante-room fire, +everything around her looking just as usual, the cuckoo clock ticking +away calmly and regularly. Had it been a dream only? Griselda could not +make up her mind.</p> + +<p>"But I don't see that it matters if it was," she said to herself. "If it +was a dream, the cuckoo sent it to me all the same, and I thank you very +much indeed, cuckoo," she went on, looking up at the clock. "The last +picture was rather sad, but still it was very nice to see it, and I +thank you very much, and I'll never say again that I don't like to be +told I'm like my dear pretty grandmother."</p> + +<p>The cuckoo took no notice of what she said, but Griselda did not mind. +She was getting used to his "ways."</p> + +<p>"I expect he hears me quite well," she thought; "and even if he doesn't, +it's only civil to <i>try</i> to thank him."</p> + +<p>She sat still contentedly enough, thinking over</p> + +<a name="AUNTS" id="AUNTS"></a> +<div class="center"> + <img src="images/04.png" + alt="MY AUNTS MUST HAVE COME BACK!" title="MY AUNTS MUST HAVE COME BACK!" /> +</div> +<h4>MY AUNTS MUST HAVE COME BACK!</h4> +<div class='noindent'>what she had seen, and trying to make more "pictures" for herself in +the fire. Then there came faintly to her ears the sound of carriage +wheels, opening and shutting of doors, a little bustle of arrival. +</div> + +<p>"My aunts must have come back," thought Griselda; and so it was. In a +few minutes Miss Grizzel, closely followed by Miss Tabitha, appeared at +the ante-room door.</p> + +<p>"Well, my love," said Miss Grizzel anxiously, "and how are you? Has the +time seemed very long while we were away?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no, thank you, Aunt Grizzel," replied Griselda, "not at all. I've +been quite happy, and my cold's ever so much better, and my headache's +<i>quite</i> gone."</p> + +<p>"Come, that is good news," said Miss Grizzel. "Not that I'm exactly +<i>surprised</i>," she continued, turning to Miss Tabitha, "for there really +is nothing like tansy tea for a feverish cold."</p> + +<p>"Nothing," agreed Miss Tabitha; "there really is nothing like it."</p> + +<p>"Aunt Grizzel," said Griselda, after a few moments' silence, "was my +grandmother quite young when she died?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my love, very young," replied Miss Grizzel with a change in her +voice.</p> + +<p>"And was her husband <i>very</i> sorry?" pursued Griselda.</p> + +<p>"Heart-broken," said Miss Grizzel. "He did not live long after, and then +you know, my dear, your father was sent to us to take care of. And now +he has sent <i>you</i>—the third generation of young creatures confided to +our care."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Griselda. "My grandmother died in the summer, when all the +flowers were out; and she was buried in a pretty country place, wasn't +she?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Miss Grizzel, looking rather bewildered.</p> + +<p>"And when she was a little girl she lived with her grandfather, the old +Dutch mechanic," continued Griselda, unconsciously using the very words +she had heard in her vision. "He was a nice old man; and how clever of +him to have made the cuckoo clock, and such lots of other pretty, +wonderful things. I don't wonder little Sybilla loved him; he was so +good to her. But, oh, Aunt Grizzel, <i>how</i> pretty she was when she was a +young lady! That time that she danced with my grandfather in the great +saloon. And how very nice you and Aunt Tabitha looked then, too."</p> + +<p>Miss Grizzel held her very breath in astonishment; and no doubt if Miss +Tabitha had known she was doing so, she would have held hers too. But +Griselda lay still, gazing at the fire, quite unconscious of her aunt's +surprise.</p> + +<p>"Your papa told you all these old stories, I suppose, my dear," said +Miss Grizzel at last.</p> + +<p>"Oh no," said Griselda dreamily. "Papa never told me anything like +that. Dorcas told me a very little, I think; at least, she made me want +to know, and I asked the cuckoo, and then, you see, he showed me it all. +It was so pretty."</p> + +<p>Miss Grizzel glanced at her sister.</p> + +<p>"Tabitha, my dear," she said in a low voice, "do you hear?"</p> + +<p>And Miss Tabitha, who really was not very deaf when she set herself to +hear, nodded in awestruck silence.</p> + +<p>"Tabitha," continued Miss Grizzel in the same tone, "it is wonderful! +Ah, yes, how true it is, Tabitha, that 'there are more things in heaven +and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy'" (for Miss Grizzel was a +well-read old lady, you see); "and from the very first, Tabitha, we +always had a feeling that the child was strangely like Sybilla."</p> + +<p>"Strangely like Sybilla," echoed Miss Tabitha.</p> + +<p>"May she grow up as good, if not quite as beautiful—<i>that</i> we could +scarcely expect; and may she be longer spared to those that love her," +added Miss Grizzel, bending over Griselda, while two or three tears +slowly trickled down her aged cheeks. "See, Tabitha, the dear child is +fast asleep. How sweet she looks! I trust by to-morrow morning she will +be quite herself again: her cold is so much better."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3>RUBBED THE WRONG WAY.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>"For now and then there comes a day</p> +<p>When everything goes wrong."</p> +</div></div> + +<p>Griselda's cold <i>was</i> much better by "to-morrow morning." In fact, I +might almost say it was quite well.</p> + +<p>But Griselda herself did not feel quite well, and saying this reminds me +that it is hardly sense to speak of a <i>cold</i> being better or well—for a +cold's being "well" means that it is not there at all, out of existence, +in short, and if a thing is out of existence how can we say anything +about it? Children, I feel quite in a hobble—I cannot get my mind +straight about it—please think it over and give me your opinion. In +the meantime, I will go on about Griselda.</p> + +<p>She felt just a little ill—a sort of feeling that sometimes is rather +nice, sometimes "very extremely" much the reverse! She felt in the +humour for being petted, and having beef-tea, and jelly, and sponge cake +with her tea, and for a day or two this was all very well. She <i>was</i> +petted, and she had lots of beef-tea, and jelly, and grapes, and sponge +cakes, and everything nice, for her aunts, as you must have seen by this +time, were really very, very kind to her in every way in which they +understood how to be so.</p> + +<p>But after a few days of the continued petting, and the beef-tea and the +jelly and all the rest of it, it occurred to Miss Grizzel, who had a +good large bump of "common sense," that it might be possible to overdo +this sort of thing.</p> + +<p>"Tabitha," she said to her sister, when they were sitting together in +the evening after Griselda had gone to bed, "Tabitha, my dear, I think +the child is quite well again now. It seems to me it would be well to +send a note to good Mr. Kneebreeches, to say that she will be able to +resume her studies the day after to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"The day after to-morrow," repeated Miss Tabitha. "The day after +to-morrow—to say that she will be able to resume her studies the day +after to-morrow—oh yes, certainly. It would be very well to send a note +to good Mr. Kneebreeches, my dear Grizzel."</p> + +<p>"I thought you would agree with me," said Miss Grizzel, with a sigh of +relief (as if poor Miss Tabitha during all the last half-century had +ever ventured to do anything else), getting up to fetch her writing +materials as she spoke. "It is such a satisfaction to consult together +about what we do. I was only a little afraid of being hard upon the +child, but as you agree with me, I have no longer any misgiving."</p> + +<p>"Any misgiving, oh dear, no!" said Miss Tabitha. "You have no reason +for any misgiving, I am sure, my dear Grizzel."</p> + +<p>So the note was written and despatched, and the next morning when, about +twelve o'clock, Griselda made her appearance in the little drawing-room +where her aunts usually sat, looking, it must be confessed, very plump +and rosy for an invalid, Miss Grizzel broached the subject.</p> + +<p>"I have written to request Mr. Kneebreeches to resume his instructions +to-morrow," she said quietly. "I think you are quite well again now, so +Dorcas must wake you at your usual hour."</p> + +<p>Griselda had been settling herself comfortably on a corner of the sofa. +She had got a nice book to read, which her father, hearing of her +illness, had sent her by post, and she was looking forward to the +tempting plateful of jelly which Dorcas had brought her for luncheon +every day since she had been ill. Altogether, she was feeling very +"lazy-easy" and contented. Her aunt's announcement felt like a sudden +downpour of cold water, or rush of east wind. She sat straight up in her +sofa, and exclaimed in a tone of great annoyance—</p> + +<p>"<i>Oh</i>, Aunt Grizzel!"</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear?" said Miss Grizzel, placidly.</p> + +<p>"I <i>wish</i> you wouldn't make me begin lessons again just yet. I <i>know</i> +they'll make my head ache again, and Mr. Kneebreeches will be <i>so</i> +cross. I know he will, and he is so horrid when he is cross."</p> + +<p>"Hush!" said Miss Grizzel, holding up her hand in a way that reminded +Griselda of the cuckoo's favourite "obeying orders." Just then, too, in +the distance the ante-room clock struck twelve. "Cuckoo! cuckoo! +cuckoo!" on it went. Griselda could have stamped with irritation, but +<i>somehow</i>, in spite of herself, she felt compelled to say nothing. She +muttered some not very pretty words, coiled herself round on the sofa, +opened her book, and began to read.</p> + +<p>But it was not as interesting as she had expected. She had not read many +pages before she began to yawn, and she was delighted to be interrupted +by Dorcas and the jelly.</p> + +<p>But the jelly was not as nice as she had expected, either. She tasted +it, and thought it was too sweet; and when she tasted it again, it +seemed too strong of cinnamon; and the third taste seemed too strong of +everything. She laid down her spoon, and looked about her +discontentedly.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter, my dear?" said Miss Grizzel. "Is the jelly not to +your liking?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Griselda shortly. She ate a few spoonfuls, and then +took up her book again. Miss Grizzel said nothing more, but to herself +she thought that Mr. Kneebreeches had not been recalled any too soon.</p> + +<p>All day long it was much the same. Nothing seemed to come right to +Griselda. It was a dull, cold day, what is called "a black frost;" not a +bright, clear, <i>pretty</i>, cold day, but the sort of frost that really +makes the world seem dead—makes it almost impossible to believe that +there will ever be warmth and sound and "growing-ness" again.</p> + +<p>Late in the afternoon Griselda crept up to the ante-room, and sat down +by the window. Outside it was nearly dark, and inside it was not much +more cheerful—for the fire was nearly out, and no lamps were lighted; +only the cuckoo clock went on tick-ticking briskly as usual.</p> + +<p>"I hate winter," said Griselda, pressing her cold little face against +the colder window-pane, "I hate winter, and I hate lessons. I would give +up being a <i>person</i> in a minute if I might be a—a—what would I best +like to be? Oh yes, I know—a butterfly. Butterflies never see winter, +and they <i>certainly</i> never have any lessons or any kind of work to do. I +hate <i>must</i>-ing to do anything."</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo," rang out suddenly above her head.</p> + +<p>It was only four o'clock striking, and as soon as he had told it the +cuckoo was back behind his doors again in an instant, just as usual. +There was nothing for Griselda to feel offended at, but somehow she got +quite angry.</p> + +<p>"I don't care what you think, cuckoo!" she exclaimed defiantly. "I know +you came out on purpose just now, but I don't care. I <i>do</i> hate winter, +and I <i>do</i> hate lessons, and I <i>do</i> think it would be nicer to be a +butterfly than a little girl."</p> + +<p>In her secret heart I fancy she was half in hopes that the cuckoo would +come out again, and talk things over with her. Even if he were to scold +her, she felt that it would be better than sitting there alone with +nobody to speak to, which was very dull work indeed. At the bottom of +her conscience there lurked the knowledge that what she <i>should</i> be +doing was to be looking over her last lessons with Mr. Kneebreeches, and +refreshing her memory for the next day; but, alas! knowing one's duty is +by no means the same thing as doing it, and Griselda sat on by the +window doing nothing but grumble and work herself up into a belief that +she was one of the most-to-be-pitied little girls in all the world. So +that by the time Dorcas came to call her to tea, I doubt if she had a +single pleasant thought or feeling left in her heart.</p> + +<p>Things grew no better after tea, and before long Griselda asked if she +might go to bed. She was "so tired," she said; and she certainly looked +so, for ill-humour and idleness are excellent "tirers," and will soon +take the roses out of a child's cheeks, and the brightness out of her +eyes. She held up her face to be kissed by her aunts in a meekly +reproachful way, which made the old ladies feel quite uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>"I am by no means sure that I have done right in recalling Mr. +Kneebreeches so soon, Sister Tabitha," remarked Miss Grizzel, uneasily, +when Griselda had left the room. But Miss Tabitha was busy counting her +stitches, and did not give full attention to Miss Grizzel's observation, +so she just repeated placidly, "Oh yes, Sister Grizzel, you may be sure +you have done right in recalling Mr. Kneebreeches."</p> + +<p>"I am glad you think so," said Miss Tabitha, with again a little sigh of +relief. "I was only distressed to see the child looking so white and +tired."</p> + +<p>Upstairs Griselda was hurry-scurrying into bed. There was a lovely fire +in her room—fancy that! Was she not a poor neglected little creature? +But even this did not please her. She was too cross to be pleased with +anything; too cross to wash her face and hands, or let Dorcas brush her +hair out nicely as usual; too cross, alas, to say her prayers! She just +huddled into bed, huddling up her mind in an untidy hurry and confusion, +just as she left her clothes in an untidy heap on the floor. She would +not look into herself, was the truth of it; she shrank from doing so +because she <i>knew</i> things had been going on in that silly little heart +of hers in a most unsatisfactory way all day, and she wanted to go to +sleep and forget all about it.</p> + +<p>She did go to sleep, very quickly too. No doubt she really was tired; +tired with crossness and doing nothing, and she slept very soundly. When +she woke up she felt so refreshed and rested that she fancied it must be +morning. It was dark, of course, but that was to be expected in +mid-winter, especially as the shutters were closed.</p> + +<p>"I wonder," thought Griselda, "I wonder if it really <i>is</i> morning. I +should like to get up early—I went so early to bed. I think I'll just +jump out of bed and open a chink of the shutters. I'll see at once if +it's nearly morning, by the look of the sky."</p> + +<p>She was up in a minute, feeling her way across the room to the window, +and without much difficulty she found the hook of the shutters, +unfastened it, and threw one side open. Ah no, there was no sign of +morning to be seen. There was moonlight, but nothing else, and not so +very much of that, for the clouds were hurrying across the "orbèd +maiden's" face at such a rate, one after the other, that the light was +more like a number of pale flashes than the steady, cold shining of most +frosty moonlight nights. There was going to be a change of weather, and +the cloud armies were collecting together from all quarters; that was +the real explanation of the hurrying and skurrying Griselda saw +overhead, but this, of course, she did not understand. She only saw that +it looked wild and stormy, and she shivered a little, partly with cold, +partly with a half-frightened feeling that she could not have explained.</p> + +<p>"I had better go back to bed," she said to herself; "but I am not a bit +sleepy."</p> + +<p>She was just drawing-to the shutter again, when something caught her +eye, and she stopped short in surprise. A little bird was outside on the +windowsill—a tiny bird crouching in close to the cold glass. +Griselda's kind heart was touched in an instant. Cold as she was, she +pushed back the shutter again, and drawing a chair forward to the +window, managed to unfasten it—it was not a very heavy one—and to open +it wide enough to slip her hand gently along to the bird. It did not +start or move.</p> + +<p>"Can it be dead?" thought Griselda anxiously.</p> + +<p>But no, it was not dead. It let her put her hand round it and draw it +in, and to her delight she felt that it was soft and warm, and it even +gave a gentle peck on her thumb.</p> + +<p>"Poor little bird, how cold you must be," she said kindly. But, to her +amazement, no sooner was the bird safely inside the room, than it +managed cleverly to escape from her hand. It fluttered quietly up on to +her shoulder, and sang out in a soft but cheery tone, "Cuckoo, +cuckoo—cold, did you say, Griselda? Not so very, thank you."</p> + +<p>Griselda stept back from the window.</p> + +<p>"It's <i>you</i>, is it?" she said rather surlily, her tone seeming to infer +that she had taken a great deal of trouble for nothing.</p> + +<p>"Of course it is, and why shouldn't it be? You're not generally so sorry +to see me. What's the matter?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing's the matter," replied Griselda, feeling a little ashamed of +her want of civility; "only, you see, if I had known it was <i>you</i>——" She +hesitated.</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't have clambered up and hurt your poor fingers in opening +the window if you had known it was me—is that it, eh?" said the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>Somehow, when the cuckoo said "eh?" like that, Griselda was obliged to +tell just what she was thinking.</p> + +<p>"No, I wouldn't have <i>needed</i> to open the window," she said. "<i>You</i> can +get in or out whenever you like; you're not like a real bird. Of +course, you were just tricking me, sitting out there and pretending to +be a starved robin."</p> + +<p>There was a little indignation in her voice, and she gave her head a +toss, which nearly upset the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>"Dear me, dear me!" exclaimed the cuckoo. "You have a great deal to +complain of, Griselda. Your time and strength must be very valuable for +you to regret so much having wasted a little of them on me."</p> + +<p>Griselda felt her face grow red. What did he mean? Did he know how +yesterday had been spent? She said nothing, but she drooped her head, +and one or two tears came slowly creeping up to her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Child!" said the cuckoo, suddenly changing his tone, "you are very +foolish. Is a kind thought or action <i>ever</i> wasted? Can your eyes see +what such good seeds grow into? They have wings, Griselda—kindnesses +have wings and roots, remember that—wings that never droop, and roots +that never die. What do you think I came and sat outside your window +for?"</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo," said Griselda humbly, "I am very sorry."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said the cuckoo, "we'll leave it for the present. I have +something else to see about. Are you cold, Griselda?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Very</i>," she replied. "I would very much like to go back to bed, +cuckoo, if you please; and there's plenty of room for you too, if you'd +like to come in and get warm."</p> + +<p>"There are other ways of getting warm besides going to bed," said the +cuckoo. "A nice brisk walk, for instance. I was going to ask you to come +out into the garden with me."</p> + +<p>Griselda almost screamed.</p> + +<p>"Out into the garden! <i>Oh</i>, cuckoo!" she exclaimed, "how can you think +of such a thing? Such a freezing cold night. Oh no, indeed, cuckoo, I +couldn't possibly."</p> + +<p>"Very well, Griselda," said the cuckoo; "if you haven't yet learnt to +trust me, there's no more to be said. Good-night."</p> + +<p>He flapped his wings, cried out "Cuckoo" once only, flew across the +room, and almost before Griselda understood what he was doing, had +disappeared.</p> + +<p>She hurried after him, stumbling against the furniture in her haste, and +by the uncertain light. The door was not open, but the cuckoo had got +through it—"by the keyhole, I dare say," thought Griselda; "he can +'scrooge' himself up any way"—for a faint "Cuckoo" was to be heard on +its other side. In a moment Griselda had opened it, and was speeding +down the long passage in the dark, guided only by the voice from time to +time heard before her, "Cuckoo, cuckoo."</p> + +<p>She forgot all about the cold, or rather, she did not feel it, though +the floor was of uncarpeted old oak, whose hard, polished surface would +have usually felt like ice to a child's soft, bare feet. It was a very +long passage, and to-night, somehow, it seemed longer than ever. In +fact, Griselda could have fancied she had been running along it for half +a mile or more, when at last she was brought to a standstill by finding +she could go no further. Where was she? She could not imagine! It must +be a part of the house she had never explored in the daytime, she +decided. In front of her was a little stair running downwards, and +ending in a doorway. All this Griselda could see by a bright light that +streamed in by the keyhole and through the chinks round the door—a +light so brilliant that the little girl blinked her eyes, and for a +moment felt quite dazzled and confused.</p> + +<p>"It came so suddenly," she said to herself; "some one must have lighted +a lamp in there all at once. But it can't be a lamp, it's too bright +for a lamp. It's more like the sun; but how ever could the sun be +shining in a room in the middle of the night? What shall I do? Shall I +open the door and peep in?"</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo, cuckoo," came the answer, soft but clear, from the other side.</p> + +<p>"Can it be a trick of the cuckoo's to get me out into the garden?" +thought Griselda; and for the first time since she had run out of her +room a shiver of cold made her teeth chatter and her skin feel creepy.</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo, cuckoo," sounded again, nearer this time, it seemed to +Griselda.</p> + +<p>"He's waiting for me. I <i>will</i> trust him," she said resolutely. "He has +always been good and kind, and it's horrid of me to think he's going to +trick me."</p> + +<p>She ran down the little stair, she seized the handle of the door. It +turned easily; the door opened—opened, and closed again noiselessly +behind her, and what do you think she saw?</p> + +<p>"Shut your eyes for a minute, Griselda," said the cuckoo's voice beside +her; "the light will dazzle you at first. Shut them, and I will brush +them with a little daisy dew, to strengthen them."</p> + +<p>Griselda did as she was told. She felt the tip of the cuckoo's softest +feather pass gently two or three times over her eyelids, and a delicious +scent seemed immediately to float before her.</p> + +<p>"I didn't know <i>daisies</i> had any scent," she remarked.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you didn't. You forget, Griselda, that you have a great——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, please don't, cuckoo. Please, please don't, <i>dear</i> cuckoo," she +exclaimed, dancing about with her hands clasped in entreaty, but her +eyes still firmly closed. "Don't say that, and I'll promise to believe +whatever you tell me. And how soon may I open my eyes, please, cuckoo?"</p> + +<p>"Turn round slowly, three times. That will give the dew time to take +effect," said the cuckoo. "Here goes—one—two—three. There, now."</p> + +<p>Griselda opened her eyes.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3>BUTTERFLY-LAND.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>"I'd be a butterfly."</p> +</div></div> + +<p>Griselda opened her eyes.</p> + +<p>What did she see?</p> + +<p>The loveliest, loveliest garden that ever or never a little girl's eyes +saw. As for describing it, I cannot. I must leave a good deal to your +fancy. It was just a <i>delicious</i> garden. There was a charming mixture of +all that is needed to make a garden perfect—grass, velvety lawn rather; +water, for a little brook ran tinkling in and out, playing bo-peep among +the bushes; trees, of course, and flowers, of course, flowers of every +shade and shape. But all these beautiful things Griselda did not at +first give as much attention to as they deserved; her eyes were so +occupied with a quite unusual sight that met them.</p> + +<p>This was butterflies! Not that butterflies are so very uncommon; but +butterflies, as Griselda saw them, I am quite sure, children, none of +you ever saw, or are likely to see. There were such enormous numbers of +them, and the variety of their colours and sizes was so great. They were +fluttering about everywhere; the garden seemed actually alive with them.</p> + +<p>Griselda stood for a moment in silent delight, feasting her eyes on the +lovely things before her, enjoying the delicious sunshine which kissed +her poor little bare feet, and seemed to wrap her all up in its warm +embrace. Then she turned to her little friend.</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo," she said, "I thank you <i>so</i> much. This <i>is</i> fairyland, at +last!"</p> + +<p>The cuckoo smiled, I was going to say, but that would be a figure of +speech only, would it not? He shook his head gently.</p> + +<p>"No, Griselda," he said kindly; "this is only butterfly-land."</p> + +<p>"<i>Butterfly</i>-land!" repeated Griselda, with a little disappointment in +her tone.</p> + +<p>"Well," said the cuckoo, "it's where you were wishing to be yesterday, +isn't it?"</p> + +<p>Griselda did not particularly like these allusions to "yesterday." She +thought it would be as well to change the subject.</p> + +<p>"It's a beautiful place, whatever it is," she said, "and I'm sure, +cuckoo, I'm <i>very</i> much obliged to you for bringing me here. Now may I +run about and look at everything? How delicious it is to feel the warm +sunshine again! I didn't know how cold I was. Look, cuckoo, my toes and +fingers are quite blue; they're only just beginning to come right again. +I suppose the sun always shines here. How nice it must be to be a +butterfly; don't you think so, cuckoo? Nothing to do but fly about."</p> + +<p>She stopped at last, quite out of breath.</p> + +<p>"Griselda," said the cuckoo, "if you want me to answer your questions, +you must ask them one at a time. You may run about and look at +everything if you like, but you had better not be in such a hurry. You +will make a great many mistakes if you are—you have made some already."</p> + +<p>"How?" said Griselda.</p> + +<p>"<i>Have</i> the butterflies nothing to do but fly about? Watch them."</p> + +<p>Griselda watched.</p> + +<p>"They do seem to be doing something," she said, at last, "but I can't +think what. They seem to be nibbling at the flowers, and then flying +away something like bees gathering honey. <i>Butterflies</i> don't gather +honey, cuckoo?"</p> + +<p>"No," said the cuckoo. "They are filling their paint-boxes."</p> + +<p>"What <i>do</i> you mean?" said Griselda.</p> + +<p>"Come and see," said the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>He flew quietly along in front of her, leading the way through the +prettiest paths in all the pretty garden. The paths were arranged in +different colours, as it were; that is to say, the flowers growing along +their sides were not all "mixty-maxty," but one shade after another in +regular order—from the palest blush pink to the very deepest damask +crimson; then, again, from the soft greenish blue of the small grass +forget-me-not to the rich warm tinge of the brilliant cornflower. +<i>Every</i> tint was there; shades, to which, though not exactly strange to +her, Griselda could yet have given no name, for the daisy dew, you see, +had sharpened her eyes to observe delicate variations of colour, as she +had never done before.</p> + +<p>"How beautifully the flowers are planned," she said to the cuckoo. "Is +it just to look pretty, or why?"</p> + +<p>"It saves time," replied the cuckoo. "The fetch-and-carry butterflies +know exactly where to go to for the tint the world-flower-painters +want."</p> + +<p>"Who are the fetch-and-carry butterflies, and who are the +world-flower-painters?" asked Griselda.</p> + +<p>"Wait a bit and you'll see, and use your eyes," answered the cuckoo. +"It'll do your tongue no harm to have a rest now and then."</p> + +<p>Griselda thought it as well to take his advice, though not particularly +relishing the manner in which it was given. She did use her eyes, and as +she and the cuckoo made their way along the flower alleys, she saw that +the butterflies were never idle. They came regularly, in little parties +of twos and threes, and nibbled away, as she called it, at flowers of +the same colour but different shades, till they had got what they +wanted. Then off flew butterfly No. 1 with perhaps the palest tint of +maize, or yellow, or lavender, whichever he was in quest of, followed +by No. 2 with the next deeper shade of the same, and No. 3 bringing up +the rear.</p> + +<p>Griselda gave a little sigh.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" said the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>"They work very hard," she replied, in a melancholy tone.</p> + +<p>"It's a busy time of year," observed the cuckoo, drily.</p> + +<p>After a while they came to what seemed to be a sort of centre to the +garden. It was a huge glass house, with numberless doors, in and out of +which butterflies were incessantly flying—reminding Griselda again of +bees and a beehive. But she made no remark till the cuckoo spoke again.</p> + +<p>"Come in," he said.</p> + +<p>Griselda had to stoop a good deal, but she did manage to get in without +knocking her head or doing any damage. Inside was just a mass of +butterflies. A confused mass it seemed at first, but after a while she +saw that it was the very reverse of confused. The butterflies were all +settled in rows on long, narrow, white tables, and before each was a +tiny object about the size of a flattened-out pin's head, which he was +most carefully painting with one of his tentacles, which, from time to +time, he moistened by rubbing it on the head of a butterfly waiting +patiently behind him. Behind this butterfly again stood another, who +after a while took his place, while the first attendant flew away.</p> + +<p>"To fill his paint-box again," remarked the cuckoo, who seemed to read +Griselda's thoughts.</p> + +<p>"But what <i>are</i> they painting, cuckoo?" she inquired eagerly.</p> + +<p>"All the flowers in the world," replied the cuckoo. "Autumn, winter, and +spring, they're hard at work. It's only just for the three months of +summer that the butterflies have any holiday, and then a few stray ones +now and then wander up to the world, and people talk about 'idle +butterflies'! And even then it isn't true that they are idle. They go up +to take a look at the flowers, to see how their work has turned out, and +many a damaged petal they repair, or touch up a faded tint, though no +one ever knows it."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> know it now," said Griselda. "I will never talk about idle +butterflies again—never. But, cuckoo, do they paint all the flowers +<i>here</i>, too? What a <i>fearful</i> lot they must have to do!"</p> + +<p>"No," said the cuckoo; "the flowers down here are fairy flowers. They +never fade or die, they are always just as you see them. But the colours +of your flowers are all taken from them, as you have seen. Of course +they don't look the same up there," he went on, with a slight +contemptuous shrug of his cuckoo shoulders; "the coarse air and the ugly +things about must take the bloom off. The wild flowers do the best, to +my thinking; people don't meddle with them in their stupid, clumsy +way."</p> + +<p>"But how do they get the flowers sent up to the world, cuckoo?" asked +Griselda.</p> + +<p>"They're packed up, of course, and taken up at night when all of you are +asleep," said the cuckoo. "They're painted on elastic stuff, you see, +which fits itself as the plant grows. Why, if your eyes were as they are +usually, Griselda, you couldn't even <i>see</i> the petals the butterflies +are painting now."</p> + +<p>"And the packing up," said Griselda; "do the butterflies do that too?"</p> + +<p>"No," said the cuckoo, "the fairies look after that."</p> + +<p>"How wonderful!" exclaimed Griselda. But before the cuckoo had time to +say more a sudden tumult filled the air. It was butterfly dinner-time!</p> + +<p>"Are you hungry, Griselda?" said the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>"Not so very," replied Griselda.</p> + +<p>"It's just as well perhaps that you're not," he remarked, "for I don't +know that you'd be much the better for dinner here."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" inquired Griselda curiously. "What do they have for dinner? +Honey? I like that very well, spread on the top of bread-and-butter, of +course—I don't think I should care to eat it alone."</p> + +<p>"You won't get any honey," the cuckoo was beginning; but he was +interrupted. Two handsome butterflies flew into the great glass hall, +and making straight for the cuckoo, alighted on his shoulders. They +fluttered about him for a minute or two, evidently rather excited about +something, then flew away again, as suddenly as they had appeared.</p> + +<p>"Those were royal messengers," said the cuckoo, turning to Griselda. +"They have come with a message from the king and queen to invite us to +a banquet which is to be held in honour of your visit."</p> + +<p>"What fun!" cried Griselda. "Do let's go at once, cuckoo. But, oh dear +me," she went on, with a melancholy change of tone, "I was forgetting, +cuckoo. I can't go to the banquet. I have nothing on but my night-gown. +I never thought of it before, for I'm not a bit cold."</p> + +<p>"Never mind," said the cuckoo, "I'll soon have that put to rights."</p> + +<p>He flew off, and was back almost immediately, followed by a whole flock +of butterflies. They were of a smaller kind than Griselda had hitherto +seen, and they were of two colours only; half were blue, half yellow. +They flew up to Griselda, who felt for a moment as if she were really +going to be suffocated by them, but only for a moment. There seemed a +great buzz and flutter about her, and then the butterflies set to work +to <i>dress</i> her. And how do you think they dressed her? With <i>them</i>-</p> + +<a name="QUEEN" id="QUEEN"></a> +<div class="center"> + <img src="images/05.png" + alt="SHE LOOKED LIKE A FAIRY QUEEN." title="SHE LOOKED LIKE A FAIRY QUEEN." /> +</div> +<h4>SHE LOOKED LIKE A FAIRY QUEEN.</h4> +<div class='noindent'> +-<i>selves</i>! They arranged themselves all over her in the cleverest way. +One set of blue ones clustered round the hem of her little white +night-gown, making a thick "<i>rûche</i>," as it were; and then there came +two or three thinner rows of yellow, and then blue again. Round her +waist they made the loveliest belt of mingled blue and yellow, and all +over the upper part of her night-gown, in and out among the pretty white +frills which Dorcas herself "goffered," so nicely, they made themselves +into fantastic trimmings of every shape and kind; bows, rosettes—I +cannot tell you what they did not imitate.</div> + +<p>Perhaps the prettiest ornament of all was the coronet or wreath they +made of themselves for her head, dotting over her curly brown hair too +with butterfly spangles, which quivered like dew-drops as she moved +about. No one would have known Griselda; she looked like a fairy queen, +or princess, at least, for even her little white feet had what <i>looked</i> +like butterfly shoes upon them, though these, you will understand, were +only a sort of make-believe, as, of course, the shoes were soleless.</p> + +<p>"Now," said the cuckoo, when at last all was quiet again, and every blue +and every yellow butterfly seemed settled in his place, "now, Griselda, +come and look at yourself."</p> + +<p>He led the way to a marble basin, into which fell the waters of one of +the tinkling brooks that were to be found everywhere about the garden, +and bade Griselda look into the water mirror. It danced about rather; +but still she was quite able to see herself. She peered in with great +satisfaction, turning herself round so as to see first over one +shoulder, then over the other.</p> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> lovely," she said at last. "But, cuckoo, I'm just thinking—how +shall I possibly be able to sit down without crushing ever so many?"</p> + +<p>"Bless you, you needn't trouble about that," said the cuckoo; "the +butterflies are quite able to take care of themselves. You don't suppose +you are the first little girl they have ever made a dress for?"</p> + +<p>Griselda said no more, but followed the cuckoo, walking rather +"gingerly," notwithstanding his assurances that the butterflies could +take care of themselves. At last the cuckoo stopped, in front of a sort +of banked-up terrace, in the centre of which grew a strange-looking +plant with large, smooth, spreading-out leaves, and on the two topmost +leaves, their splendid wings glittering in the sunshine, sat two +magnificent butterflies. They were many times larger than any Griselda +had yet seen; in fact, the cuckoo himself looked rather small beside +them, and they were <i>so</i> beautiful that Griselda felt quite over-awed. +You could not have said what colour they were, for at the faintest +movement they seemed to change into new colours, each more exquisite +than the last. Perhaps I could best give you an idea of them by saying +that they were like living rainbows.</p> + +<p>"Are those the king and queen?" asked Griselda in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the cuckoo. "Do you admire them?"</p> + +<p>"I should rather think I did," said Griselda. "But, cuckoo, do they +never do anything but lie there in the sunshine?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you silly girl," exclaimed the cuckoo, "always jumping at +conclusions. No, indeed, that is not how they manage things in +butterfly-land. The king and queen have worked harder than any other +butterflies. They are chosen every now and then, out of all the others, +as being the most industrious and the cleverest of all the +world-flower-painters, and then they are allowed to rest, and are fed on +the finest essences, so that they grow as splendid as you see. But even +now they are not idle; they superintend all the work that is done, and +choose all the new colours."</p> + +<p>"Dear me!" said Griselda, under her breath, "how clever they must be."</p> + +<p>Just then the butterfly king and queen stretched out their magnificent +wings, and rose upwards, soaring proudly into the air.</p> + +<p>"Are they going away?" said Griselda in a disappointed tone.</p> + +<p>"Oh no," said the cuckoo; "they are welcoming you. Hold out your hands."</p> + +<p>Griselda held out her hands, and stood gazing up into the sky. In a +minute or two the royal butterflies appeared again, slowly, majestically +circling downwards, till at length they alighted on Griselda's little +hands, the king on the right, the queen on the left, almost covering her +fingers with their great dazzling wings.</p> + +<p>"You <i>do</i> look nice now," said the cuckoo, hopping back a few steps and +looking up at Griselda approvingly; "but it's time for the feast to +begin, as it won't do for us to be late."</p> + +<p>The king and queen appeared to understand. They floated away from +Griselda's hands and settled themselves, this time, at one end of a +beautiful little grass plot or lawn, just below the terrace where grew +the large-leaved plant. This was evidently their dining-room, for no +sooner were they in their place than butterflies of every kind and +colour came pouring in, in masses, from all directions. Butterflies +small and butterflies large; butterflies light and butterflies dark; +butterflies blue, pink, crimson, green, gold-colour—<i>every</i> colour, and +far, far more colours than you could possibly imagine.</p> + +<p>They all settled down, round the sides of the grassy dining-table, and +in another minute a number of small white butterflies appeared, carrying +among them flower petals carefully rolled up, each containing a drop of +liquid. One of these was presented to the king, and then one to the +queen, who each sniffed at their petal for an instant, and then passed +it on to the butterfly next them, whereupon fresh petals were handed to +them, which they again passed on.</p> + +<p>"What are they doing, cuckoo?" said Griselda; "that's not <i>eating</i>."</p> + +<p>"It's their kind of eating," he replied. "They don't require any other +kind of food than a sniff of perfume; and as there are perfumes +extracted from every flower in butterfly-land, and there are far more +flowers than you could count between now and Christmas, you must allow +there is plenty of variety of dishes."</p> + +<p>"Um-m," said Griselda; "I suppose there is. But all the same, cuckoo, +it's a very good thing I'm not hungry, isn't it? May I pour the scent on +my pocket-handkerchief when it comes round to me? I have my handkerchief +here, you see. Isn't it nice that I brought it? It was under my pillow, +and I wrapped it round my hand to open the shutter, for the hook +scratched it once."</p> + +<p>"You may pour one drop on your handkerchief," said the cuckoo, "but not +more. I shouldn't like the butterflies to think you greedy."</p> + +<p>But Griselda grew very tired of the scent feast long before all the +petals had been passed round. The perfumes were very nice, certainly, +but there were such quantities of them—double quantities in honour of +the guest, of course! Griselda screwed up her handkerchief into a tight +little ball, so that the one drop of scent should not escape from it, +and then she kept sniffing at it impatiently, till at last the cuckoo +asked her what was the matter.</p> + +<p>"I am so tired of the feast," she said. "Do let us do something else, +cuckoo."</p> + +<p>"It is getting rather late," said the cuckoo. "But see, Griselda, they +are going to have an air-dance now."</p> + +<p>"What's that?" said Griselda.</p> + +<p>"Look, and you'll see," he replied.</p> + +<p>Flocks and flocks of butterflies were rising a short way into the air, +and there arranging themselves in bands according to their colours.</p> + +<p>"Come up on to the bank," said the cuckoo to Griselda; "you'll see them +better."</p> + +<p>Griselda climbed up the bank, and as from there she could look down on +the butterfly show, she saw it beautifully. The long strings of +butterflies twisted in and out of each other in the most wonderful way, +like ribbons of every hue plaiting themselves and then in an instant +unplaiting themselves again. Then the king and queen placed themselves +in the centre, and round and round in moving circles twisted and +untwisted the brilliant bands of butterflies.</p> + +<p>"It's like a kaleidoscope," said Griselda; "and now it's like those +twisty-twirly dissolving views that papa took me to see once. It's +<i>just</i> like them. Oh, how pretty! Cuckoo, are they doing it all on +purpose to please me?"</p> + +<p>"A good deal," said the cuckoo. "Stand up and clap your hands loud three +times, to show them you're pleased."</p> + +<p>Griselda obeyed. "Clap" number one—all the butterflies rose up into the +air in a cloud; clap number two—they all fluttered and twirled and +buzzed about, as if in the greatest excitement; clap number three—they +all turned in Griselda's direction with a rush.</p> + +<p>"They're going to kiss you, Griselda," cried the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>Griselda felt her breath going. Up above her was the vast feathery cloud +of butterflies, fluttering, <i>rushing</i> down upon her.</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo, cuckoo," she screamed, "they'll suffocate me. Oh, cuckoo!"</p> + +<p>"Shut your eyes, and clap your hands loud, very loud," called out the +cuckoo.</p> + +<p>And just as Griselda clapped her hands, holding her precious +handkerchief between her teeth, she heard him give his usual cry, +"Cuckoo, cuckoo."</p> + +<p><i>Clap</i>—where were they all?</p> + +<p>Griselda opened her eyes—garden, butterflies, cuckoo, all had +disappeared. She was in bed, and Dorcas was knocking at the door with +the hot water.</p> + +<p>"Miss Grizzel said I was to wake you at your usual time this morning, +missie," she said. "I hope you don't feel too tired to get up."</p> + +<p>"Tired! I should think not," replied Griselda. "I was awake this morning +ages before you, I can tell you, my dear Dorcas. Come here for a minute, +Dorcas, please," she went on. "There now, sniff my handkerchief. What do +you think of that?"</p> + +<p>"It's beautiful," said Dorcas. "It's out of the big blue chinay bottle +on your auntie's table, isn't it, missie?"</p> + +<p>"Stuff and nonsense," replied Griselda; "it's scent of my own, Dorcas. +Aunt Grizzel never had any like it in her life. There now! Please give +me my slippers, I want to get up and look over my lessons for Mr. +Kneebreeches before he comes. Dear me," she added to herself, as she +was putting on her slippers, "how pretty my feet did look with the blue +butterfly shoes! It was very good of the cuckoo to take me there, but I +don't think I shall ever wish to be a butterfly again, now I know how +hard they work! But I'd like to do my lessons well to-day. I fancy it'll +please the dear old cuckoo."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h3>MASTER PHIL.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">"Who comes from the world of flowers?</p> +<p>Daisy and crocus, and sea-blue bell,</p> +<p>And violet shrinking in dewy cell—</p> +<p>Sly cells that know the secrets of night,</p> +<p>When earth is bathed in fairy light—</p> +<p class="i2">Scarlet, and blue, and golden flowers."</p> +</div></div> + + +<p>And so Mr. Kneebreeches had no reason to complain of his pupil that day.</p> + +<p>And Miss Grizzel congratulated herself more heartily than ever on her +wise management of children.</p> + +<p>And Miss Tabitha repeated that Sister Grizzel might indeed congratulate +herself.</p> + +<p>And Griselda became gradually more and more convinced that the only way +as yet discovered of getting through hard tasks is to set to work and +do them; also, that grumbling, as things are at present arranged in this +world, does not <i>always</i>, nor I may say <i>often</i>, do good; furthermore, +that an ill-tempered child is not, on the whole, likely to be as much +loved as a good-tempered one; lastly, that if you wait long enough, +winter will go and spring will come.</p> + +<p>For this was the case this year, after all! Spring had only been sleepy +and lazy, and in such a case what could poor old winter do but fill the +vacant post till she came? Why he should be so scolded and reviled for +faithfully doing his best, as he often is, I really don't know. Not that +all the ill words he gets have much effect on him—he comes again just +as usual, whatever we say of or to him. I suppose his feelings have long +ago been frozen up, or surely before this he would have taken +offence—well for us that he has not done so!</p> + +<p>But when the spring did come at last this year, it would be impossible +for me to tell you how Griselda enjoyed it. It was like new life to her +as well as to the plants, and flowers, and birds, and insects. Hitherto, +you see, she had been able to see very little of the outside of her +aunt's house; and charming as the inside was, the outside, I must say, +was still "charminger." There seemed no end to the little up-and-down +paths and alleys, leading to rustic seats and quaint arbours; no limits +to the little pine-wood, down into which led the dearest little +zig-zaggy path you ever saw, all bordered with snow-drops and primroses +and violets, and later on with periwinkles, and wood anemones, and those +bright, starry, white flowers, whose name no two people agree about.</p> + +<p>This wood-path was the place, I think, which Griselda loved the best. +The bowling-green was certainly very delightful, and so was the terrace +where the famous roses grew; but lovely as the roses were (I am +speaking just now, of course, of later on in the summer, when they were +all in bloom), Griselda could not enjoy them as much as the +wild-flowers, for she was forbidden to gather or touch them, except with +her funny round nose!</p> + +<p>"You may <i>scent</i> them, my dear," said Miss Grizzel, who was of opinion +that smell was not a pretty word; "but I cannot allow anything more."</p> + +<p>And Griselda did "scent" them, I assure you. She burrowed her whole rosy +face in the big ones; but gently, for she did not want to spoil them, +both for her aunt's sake, and because, too, she had a greater regard for +flowers now that she knew the secret of how they were painted, and what +a great deal of trouble the butterflies take about them.</p> + +<p>But after a while one grows tired of "scenting" roses; and even the +trying to walk straight across the bowling-green with her eyes shut, +from the arbour at one side to the arbour exactly like it at the other, +grew stupid, though no doubt it would have been capital fun with a +companion to applaud or criticize.</p> + +<p>So the wood-path became Griselda's favourite haunt. As the summer grew +on, she began to long more than ever for a companion—not so much for +play, as for some one to play with. She had lessons, of course, just as +many as in the winter; but with the long days, there seemed to come a +quite unaccountable increase of play-time, and Griselda sometimes found +it hang heavy on her hands. She had not seen or heard anything of the +cuckoo either, save, of course, in his "official capacity" of +time-teller, for a very long time.</p> + +<p>"I suppose," she thought, "he thinks I don't need amusing, now that the +fine days are come and I can play in the garden; and certainly, if I +had <i>any one</i> to play with, the garden would be perfectly lovely."</p> + +<p>But, failing companions, she did the best she could for herself, and +this was why she loved the path down into the wood so much. There was a +sort of mystery about it; it might have been the path leading to the +cottage of Red-Ridinghood's grandmother, or a path leading to fairyland +itself. There were all kinds of queer, nice, funny noises to be heard +there—in one part of it especially, where Griselda made herself a seat +of some moss-grown stones, and where she came so often that she got to +know all the little flowers growing close round about, and even the +particular birds whose nests were hard by.</p> + +<p>She used to sit there and <i>fancy</i>—fancy that she heard the wood-elves +chattering under their breath, or the little underground gnomes and +kobolds hammering at their fairy forges. And the tinkling of the brook +in the distance sounded like the enchanted bells round the necks of the +fairy kine, who are sent out to pasture sometimes on the upper world +hill-sides. For Griselda's head was crammed full, perfectly full, of +fairy lore; and the mandarins' country, and butterfly-land, were quite +as real to her as the every-day world about her.</p> + +<p>But all this time she was not forgotten by the cuckoo, as you will see.</p> + +<p>One day she was sitting in her favourite nest, feeling, notwithstanding +the sunshine, and the flowers, and the soft sweet air, and the pleasant +sounds all about, rather dull and lonely. For though it was only May, it +was really quite a hot day, and Griselda had been all the morning at her +lessons, and had tried very hard, and done them very well, and now she +felt as if she deserved some reward. Suddenly in the distance, she heard +a well-known sound, "Cuckoo, cuckoo."</p> + +<p>"Can that be the cuckoo?" she said to herself; and in a moment she felt +sure that it must be. For, for some reason that I do not know enough +about the habits of real "flesh and blood" cuckoos to explain, that bird +was not known in the neighbourhood where Griselda's aunts lived. Some +twenty miles or so further south it was heard regularly, but all this +spring Griselda had never caught the sound of its familiar note, and she +now remembered hearing it never came to these parts.</p> + +<p>So, "it must be my cuckoo," she said to herself. "He must be coming out +to speak to me. How funny! I have never seen him by daylight."</p> + +<p>She listened. Yes, again there it was, "Cuckoo, cuckoo," as plain as +possible, and nearer than before.</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo," cried Griselda, "do come and talk to me. It's such a long time +since I have seen you, and I have nobody to play with."</p> + +<p>But there was no answer. Griselda held her breath to listen, but there +was nothing to be heard.</p> + +<p>"Unkind cuckoo!" she exclaimed. "He is tricking me, I do believe; and +to-day too, just when I was so dull and lonely."</p> + +<p>The tears came into her eyes, and she was beginning to think herself +very badly used, when suddenly a rustling in the bushes beside her made +her turn round, more than half expecting to see the cuckoo himself. But +it was not he. The rustling went on for a minute or two without anything +making its appearance, for the bushes were pretty thick just there, and +any one scrambling up from the pinewood below would have had rather hard +work to get through, and indeed for a very big person such a feat would +have been altogether impossible.</p> + +<p>It was not a very big person, however, who was causing all the rustling, +and crunching of branches, and general commotion, which now absorbed +Griselda's attention. She sat watching for another minute in perfect +stillness, afraid of startling by the slightest movement the squirrel or +rabbit or creature of some kind which she expected to see. At last—was +that a squirrel or rabbit—that rosy, round face, with shaggy, fair hair +falling over the eager blue eyes, and a general look of breathlessness +and over-heatedness and determination?</p> + +<p>A squirrel or a rabbit! No, indeed, but a very sturdy, very merry, very +ragged little boy.</p> + +<p>"Where are that cuckoo? Does <i>you</i> know?" were the first words he +uttered, as soon as he had fairly shaken himself, though not by any +means all his clothes, free of the bushes (for ever so many pieces of +jacket and knickerbockers, not to speak of one boot and half his hat, +had been left behind on the way), and found breath to say something.</p> + +<p>Griselda stared at him for a moment without speaking. She was so +astonished. It was months since she had spoken to a child, almost since +she had seen one, and about children younger than herself she knew very +little at any time, being the</p> + +<a name="CUCKOO" id="CUCKOO"></a> +<div class="center"> + <img src="images/06.png" + alt=""WHERE ARE THAT CUCKOO?"" title=""WHERE ARE THAT CUCKOO?"" /> +</div> +<h4>"WHERE ARE THAT CUCKOO?"</h4> +<div class='noindent'>baby of the family at home, you see, and having only big brothers +older than herself for play-fellows. +</div> + + +<p>"Who are you?" she said at last. "What's your name, and what do you +want?"</p> + +<p>"My name's Master Phil, and I want that cuckoo," answered the little +boy. "He camed up this way. I'm sure he did, for he called me all the +way."</p> + +<p>"He's not here," said Griselda, shaking her head; "and this is my aunts' +garden. No one is allowed to come here but friends of theirs. You had +better go home; and you have torn your clothes so."</p> + +<p>"This aren't a garden," replied the little fellow undauntedly, looking +round him; "this are a wood. There are blue-bells and primroses here, +and that shows it aren't a garden—not anybody's garden, I mean, with +walls round, for nobody to come in."</p> + +<p>"But it <i>is</i>," said Griselda, getting rather vexed.</p> + +<p>"If it isn't a garden it's <i>grounds</i>, private grounds, and nobody +should come without leave. This path leads down to the wood, and there's +a door in the wall at the bottom to get into the lane. You may go down +that way, little boy. No one comes scrambling up the way you did."</p> + +<p>"But I want to find the cuckoo," said the little boy. "I do so want to +find the cuckoo."</p> + +<p>His voice sounded almost as if he were going to cry, and his pretty, +hot, flushed face puckered up. Griselda's heart smote her; she looked at +him more carefully. He was such a very little boy, after all; she did +not like to be cross to him.</p> + +<p>"How old are you?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Five and a bit. I had a birthday after the summer, and if I'm good, +nurse says perhaps I'll have one after next summer too. Do you ever have +birthdays?" he went on, peering up at Griselda. "Nurse says she used to +when she was young, but she never has any now."</p> + +<p>"<i>Have</i> you a nurse?" asked Griselda, rather surprised; for, to tell the +truth, from "Master Phil's" appearance, she had not felt at all sure +what <i>sort</i> of little boy he was, or rather what sort of people he +belonged to.</p> + +<p>"Of course I have a nurse, and a mother too," said the little boy, +opening wide his eyes in surprise at the question. "Haven't you? Perhaps +you're too big, though. People leave off having nurses and mothers when +they're big, don't they? Just like birthdays. But <i>I</i> won't. I won't +never leave off having a mother, any way. I don't care so much about +nurse and birthdays, not <i>kite</i> so much. Did you care when you had to +leave off, when you got too big?"</p> + +<p>"I hadn't to leave off because I got big," said Griselda sadly. "I left +off when I was much littler than you," she went on, unconsciously +speaking as Phil would best understand her. "My mother died."</p> + +<p>"I'm werry sorry," said Phil; and the way in which he said it quite +overcame Griselda's unfriendliness. "But perhaps you've a nice nurse. My +nurse is rather nice; but she <i>will</i> 'cold me to-day, won't she?" he +added, laughing, pointing to the terrible rents in his garments. "These +are my very oldestest things; that's a good thing, isn't it? Nurse says +I don't look like Master Phil in these, but when I have on my blue +welpet, then I look like Master Phil. I shall have my blue welpet when +mother comes."</p> + +<p>"Is your mother away?" said Griselda.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, she's been away a long time; so nurse came here to take care of +me at the farmhouse, you know. Mother was ill, but she's better now, and +some day she'll come too."</p> + +<p>"Do you like being at the farmhouse? Have you anybody to play with?" +said Griselda.</p> + +<p>Phil shook his curly head. "I never have anybody to play with," he said. +"I'd like to play with you if you're not too big. And do you think you +could help me to find the cuckoo?" he added insinuatingly.</p> + +<p>"What do you know about the cuckoo?" said Griselda.</p> + +<p>"He called me," said Phil, "he called me lots of times; and to-day nurse +was busy, so I thought I'd come. And do you know," he added +mysteriously, "I do believe the cuckoo's a fairy, and when I find him +I'm going to ask him to show me the way to fairyland."</p> + +<p>"He says we must all find the way ourselves," said Griselda, quite +forgetting to whom she was speaking.</p> + +<p>"<i>Does</i> he?" cried Phil, in great excitement. "Do you know him, then? +and have you asked him? Oh, do tell me."</p> + +<p>Griselda recollected herself. "You couldn't understand," she said. "Some +day perhaps I'll tell you—I mean if ever I see you again."</p> + +<p>"But I may see you again," said Phil, settling himself down comfortably +beside Griselda on her mossy stone. "You'll let me come, won't you? I +like to talk about fairies, and nurse doesn't understand. And if the +cuckoo knows you, perhaps that's why he called me to come to play with +you."</p> + +<p>"How did he call you?" asked Griselda.</p> + +<p>"First," said Phil gravely, "it was in the night. I was asleep, and I +had been wishing I had somebody to play with, and then I d'eamed of the +cuckoo—such a nice d'eam. And when I woke up I heard him calling me, +and I wasn't d'eaming then. And then when I was in the field he called +me, but I <i>couldn't</i> find him, and nurse said 'Nonsense.' And to-day he +called me again, so I camed up through the bushes. And mayn't I come +again? Perhaps if we both tried together we could find the way to +fairyland. Do you think we could?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Griselda, dreamily.</p> + +<p>"There's a great deal to learn first, the cuckoo says."</p> + +<p>"Have you learnt a great deal?" (he called it "a gate deal") asked Phil, +looking up at Griselda with increased respect. "<i>I</i> don't know scarcely +nothing. Mother was ill such a long time before she went away, but I +know she wanted me to learn to read books. But nurse is too old to teach +me."</p> + +<p>"Shall I teach you?" said Griselda. "I can bring some of my old books +and teach you here after I have done my own lessons."</p> + +<p>"And then mother <i>would</i> be surprised when she comes back," said Master +Phil, clapping his hands. "Oh, <i>do</i>. And when I've learnt to read a +great deal, do you think the cuckoo would show us the way to fairyland?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think it was that sort of learning he meant," said Griselda. +"But I dare say that would help. I <i>think</i>," she went on, lowering her +voice a little, and looking down gravely into Phil's earnest eyes, "I +<i>think</i> he means mostly learning to be very good—very, <i>very</i> good, you +know."</p> + +<p>"Gooder than you?" said Phil.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear, yes; lots and lots gooder than me," replied Griselda.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> think you're very good," observed Phil, in a parenthesis. Then he +went on with his cross-questioning.</p> + +<p>"Gooder than mother?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know your mother, so how can I tell how good she is?" said +Griselda.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> can tell you," said Phil, importantly. "She is just as good as—as +good as—as good as <i>good</i>. That's what she is."</p> + +<p>"You mean she couldn't be better," said Griselda, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that'll do, if you like. Would that be good enough for us to be, +do you think?"</p> + +<p>"We must ask the cuckoo," said Griselda. "But I'm sure it would be a +good thing for you to learn to read. You must ask your nurse to let you +come here every afternoon that it's fine, and I'll ask my aunt."</p> + +<p>"I needn't ask nurse," said Phil composedly; "she'll never know where I +am, and I needn't tell her. She doesn't care what I do, except tearing +my clothes; and when she scolds me, <i>I</i> don't care."</p> + +<p>"<i>That</i> isn't good, Phil," said Griselda gravely. "You'll never be as +good as good if you speak like that."</p> + +<p>"What should I say, then? Tell me," said the little boy submissively.</p> + +<p>"You should ask nurse to let you come to play with me, and tell her I'm +much bigger than you, and I won't let you tear your clothes. And you +should tell her you're very sorry you've torn them to-day."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said Phil, "I'll say that. But, oh see!" he exclaimed, +darting off, "there's a field mouse! If only I could catch him!"</p> + +<p>Of course he couldn't catch him, nor could Griselda either; very ready, +though, she was to do her best. But it was great fun all the same, and +the children laughed heartily and enjoyed themselves tremendously. And +when they were tired they sat down again and gathered flowers for +nosegays, and Griselda was surprised to find how clever Phil was about +it. He was much quicker than she at spying out the prettiest blossoms, +however hidden behind tree, or stone, or shrub. And he told her of all +the best places for flowers near by, and where grew the largest +primroses and the sweetest violets, in a way that astonished her.</p> + +<p>"You're such a little boy," she said; "how do you know so much about +flowers?"</p> + +<p>"I've had no one else to play with," he said innocently. "And then, you +know, the fairies are so fond of them."</p> + +<p>When Griselda thought it was time to go home, she led little Phil down +the wood-path, and through the door in the wall opening on to the lane.</p> + +<p>"Now you can find your way home without scrambling through any more +bushes, can't you, Master Phil?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, thank you, and I'll come again to that place to-morrow afternoon, +shall I?" asked Phil. "I'll know when—after I've had my dinner and +raced three times round the big field, then it'll be time. That's how it +was to-day."</p> + +<p>"I should think it would do if you <i>walked</i> three times—or twice if you +like—round the field. It isn't a good thing to race just when you've +had your dinner," observed Griselda sagely. "And you mustn't try to come +if it isn't fine, for my aunts won't let me go out if it rains even the +tiniest bit And of course you must ask your nurse's leave."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said little Phil as he trotted off. "I'll try to remember +all those things. I'm so glad you'll play with me again; and if you see +the cuckoo, please thank him."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h3>UP AND DOWN THE CHIMNEY.</h3> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<i>Helper</i>. Well, but if it was all dream, it would be the same as if + it was all real, would it not?</p> + +<p> "<i>Keeper</i>. Yes, I see. I mean, Sir, I do <i>not</i> see."—<i>A Liliput + Revel</i>.</p></div> + + +<p><i>Not</i> having "just had her dinner," and feeling very much inclined for +her tea, Griselda ran home at a great rate.</p> + +<p>She felt, too, in such good spirits; it had been so delightful to have a +companion in her play.</p> + +<p>"What a good thing it was I didn't make Phil run away before I found out +what a nice little boy he was," she said to herself. "I must look out my +old reading books to-night. I shall so like teaching him, poor little +boy, and the cuckoo will be pleased at my doing something useful, I'm +sure."</p> + +<p>Tea was quite ready, in fact waiting for her, when she came in. This was +a meal she always had by herself, brought up on a tray to Dorcas's +little sitting-room, where Dorcas waited upon her. And sometimes when +Griselda was in a particularly good humour she would beg Dorcas to sit +down and have a cup of tea with her—a liberty the old servant was far +too dignified and respectful to have thought of taking, unless specially +requested to do so.</p> + +<p>This evening, as you know, Griselda was in a very particularly good +humour, and besides this, so very full of her adventures, that she would +have been glad of an even less sympathising listener than Dorcas was +likely to be.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, Dorcas, and have some more tea, do," she said coaxingly. "It +looks ever so much more comfortable, and I'm sure you could eat a +little more if you tried, whether you've had your tea in the kitchen or +not. I'm <i>fearfully</i> hungry, I can tell you. You'll have to cut a whole +lot more bread and butter, and not 'ladies' slices' either."</p> + +<p>"How your tongue does go, to be sure, Miss Griselda," said Dorcas, +smiling, as she seated herself on the chair Griselda had drawn in for +her.</p> + +<p>"And why shouldn't it?" said Griselda saucily. "It doesn't do it any +harm. But oh, Dorcas, I've had such fun this afternoon—really, you +couldn't guess what I've been doing."</p> + +<p>"Very likely not, missie," said Dorcas.</p> + +<p>"But you might try to guess. Oh no, I don't think you need—guessing +takes such a time, and I want to tell you. Just fancy, Dorcas, I've been +playing with a little boy in the wood."</p> + +<p>"Playing with a little boy, Miss Griselda!" exclaimed Dorcas, aghast.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and he's coming again to-morrow, and the day after, and every +day, I dare say," said Griselda. "He <i>is</i> such a nice little boy."</p> + +<p>"But, missie," began Dorcas.</p> + +<p>"Well? What's the matter? You needn't look like that—as if I had done +something naughty," said Griselda sharply.</p> + +<p>"But you'll tell your aunt, missie?"</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Griselda, looking up fearlessly into Dorcas's face +with her bright grey eyes. "Of course; why shouldn't I? I must ask her +to give the little boy leave to come into <i>our</i> grounds; and I told the +little boy to be sure to tell his nurse, who takes care of him, about +his playing with me."</p> + +<p>"His nurse," repeated Dorcas, in a tone of some relief. "Then he must be +quite a little boy, perhaps Miss Grizzel would not object so much in +that case."</p> + +<p>"Why should she object at all? She might know I wouldn't want to play +with a naughty rude boy," said Griselda.</p> + +<p>"She thinks all boys rude and naughty, I'm afraid, missie," said Dorcas. +"All, that is to say, excepting your dear papa. But then, of course, she +had the bringing up of <i>him</i> in her own way from the beginning."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll ask her, any way," said Griselda, "and if she says I'm not +to play with him, I shall think—I know what I shall <i>think</i> of Aunt +Grizzel, whether I <i>say</i> it or not."</p> + +<p>And the old look of rebellion and discontent settled down again on her +rosy face.</p> + +<p>"Be careful, missie, now do, there's a dear good girl," said Dorcas +anxiously, an hour later, when Griselda, dressed as usual in her little +white muslin frock, was ready to join her aunts at dessert.</p> + +<p>But Griselda would not condescend to make any reply.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Grizzel," she said suddenly, when she had eaten an orange and +three biscuits and drunk half a glass of home-made elderberry wine, +"Aunt Grizzel, when I was out in the garden to-day—down the wood-path, +I mean—I met a little boy, and he played with me, and I want to know if +he may come every day to play with me."</p> + +<p>Griselda knew she was not making her request in a very amiable or +becoming manner; she knew, indeed, that she was making it in such a way +as was almost certain to lead to its being refused; and yet, though she +was really so very, very anxious to get leave to play with little Phil, +she took a sort of spiteful pleasure in injuring her own cause.</p> + +<p>How <i>foolish</i> ill-temper makes us! Griselda had allowed herself to get +so angry at the <i>thought</i> of being thwarted that had her aunt looked up +quietly and said at once, "Oh yes, you may have the little boy to play +with you whenever you like," she would really, in a strange distorted +sort of way, have been <i>disappointed</i>.</p> + +<p>But, of course, Miss Grizzel made no such reply. Nothing less than a +miracle could have made her answer Griselda otherwise than as she did. +Like Dorcas, for an instant, she was utterly "flabbergasted," if you +know what that means. For she was really quite an old lady, you know, +and sensible as she was, things upset her much more easily than when she +was younger.</p> + +<p>Naughty Griselda saw her uneasiness, and enjoyed it.</p> + +<p>"Playing with a boy!" exclaimed Miss Grizzel. "A boy in my grounds, and +you, my niece, to have played with him!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Griselda coolly, "and I want to play with him again."</p> + +<p>"Griselda," said her aunt, "I am too astonished to say more at present. +Go to bed."</p> + +<p>"Why should I go to bed? It is not my bed-time," cried Griselda, blazing +up. "What have I done to be sent to bed as if I were in disgrace?"</p> + +<p>"Go to bed," repeated Miss Grizzel. "I will speak to you to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"You are very unfair and unjust," said Griselda, starting up from her +chair. "That's all the good of being honest and telling everything. I +might have played with the little boy every day for a month and you +would never have known, if I hadn't told you."</p> + +<p>She banged across the room as she spoke, and out at the door, slamming +it behind her rudely. Then upstairs like a whirlwind; but when she got +to her own room, she sat down on the floor and burst into tears, and +when Dorcas came up, nearly half an hour later, she was still in the +same place, crouched up in a little heap, sobbing bitterly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, missie, missie," said Dorcas, "it's just what I was afraid of!"</p> + +<p>As Griselda rushed out of the room Miss Grizzel leant back in her chair +and sighed deeply.</p> + +<p>"Already," she said faintly. "She was never so violent before. Can one +afternoon's companionship with rudeness have already contaminated her? +Already, Tabitha—can it be so?"</p> + +<p>"Already," said Miss Tabitha, softly shaking her head, which somehow +made her look wonderfully like an old cat, for she felt cold of an +evening and usually wore a very fine woolly shawl of a delicate grey +shade, and the borders of her cap and the ruffles round her throat and +wrists were all of fluffy, downy white—"already," she said.</p> + +<p>"Yet," said Miss Grizzel, recovering herself a little, "it is true what +the child said. She might have deceived us. Have I been hard upon her, +Sister Tabitha?"</p> + +<p>"Hard upon her! Sister Grizzel," said Miss Tabitha with more energy than +usual; "no, certainly not. For once, Sister Grizzel, I disagree with +you. Hard upon her! Certainly not."</p> + +<p>But Miss Grizzel did not feel happy.</p> + +<p>When she went up to her own room at night she was surprised to find +Dorcas waiting for her, instead of the younger maid.</p> + +<p>"I thought you would not mind having me, instead of Martha, to-night, +ma'am," she said, "for I did so want to speak to you about Miss +Griselda. The poor, dear young lady has gone to bed so very unhappy."</p> + +<p>"But do you know what she has done, Dorcas?" said Miss Grizzel. +"Admitted a <i>boy</i>, a rude, common, impertinent <i>boy</i>, into my precincts, +and played with him—with a <i>boy</i>, Dorcas."</p> + +<p>"Yes, ma'am," said Dorcas. "I know all about it, ma'am. Miss Griselda +has told me all. But if you would allow me to give an opinion, it isn't +quite so bad. He's quite a little boy, ma'am—between five and six—only +just about the age Miss Griselda's dear papa was when he first came to +us, and, by all I can hear, quite a little gentleman."</p> + +<p>"A little gentleman," repeated Miss Grizzel, "and not six years old! +That is less objectionable than I expected. What is his name, as you +know so much, Dorcas?"</p> + +<p>"Master Phil," replied Dorcas. "That is what he told Miss Griselda, and +she never thought to ask him more. But I'll tell you how we could get to +hear more about him, I think, ma'am. From what Miss Griselda says, I +believe he is staying at Mr. Crouch's farm, and that, you know, ma'am, +belongs to my Lady Lavander, though it is a good way from Merrybrow +Hall. My lady is pretty sure to know about the child, for she knows all +that goes on among her tenants, and I remember hearing that a little +gentleman and his nurse had come to Mr. Crouch's to lodge for six +months."</p> + +<p>Miss Grizzel listened attentively.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Dorcas," she said, when the old servant had left off +speaking. "You have behaved with your usual discretion. I shall drive +over to Merrybrow to-morrow, and make inquiry. And you may tell Miss +Griselda in the morning what I purpose doing; but tell her also that, +as a punishment for her rudeness and ill-temper, she must have breakfast +in her own room to-morrow, and not see me till I send for her. Had she +restrained her temper and explained the matter, all this distress might +have been saved."</p> + +<p>Dorcas did not wait till "to-morrow morning;" she could not bear to +think of Griselda's unhappiness. From her mistress's room she went +straight to the little girl's, going in very softly, so as not to +disturb her should she be sleeping.</p> + +<p>"Are you awake, missie?" she said gently.</p> + +<p>Griselda started up.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she exclaimed. "Is it you, cuckoo? I'm quite awake."</p> + +<p>"Bless the child," said Dorcas to herself, "how her head does run on +Miss Sybilla's cuckoo. It's really wonderful. There's more in such +things than some people think."</p> + +<p>But aloud she only replied—</p> + +<p>"It's Dorcas, missie. No fairy, only old Dorcas come to comfort you a +bit. Listen, missie. Your auntie is going over to Merrybrow Hall +to-morrow to inquire about this little Master Phil from my Lady +Lavander, for we think it's at one of her ladyship's farms that he and +his nurse are staying, and if she hears that he's a nice-mannered little +gentleman, and comes of good parents—why, missie, there's no saying but +that you'll get leave to play with him as much as you like."</p> + +<p>"But not to-morrow, Dorcas," said Griselda. "Aunt Grizzel never goes to +Merrybrow till the afternoon. She won't be back in time for me to play +with Phil to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"No, but next day, perhaps," said Dorcas.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but that won't do," said Griselda, beginning to cry again. "Poor +little Phil will be coming up to the wood-path <i>to-morrow</i>, and if he +doesn't find me, he'll be <i>so</i> unhappy—perhaps he'll never come again +if I don't meet him to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Dorcas saw that the little girl was worn out and excited, and not yet +inclined to take a reasonable view of things.</p> + +<p>"Go to sleep, missie," she said kindly, "and don't think anything more +about it till to-morrow It'll be all right, you'll see."</p> + +<p>Her patience touched Griselda.</p> + +<p>"You are very kind, Dorcas," she said. "I don't mean to be cross to +<i>you</i>; but I can't bear to think of poor little Phil. Perhaps he'll sit +down on my mossy stone and cry. Poor little Phil!"</p> + +<p>But notwithstanding her distress, when Dorcas had left her she did feel +her heart a little lighter, and somehow or other before long she fell +asleep.</p> + +<p>When she awoke it seemed to be suddenly, and she had the feeling that +something had disturbed her. She lay for a minute or two perfectly +still—listening. Yes; there it was—the soft, faint rustle in the air +that she knew so well. It seemed as if something was moving away from +her.</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo," she said gently, "is that you?"</p> + +<p>A moment's pause, then came the answer—the pretty greeting she +expected.</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo, cuckoo," soft and musical. Then the cuckoo spoke.</p> + +<p>"Well, Griselda," he said, "and how are you? It's a good while since we +have had any fun together."</p> + +<p>"That's not <i>my</i> fault," said Griselda sharply. She was not yet feeling +quite as amiable as might have been desired, you see. "That's +<i>certainly</i> not my fault," she repeated.</p> + +<p>"I never said it was," replied the cuckoo. "Why will you jump at +conclusions so? It's a very bad habit, for very often you jump <i>over</i> +them, you see, and go too far. One should always <i>walk</i> up to +conclusions, very slowly and evenly, right foot first, then left, one +with another—that's the way to get where you want to go, and feel sure +of your ground. Do you see?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know whether I do or not, and I'm not going to speak to you if +you go on at me like that. You might see I don't want to be lectured +when I am so unhappy."</p> + +<p>"What are you unhappy about?"</p> + +<p>"About Phil, of course. I won't tell you, for I believe you know," said +Griselda. "Wasn't it you that sent him to play with me? I was so +pleased, and I thought it was very kind of you; but it's all spoilt +now."</p> + +<p>"But I heard Dorcas saying that your aunt is going over to consult my +Lady Lavander about it," said the cuckoo. "It'll be all right; you +needn't be in such low spirits about nothing."</p> + +<p>"Were you in the room <i>then</i>?" said Griselda. "How funny you are, +cuckoo. But it isn't all right. Don't you see, poor little Phil will be +coming up the wood-path to-morrow afternoon to meet me, and I won't be +there! I can't bear to think of it."</p> + +<p>"Is that all?" said the cuckoo. "It really is extraordinary how some +people make troubles out of nothing! We can easily tell Phil not to come +till the day after. Come along."</p> + +<p>"Come along," repeated Griselda; "what do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I forgot," said the cuckoo. "You don't understand. Put out your +hand. There, do you feel me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Griselda, stroking gently the soft feathers which seemed to +be close under her hand. "Yes, I feel you."</p> + +<p>"Well, then," said the cuckoo, "put your arms round my neck, and hold me +firm. I'll lift you up."</p> + +<p>"How <i>can</i> you talk such nonsense, cuckoo?" said Griselda. "Why, one of +my little fingers would clasp your neck. How can I put my arms round +it?"</p> + +<p>"Try," said the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>Somehow Griselda had to try.</p> + +<p>She held out her arms in the cuckoo's direction, as if she expected his +neck to be about the size of a Shetland pony's, or a large Newfoundland +dog's; and, to her astonishment, so it was! A nice, comfortable, +feathery neck it felt—so soft that she could not help laying her head +down upon it, and nestling in the downy cushion.</p> + +<p>"That's right," said the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>Then he seemed to give a little spring, and Griselda felt herself +altogether lifted on to his back. She lay there as comfortably as +possible—it felt so firm as well as soft. Up he flew a little way—then +stopped short.</p> + +<p>"Are you all right?" he inquired. "You're not afraid of falling off?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no," said Griselda; "not a bit."</p> + +<p>"You needn't be," said the cuckoo, "for you couldn't if you tried. I'm +going on, then."</p> + +<p>"Where to?" said Griselda.</p> + +<p>"Up the chimney first," said the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>"But there'll never be room," said Griselda. "I might <i>perhaps</i> crawl up +like a sweep, hands and knees, you know, like going up a ladder. But +stretched out like this—it's just as if I were lying on a sofa—I +<i>couldn't</i> go up the chimney."</p> + +<p>"Couldn't you?" said the cuckoo. "We'll see. <i>I</i> intend to go, any way, +and to take you with me. Shut your eyes—one, two, three—here +goes—we'll be up the chimney before you know."</p> + +<p>It was quite true. Griselda shut her eyes tight. She felt nothing but a +pleasant sort of rush. Then she heard the cuckoo's voice, saying—</p> + +<p>"Well, wasn't that well done? Open your eyes and look about you."</p> + +<p>Griselda did so. Where were they?</p> + +<p>They were floating about above the top of the house, which Griselda saw +down below them, looking dark and vast. She felt confused and +bewildered.</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo," she said, "I don't understand. Is it I that have grown little, +or you that have grown big?"</p> + +<p>"Whichever you please," said the cuckoo. "You have forgotten. I told you +long ago it is all a matter of fancy."</p> + +<p>"Yes, if everything grew little <i>together</i>," persisted Griselda; "but it +isn't everything. It's just you or me, or both of us. No, it can't be +both of us. And I don't think it can be me, for if any of me had grown +little all would, and my eyes haven't grown little, for everything looks +as big as usual, only <i>you</i> a great deal bigger. My eyes can't have +grown bigger without the rest of me, surely, for the moon looks just the +same. And I must have grown little, or else we couldn't have got up the +chimney. Oh, cuckoo, you have put all my thinking into such a muddle!"</p> + +<p>"Never mind," said the cuckoo. "It'll show you how little consequence +big and little are of. Make yourself comfortable all the same. Are you +all right? Shut your eyes if you like. I'm going pretty fast."</p> + +<p>"Where to?" said Griselda.</p> + +<p>"To Phil, of course," said the cuckoo. "What a bad memory you have! Are +you comfortable?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Very</i>, thank you," replied Griselda, giving the cuckoo's neck an +affectionate hug as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"That'll do, thank you. Don't throttle me, if it's quite the same to +you," said the cuckoo. "Here goes—one, two, three," and off he flew +again.</p> + +<p>Griselda shut her eyes and lay still. It was delicious—the gliding, yet +darting motion, like nothing she had ever felt before. It did not make +her the least giddy, either; but a slightly sleepy feeling came over +her. She felt no inclination to open her eyes; and, indeed, at the rate +they were going, she could have distinguished very little had she done +so.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the feeling in the air about her changed. For an instant it +felt more <i>rushy</i> than before, and there was a queer, dull sound in her +ears. Then she felt that the cuckoo had stopped.</p> + +<p>"Where are we?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"We've just come <i>down</i> a chimney again," said the cuckoo. "Open your +eyes and clamber down off my back, but don't speak loud, or you'll waken +him, and that wouldn't do. There you are—the moonlight's coming in +nicely at the window—you can see your way."</p> + +<p>Griselda found herself in a little bedroom, quite a tiny one, and by the +look of the simple furniture and the latticed window, she saw that she +was not in a grand house. But everything looked very neat and nice, and +on a little bed in one corner lay a lovely sleeping child. It was Phil! +He looked so pretty asleep—his shaggy curls all tumbling about, his +rosy mouth half open as if smiling, one little hand tossed over his +head, the other tight clasping a little basket which he had insisted on +taking to bed with him, meaning as soon as he was dressed the next +morning to run out and fill it with flowers for the little girl he had +made friends with.</p> + +<p>Griselda stepped up to the side of the bed on tiptoe. The cuckoo had +disappeared, but Griselda heard his voice. It seemed to come from a +little way up the chimney.</p> + +<p>"Don't wake him," said the cuckoo, "but whisper what you want to say +into his ear, as soon as I have called him. He'll understand; he's +accustomed to my ways."</p> + +<p>Then came the old note, soft and musical as ever—</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo. Listen, Phil," said the cuckoo, and without +opening his eyes a change passed over the little boy's face. Griselda +could see that he was listening to hear her message.</p> + +<p>"He thinks he's dreaming, I suppose," she said to herself with a smile. +Then she whispered softly—</p> + +<p>"Phil, dear, don't come to play with me to-morrow, for I can't come. But +come the day after. I'll be at the wood-path then."</p> + +<p>"Welly well," murmured Phil. Then he put out his two arms towards +Griselda, all without opening his eyes, and she, bending down, kissed +him softly.</p> + +<p>"Phil's so sleepy," he whispered, like a baby almost. Then he turned +over and went to sleep more soundly than before.</p> + +<p>"That'll do," said the cuckoo. "Come along, Griselda."</p> + +<p>Griselda obediently made her way to the place whence the cuckoo's voice +seemed to come.</p> + +<p>"Shut your eyes and put your arms round my neck again," said the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>She did not hesitate this time. It all happened just as before. There +came the same sort of rushy sound; then the cuckoo stopped, and +Griselda opened her eyes.</p> + +<p>They were up in the air again—a good way up, too, for some grand old +elms that stood beside the farmhouse were gently waving their topmost +branches a yard or two from where the cuckoo was poising himself and +Griselda.</p> + +<p>"Where shall we go to now?" he said. "Or would you rather go home? Are +you tired?"</p> + +<p>"Tired!" exclaimed Griselda. "I should rather think not. How could I be +tired, cuckoo?"</p> + +<p>"Very well, don't excite yourself about nothing, whatever you do," said +the cuckoo. "Say where you'd like to go."</p> + +<p>"How can I?" said Griselda. "You know far more nice places than I do."</p> + +<p>"You don't care to go back to the mandarins, or the butterflies, I +suppose?" asked the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>"No, thank you," said Griselda; "I'd like something new. And I'm not +sure that I care for seeing</p> +<a name="TIRED" id="TIRED"></a> +<div class="center"> + <img src="images/07.png" + alt=""TIRED! HOW COULD I BE TIRED, CUCKOO?"" title=""TIRED! HOW COULD I BE TIRED, CUCKOO?"" /> +</div> +<h4>"TIRED! HOW COULD I BE TIRED, CUCKOO?"</h4> +<div class='noindent'> +any more countries of that kind, unless you could take me to the +<i>real</i> fairyland."</div> + +<p>"<i>I</i> can't do that, you know," said the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>Just then a faint "soughing" sound among the branches suggested another +idea to Griselda.</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo," she exclaimed, "take me to the sea. It's <i>such</i> a time since I +saw the sea. I can fancy I hear it; do take me to see it."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h3>THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOON.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>"That after supper time has come,</p> +<p class="i2">And silver dews the meadow steep.</p> +<p>And all is silent in the home,</p> +<p class="i2">And even nurses are asleep,</p> +<p>That be it late, or be it soon,</p> +<p>Upon this lovely night in June</p> +<p>They both will step into the moon."</p> +</div></div> + + +<p>"Very well," said the cuckoo. "You would like to look about you a little +on the way, perhaps, Griselda, as we shall not be going down chimneys, +or anything of that kind just at present."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Griselda. "I think I should. I'm rather tired of shutting my +eyes, and I'm getting quite accustomed to flying about with you, +cuckoo."</p> + +<p>"Turn on your side, then," said the cuckoo, "and you won't have to twist +your neck to see over my shoulder. Are you comfortable now? And, +by-the-by, as you may be cold, just feel under my left wing. You'll find +the feather mantle there, that you had on once before. Wrap it round +you. I tucked it in at the last moment, thinking you might want it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you dear, kind cuckoo!" cried Griselda. "Yes, I've found it. I'll +tuck it all round me like a rug—that's it. I <i>am</i> so warm now, cuckoo."</p> + +<p>"Here goes, then," said the cuckoo, and off they set. Had ever a little +girl such a flight before? Floating, darting, gliding, sailing—no words +can describe it. Griselda lay still in delight, gazing all about her.</p> + +<p>"How lovely the stars are, cuckoo!" she said. "Is it true they're all +great, big <i>suns</i>? I'd rather they weren't. I like to think of them as +nice, funny little things."</p> + +<p>"They're not all suns," said the cuckoo. "Not all those you're looking +at now."</p> + +<p>"I like the twinkling ones best," said Griselda. "They look so +good-natured. Are they <i>all</i> twirling about always, cuckoo? Mr. +Kneebreeches has just begun to teach me astronomy, and <i>he</i> says they +are; but I'm not at all sure that he knows much about it."</p> + +<p>"He's quite right all the same," replied the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear me! How tired they must be, then!" said Griselda. "Do they +never rest just for a minute?"</p> + +<p>"Never."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Obeying orders," replied the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>Griselda gave a little wriggle.</p> + +<p>"What's the use of it?" she said. "It would be just as nice if they +stood still now and then."</p> + +<p>"Would it?" said the cuckoo. "I know some body who would soon find +fault if they did. What would you say to no summer; no day, or no night, +whichever it happened not to be, you see; nothing growing, and nothing +to eat before long? That's what it would be if they stood still, you +see, because——"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, cuckoo," interrupted Griselda. "It's very nice to hear +you—I mean, very dreadful to think of, but I don't want you to explain. +I'll ask Mr. Kneebreeches when I'm at my lessons. You might tell me one +thing, however. What's at the other side of the moon?"</p> + +<p>"There's a variety of opinions," said the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>"What are they? Tell me the funniest."</p> + +<p>"Some say all the unfinished work of the world is kept there," said the +cuckoo.</p> + +<p>"<i>That's</i> not funny," said Griselda. "What a messy place it must be! +Why, even <i>my</i> unfinished work makes quite a heap. I don't like that +opinion at all, cuckoo. Tell me another."</p> + +<p>"I <i>have</i> heard," said the cuckoo, "that among the places there you +would find the country of the little black dogs. You know what sort of +creatures those are?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I suppose so," said Griselda, rather reluctantly.</p> + +<p>"There are a good many of them in this world, as of course you know," +continued the cuckoo. "But up there, they are much worse than here. When +a child has made a great pet of one down here, I've heard tell the +fairies take him up there when his parents and nurses think he's +sleeping quietly in his bed, and make him work hard all night, with his +own particular little black dog on his back. And it's so dreadfully +heavy—for every time he takes it on his back down here it grows a pound +heavier up there—that by morning the child is quite worn out. I dare +say you've noticed how haggard and miserable some ill-tempered children +get to look—now you'll know the reason."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, cuckoo," said Griselda again; "but I can't say I like this +opinion about the other side of the moon any better than the first. If +you please, I would rather not talk about it any more."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but it's not so bad an idea after all," said the cuckoo. "Lots of +children, they say, get quite cured in the country of the little black +dogs. It's this way—for every time a child refuses to take the dog on +his back down here it grows a pound lighter up there, so at last any +sensible child learns how much better it is to have nothing to say to it +at all, and gets out of the way of it, you see. Of course, there <i>are</i> +children whom nothing would cure, I suppose. What becomes of them I +really can't say. Very likely they get crushed into pancakes by the +weight of the dogs at last, and then nothing more is ever heard of +them."</p> + +<p>"Horrid!" said Griselda, with a shudder. "Don't let's talk about it any +more, cuckoo; tell me your <i>own</i> opinion about what there really is on +the other side of the moon."</p> + +<p>The cuckoo was silent for a moment. Then suddenly he stopped short in +the middle of his flight.</p> + +<p>"Would you like to see for yourself, Griselda?" he said. "There would be +about time to do it," he added to himself, "and it would fulfil her +other wish, too."</p> + +<p>"See the moon for myself, do you mean?" cried Griselda, clasping her +hands. "I should rather think I would. Will you really take me there, +cuckoo?"</p> + +<p>"To the other side," said the cuckoo. "I couldn't take you to this +side."</p> + +<p>"Why not? Not that I'd care to go to this side as much as to the other; +for, of course, we can <i>see</i> this side from here. But I'd like to know +why you couldn't take me there."</p> + +<p>"For <i>reasons</i>," said the cuckoo drily. "I'll give you one if you like. +If I took you to this side of the moon you wouldn't be yourself when you +got there."</p> + +<p>"Who would I be, then?"</p> + +<p>"Griselda," said the cuckoo, "I told you once that there are a great +many things you don't know. Now, I'll tell you something more. There are +a great many things you're not <i>intended</i> to know."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said Griselda. "But do tell me when you're going on again, +and where you are going to take me to. There's no harm my asking that?"</p> + +<p>"No," said the cuckoo. "I'm going on immediately, and I'm going to take +you where you wanted to go to, only you must shut your eyes again, and +lie perfectly still without talking, for I must put on steam—a good +deal of steam—and I can't talk to you. Are you all right?"</p> + +<p>"All right," said Griselda.</p> + +<p>She had hardly said the words when she seemed to fall asleep. The +rushing sound in the air all round her increased so greatly that she was +conscious of nothing else. For a moment or two she tried to remember +where she was, and where she was going, but it was useless. She forgot +everything, and knew nothing more of what was passing till—till she +heard the cuckoo again.</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo, cuckoo; wake up, Griselda," he said.</p> + +<p>Griselda sat up.</p> + +<p>Where was she?</p> + +<p>Not certainly where she had been when she went to sleep. Not on the +cuckoo's back, for there he was standing beside her, as tiny as usual. +Either he had grown little again, or she had grown big—which, she +supposed, it did not much matter. Only it was very queer!</p> + +<p>"Where am I, cuckoo?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Where you wished to be," he replied. "Look about you and see."</p> + +<p>Griselda looked about her. What did she see? Something that I can only +give you a faint idea of, children; something so strange and unlike what +she had ever seen before, that only in a dream could you see it as +Griselda saw it. And yet <i>why</i> it seemed to her so strange and unnatural +I cannot well explain; if I could, my words would be as good as +pictures, which I know they are not.</p> + +<p>After all, it was only the sea she saw; but such a great, strange, +silent sea, for there were no waves. Griselda was seated on the shore, +close beside the water's edge, but it did not come lapping up to her +feet in the pretty, coaxing way that <i>our</i> sea does when it is in a good +humour. There were here and there faint ripples on the surface, caused +by the slight breezes which now and then came softly round Griselda's +face, but that was all. King Canute might have sat "from then till now" +by this still, lifeless ocean without the chance of reading his silly +attendants a lesson—if, indeed, there ever were such silly people, +which I very much doubt.</p> + +<p>Griselda gazed with all her eyes. Then she suddenly gave a little +shiver.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" said the cuckoo. "You have the mantle on—you're +not cold?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Griselda, "I'm not cold; but somehow, cuckoo, I feel a little +frightened. The sea is so strange, and so dreadfully big; and the light +is so queer, too. What is the light, cuckoo? It isn't moonlight, is it?"</p> + +<p>"Not exactly," said the cuckoo. "You can't both have your cake and eat +it, Griselda. Look up at the sky. There's no moon there, is there?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Griselda; "but what lots of stars, cuckoo. The light comes +from them, I suppose? And where's the sun, cuckoo? Will it be rising +soon? It isn't always like this up here, is it?"</p> + +<p>"Bless you, no," said the cuckoo. "There's sun enough, and rather too +much, sometimes. How would you like a day a fortnight long, and nights +to match? If it had been daytime here just now, I couldn't have brought +you. It's just about the very middle of the night now, and in about a +week of <i>your</i> days the sun will begin to rise, because, you see——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>dear</i> cuckoo, please don't explain!" cried Griselda. "I'll promise +to ask Mr. Kneebreeches, I will indeed. In fact, he was telling me +something just like it to-day or yesterday—which should I say?—at my +astronomy lesson. And that makes it so strange that you should have +brought me up here to-night to see for myself, doesn't it, cuckoo?"</p> + +<p>"An odd coincidence," said the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>"What <i>would</i> Mr. Kneebreeches think if I told him where I had been?" +continued Griselda. "Only, you see, cuckoo, I never tell anybody about +what I see when I am with you."</p> + +<p>"No," replied the cuckoo; "better not. ('Not that you could if you +tried,' he added to himself.) You're not frightened now, Griselda, are +you?"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't think I am," she replied. "But, cuckoo, isn't this sea +<i>awfully</i> big?"</p> + +<p>"Pretty well," said the cuckoo. "Just half, or nearly half, the size of +the moon; and, no doubt, Mr. Kneebreeches has told you that the moon's +diameter and circumference are respec——"</p> + +<p>"Oh <i>don't</i>, cuckoo!" interrupted Griselda, beseechingly. "I want to +enjoy myself, and not to have lessons. Tell me something funny, cuckoo. +Are there any mermaids in the moon-sea?"</p> + +<p>"Not exactly," said the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>"What a stupid way to answer," said Griselda. "There's no sense in that; +there either must be or must not be. There couldn't be half mermaids."</p> + +<p>"I don't know about that," replied the cuckoo. "They might have been +here once and have left their tails behind them, like Bopeep's sheep, +you know; and some day they might be coming to find them again, you +know. That would do for 'not exactly,' wouldn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo, you're laughing at me," said Griselda. "Tell me, are there any +mermaids, or fairies, or water-sprites, or any of those sort of +creatures here?"</p> + +<p>"I must still say 'not exactly,'" said the cuckoo. "There are beings +here, or rather there have been, and there may be again; but you, +Griselda, can know no more than this."</p> + +<p>His tone was rather solemn, and again Griselda felt a little "eerie."</p> + +<p>"It's a dreadfully long way from home, any way," she said. "I feel as +if, when I go back, I shall perhaps find I have been away fifty years or +so, like the little boy in the fairy story. Cuckoo, I think I would like +to go home. Mayn't I get on your back again?"</p> + +<p>"Presently," said the cuckoo. "Don't be uneasy, Griselda. Perhaps I'll +take you home by a short cut."</p> + +<p>"Was ever any child here before?" asked Griselda, after a little pause.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>"And did they get safe home again?"</p> + +<p>"Quite," said the cuckoo. "It's so silly of you, Griselda, to have all +these ideas still about far and near, and big and little, and long and +short, after all I've taught you and all you've seen."</p> + +<p>"I'm very sorry," said Griselda humbly; "but you see, cuckoo, I can't +help it. I suppose I'm made so."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," said the cuckoo, meditatively.</p> + +<p>He was silent for a minute. Then he spoke again. "Look over there, +Griselda," he said. "There's the short cut."</p> + +<p>Griselda looked. Far, far over the sea, in the silent distance, she saw +a tiny speck of light. It was very tiny; but yet the strange thing was +that, far away as it appeared, and minute as it was, it seemed to throw +off a thread of light to Griselda's very feet—right across the great +sheet of faintly gleaming water. And as Griselda looked, the thread +seemed to widen and grow, becoming at the same time brighter and +clearer, till at last it lay before her like a path of glowing light.</p> + +<p>"Am I to walk along there?" she said softly to the cuckoo.</p> + +<p>"No," he replied; "wait."</p> + +<p>Griselda waited, looking still, and presently in the middle of the +shining streak she saw something slowly moving—something from which the +light came, for the nearer it got to her the shorter grew the glowing +path, and behind the moving object the sea looked no brighter than +before it had appeared.</p> + +<p>At last—at last, it came quite near—near enough for Griselda to +distinguish clearly what it was.</p> + +<p>It was a little boat—the prettiest, the loveliest little boat that ever +was seen; and it was rowed by a little figure that at first sight +Griselda felt certain was a fairy. For it was a child with bright hair +and silvery wings, which with every movement sparkled and shone like a +thousand diamonds.</p> + +<p>Griselda sprang up and clapped her hands with delight. At the sound, the +child in the boat turned and looked at her. For one instant she could +not remember where she had seen him before; then she exclaimed, +joyfully—</p> + +<p>"It is Phil! Oh, cuckoo, it is Phil. Have you turned into a fairy, +Phil?"</p> + +<p>But, alas, as she spoke the light faded away, the boy's figure +disappeared, the sea and the shore and the sky were all as they had been +before, lighted only by the faint, strange gleaming of the stars. Only +the boat remained. Griselda saw it close to her, in the shallow water, a +few feet from where she stood.</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo," she exclaimed in a tone of reproach and disappointment, "where +is Phil gone? Why did you send him away?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't send him away," said the cuckoo. "You don't understand. Never +mind, but get into the boat. It'll be all right, you'll see."</p> + +<p>"But are we to go away and leave Phil here, all alone at the other side +of the moon?" said Griselda, feeling ready to cry.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you silly girl!" said the cuckoo. "Phil's all right, and in some +ways he has a great deal more sense than you, I can tell you. Get into +the boat and make yourself comfortable; lie down at the bottom and cover +yourself up with the mantle. You needn't be afraid of wetting your feet +a little, moon water never gives cold. There, now."</p> + +<p>Griselda did as she was told. She was beginning to feel rather tired, +and it certainly was very comfortable at the bottom of the boat, with +the nice warm feather-mantle well tucked round her.</p> + +<p>"Who will row?" she said sleepily. "<i>You</i> can't, cuckoo, with your tiny +little claws, you could never hold the oars, I'm——"</p> + +<p>"Hush!" said the cuckoo; and whether he rowed or not Griselda never +knew.</p> + +<p>Off they glided somehow, but it seemed to Griselda that <i>somebody</i> +rowed, for she heard the soft dip, dip of the oars as they went along, +so regularly that she couldn't help beginning to count in time—one, +two, three, four—on, on—she thought she had got nearly to a hundred, +when——</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h3>"CUCKOO, CUCKOO, GOOD-BYE!"</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>"Children, try to be good!</p> +<p class="i2">That is the end of all teaching;</p> +<p>Easily understood,</p> +<p class="i2">And very easy in preaching.</p> +<p>And if you find it hard,</p> +<p class="i2">Your efforts you need but double;</p> +<p>Nothing deserves reward</p> +<p class="i2">Unless it has given as trouble."</p> +</div></div> + + +<p>—When she forgot everything, and fell fast, fast asleep, to wake, of +course, in her own little bed as usual!</p> + +<p>"One of your tricks again, Mr. Cuckoo," she said to herself with a +smile. "However, I don't mind. It <i>was</i> a short cut home, and it was +very comfortable in the boat, and I certainly saw a great deal last +night, and I'm very much obliged to you—particularly for making it all +right with Phil about not coming to play with me to-day. Ah! that +reminds me, I'm in disgrace. I wonder if Aunt Grizzel will really make +me stay in my room all day. How tired I shall be, and what will Mr. +Kneebreeches think! But it serves me right. I <i>was</i> very cross and +rude."</p> + +<p>There came a tap at the door. It was Dorcas with the hot water.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, missie," she said gently, not feeling, to tell the truth, +very sure as to what sort of a humour "missie" was likely to be found in +this morning. "I hope you've slept well."</p> + +<p>"Exceedingly well, thank you, Dorcas. I've had a delightful night," +replied Griselda amiably, smiling to herself at the thought of what +Dorcas would say if she knew where she had been, and what she had been +doing since last she saw her.</p> + +<p>"That's good news," said Dorcas in a tone of relief; "and I've good +news for you, too, missie. At least, I hope you'll think it so. Your +aunt has ordered the carriage for quite early this morning—so you see +she really wants to please you, missie, about playing with little Master +Phil; and if to-morrow's a fine day, we'll be sure to find some way of +letting him know to come."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Dorcas. I hope it will be all right, and that Lady Lavander +won't say anything against it. I dare say she won't. I feel ever so much +happier this morning, Dorcas; and I'm very sorry I was so rude to Aunt +Grizzel, for of course I know I <i>should</i> obey her."</p> + +<p>"That's right, missie," said Dorcas approvingly.</p> + +<p>"It seems to me, Dorcas," said Griselda dreamily, when, a few minutes +later, she was standing by the window while the old servant brushed out +her thick, wavy hair, "it seems to me, Dorcas, that it's <i>all</i> 'obeying +orders' together. There's the sun now, just getting up, and the moon +just going to bed—<i>they</i> are always obeying, aren't they? I wonder why +it should be so hard for people—for children, at least."</p> + +<p>"To be sure, missie, you do put it a way of your own," replied Dorcas, +somewhat mystified; "but I see how you mean, I think, and it's quite +true. And it <i>is</i> a hard lesson to learn."</p> + +<p>"I want to learn it <i>well</i>, Dorcas," said Griselda, resolutely. "So will +you please tell Aunt Grizzel that I'm very sorry about last night, and +I'll do just as she likes about staying in my room or anything. But, if +she <i>would</i> let me, I'd far rather go down and do my lessons as usual +for Mr. Kneebreeches. I won't ask to go out in the garden; but I would +like to please Aunt Grizzel by doing my lessons <i>very</i> well."</p> + +<p>Dorcas was both delighted and astonished. Never had she known her little +"missie" so altogether submissive and reasonable.</p> + +<p>"I only hope the child's not going to be ill," she said to herself. But +she proved a skilful ambassadress, notwithstanding her misgivings; and +Griselda's imprisonment confined her only to the bounds of the house and +terrace walk, instead of within the four walls of her own little room, +as she had feared.</p> + +<p>Lessons <i>were</i> very well done that day, and Mr. Kneebreeches' report was +all that could be wished.</p> + +<p>"I am particularly gratified," he remarked to Miss Grizzel, "by the +intelligence and interest Miss Griselda displays with regard to the +study of astronomy, which I have recently begun to give her some +elementary instruction in. And, indeed, I have no fault to find with the +way in which any of the young lady's tasks are performed."</p> + +<p>"I am extremely glad to hear it," replied Miss Grizzel graciously, and +the kiss with which she answered Griselda's request for forgiveness was +a very hearty one.</p> + +<p>And it was "all right" about Phil.</p> + +<p>Lady Lavander knew all about him; his father and mother were friends of +hers, for whom she had a great regard, and for some time she had been +intending to ask the little boy to spend the day at Merrybrow Hall, to +be introduced to her god-daughter Griselda. So, <i>of course</i>, as Lady +Lavander knew all about him, there could be no objection to his playing +in Miss Grizzel's garden!</p> + +<p>And "to-morrow" turned out a fine day. So altogether you can imagine +that Griselda felt very happy and light-hearted as she ran down the +wood-path to meet her little friend, whose rosy face soon appeared among +the bushes.</p> + +<p>"What did you do yesterday, Phil?" asked Griselda. "Were you sorry not +to come to play with me?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Phil mysteriously, "I didn't mind. I was looking for the way +to fairyland to show you, and I do believe I've found it. Oh, it <i>is</i> +such a pretty way."</p> + +<p>Griselda smiled.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid the way to fairyland isn't so easily found," she said. "But +I'd like to hear about where you went. Was it far?"</p> + +<p>"A good way," said Phil. "Won't you come with me? It's in the wood. I +can show you quite well, and we can be back by tea-time."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said Griselda; and off they set.</p> + +<p>Whether it was the way to fairyland or not, it was not to be wondered at +that little Phil thought so. He led Griselda right across the wood to a +part where she had never been before. It was pretty rough work part of +the way. The children had to fight with brambles and bushes, and here +and there to creep through on hands and knees, and Griselda had to +remind Phil several times of her promise to his nurse that his clothes +should not be the worse for his playing with her, to prevent his +scrambling through "anyhow" and leaving bits of his knickerbockers +behind him.</p> + +<p>But when at last they reached Phil's favourite spot all their troubles +were forgotten. Oh, how pretty it was! It was a sort of tiny glade in +the very middle of the wood—a little green nest enclosed all round by +trees, and right through it the merry brook came rippling along as if +rejoicing at getting out into the sunlight again for a while. And all +the choicest and sweetest of the early summer flowers seemed to be +collected here in greater variety and profusion than in any other part +of the wood.</p> + +<p>"<i>Isn't</i> it nice?" said Phil, as he nestled down beside Griselda on the +soft, mossy grass. "It must have been a fairies' garden some time, I'm +sure, and I shouldn't wonder if one of the doors into fairyland is +hidden somewhere here, if only we could find it."</p> + +<p>"If only!" said Griselda. "I don't think we shall find it, Phil; but, +any way, this is a lovely place you've found, and I'd like to come here +very often."</p> + +<p>Then at Phil's suggestion they set to work to make themselves a house in +the centre of this fairies' garden, as he called it. They managed it +very much to their own satisfaction, by dragging some logs of wood and +big stones from among the brushwood hard by, and filling the holes up +with bracken and furze.</p> + +<p>"And if the fairies <i>do</i> come here," said Phil, "they'll be very pleased +to find a house all ready, won't they?"</p> + +<p>Then they had to gather flowers to ornament the house inside, and dry +leaves and twigs all ready for a fire in one corner. Altogether it was +quite a business, I can assure you, and when it was finished they were +very hot and very tired and <i>rather</i> dirty. Suddenly a thought struck +Griselda.</p> + +<p>"Phil," she said, "it must be getting late."</p> + +<p>"Past tea-time?" he said coolly.</p> + +<p>"I dare say it is. Look how low down the sun has got. Come, Phil, we +must be quick. Where is the place we came out of the wood at?"</p> + +<p>"Here," said Phil, diving at a little opening among the bushes.</p> + +<p>Griselda followed him. He had been a good guide hitherto, and she +certainly could not have found her way alone. They scrambled on for some +way, then the bushes suddenly seemed to grow less thick, and in a minute +they came out upon a little path.</p> + +<p>"Phil," said Griselda, "this isn't the way we came."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it?" said Phil, looking about him. "Then we must have comed the +wrong way."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid so," said Griselda, "and it seems to be so late already. I'm +so sorry, for Aunt Grizzel will be vexed, and I did so want to please +her. Will your nurse be vexed, Phil?"</p> + +<p>"I don't care if she are," replied Phil valiantly.</p> + +<p>"You shouldn't say that, Phil. You know we <i>shouldn't</i> have stayed so +long playing."</p> + +<p>"Nebber mind," said Phil. "If it was mother I would mind. Mother's so +good, you don't know. And she never 'colds me, except when I <i>am</i> +naughty—so I <i>do</i> mind."</p> + +<p>"She wouldn't like you to be out so late, I'm sure," said Griselda in +distress, "and it's most my fault, for I'm the biggest. Now, which way +<i>shall</i> we go?"</p> + +<p>They had followed the little path till it came to a point where two +roads, rough cart-ruts only, met; or, rather, where the path ran across +the road. Right, or left, or straight on, which should it be? Griselda +stood still in perplexity. Already it was growing dusk; already the +moon's soft light was beginning faintly to glimmer through the branches. +Griselda looked up to the sky.</p> + +<p>"To think," she said to herself—"to think that I should not know my way +in a little bit of a wood like this—I that was up at the other side of +the moon last night."</p> + +<p>The remembrance put another thought into her mind.</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo, cuckoo," she said softly, "couldn't you help us?"</p> + +<p>Then she stood still and listened, holding Phil's cold little hands in +her own.</p> + +<p>She was not disappointed. Presently, in the distance, came the +well-known cry, "cuckoo, cuckoo," so soft and far away, but yet so +clear.</p> + +<p>Phil clapped his hands.</p> + +<p>"He's calling us," he cried joyfully. "He's going to show us the way. +That's how he calls me always. Good cuckoo, we're coming;" and, pulling +Griselda along, he darted down the road to the right—the direction from +whence came the cry.</p> + +<p>They had some way to go, for they had wandered far in a wrong direction, +but the cuckoo never failed them. Whenever they were at a loss—whenever +the path turned or divided, they heard his clear, sweet call; and, +without the least misgiving, they followed it, till at last it brought +them out upon the high-road, a stone's throw from Farmer Crouch's gate.</p> + +<p>"I know the way now, good cuckoo," exclaimed Phil. "I can go home alone +now, if your aunt will be vexed with you."</p> + +<p>"No," said Griselda, "I must take you quite all the way home, Phil dear. +I promised to take care of you, and if nurse scolds any one it must be +me, not you."</p> + +<p>There was a little bustle about the door of the farmhouse as the +children wearily came up to it. Two or three men were standing together +receiving directions from Mr. Crouch himself, and Phil's nurse was +talking eagerly. Suddenly she caught sight of the truants.</p> + +<p>"Here he is, Mr. Crouch!" she exclaimed. "No need now to send to look +for him. Oh, Master Phil, how could you stay out so late? And to-night +of all nights, just when your—I forgot, I mustn't say. Come in to the +parlour at once—and this little girl, who is she?"</p> + +<p>"She isn't a little girl, she's a young lady," said Master Phil, putting +on his lordly air, "and she's to come into the parlour and have some +supper with me, and then some one must take her home to her auntie's +house—that's what I say."</p> + +<p>More to please Phil than from any wish for "supper," for she was really +in a fidget to get home, Griselda let the little boy lead her into the +parlour. But she was for a moment perfectly startled by the cry that +broke from him when he opened the door and looked into the room. A lady +was standing there, gazing out of the window, though in the quickly +growing darkness she could hardly have distinguished the little figure +she was watching for so anxiously.</p> + +<p>The noise of the door opening made her look round.</p> + +<p>"Phil," she cried, "my own little Phil; where have you been to? You +didn't know I was waiting here for you, did you?"</p> + +<p>"Mother, mother!" shouted Phil, darting into his mother's arms.</p> + +<p>But Griselda drew back into the shadow of the doorway, and tears filled +her eyes as for a minute or two she listened to the cooings and +caressings of the mother and son.</p> + +<p>Only for a minute, however. Then Phil called to her.</p> + +<p>"Mother, mother," he cried again, "you must kiss Griselda, too! She's +the little girl that is so kind, and plays with me; and she has no +mother," he added in a lower tone.</p> + +<p>The lady put her arm round Griselda, and kissed her, too. She did not +seem surprised.</p> + +<p>"I think I know about Griselda," she said very kindly, looking into her +face with her gentle eyes, blue and clear like Phil's.</p> + +<p>And then Griselda found courage to say how uneasy she was about the +anxiety her aunts would be feeling, and a messenger was sent off at once +to tell of her being safe at the farm.</p> + +<p>But Griselda herself the kind lady would not let go till she had had +some nice supper with Phil, and was both warmed and rested.</p> + +<p>"And what were you about, children, to lose your way?" she asked +presently.</p> + +<p>"I took Griselda to see a place that I thought was the way to fairyland, +and then we stayed to build a house for the fairies, in case they come, +and then we came out at the wrong side, and it got dark," explained +Phil.</p> + +<p>"And <i>was</i> it the way to fairyland?" asked his mother, smiling.</p> + +<p>Griselda shook her head as she replied—</p> + +<p>"Phil doesn't understand yet," she said gently. "He isn't old enough. +The way to the true fairyland is hard to find, and we must each find it +for ourselves, mustn't we?"</p> + +<p>She looked up in the lady's face as she spoke, and saw that <i>she</i> +understood.</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear child," she answered softly, and perhaps a very little sadly. +"But Phil and you may help each other, and I perhaps may help you both."</p> + +<p>Griselda slid her hand into the lady's. "You're not going to take Phil +away, are you?" she whispered.</p> + +<p>"No, I have come to stay here," she answered, "and Phil's father is +coming too, soon. We are going to live at the White House—the house on +the other side of the wood, on the way to Merrybrow. Are you glad, +children?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Griselda had a curious dream that night—merely a dream, nothing else. +She dreamt that the cuckoo came once more; this time, he told her, to +say "good-bye."</p> + +<p>"For you will not need me now," he said.</p> + +<p>"I leave you in good hands, Griselda. You have friends now who will +understand you—friends who will help you both to work and to play. +Better friends than the mandarins, or the butterflies, or even than your +faithful old cuckoo."</p> + +<p>And when Griselda tried to speak to him, to thank him for his goodness, +to beg him still sometimes to come to see her, he gently fluttered away. +"Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo," he warbled; but somehow the last "cuckoo" +sounded like "good-bye."</p> + +<p>In the morning, when Griselda awoke, her pillow was wet with tears. Thus +many stories end. She was happy, very happy in the thought of her kind +new friends; but there were tears for the one she felt she had said +farewell to, even though he was only a cuckoo in a clock.</p> + +<p> </p> +<h6>London: Printed by William Clowes and Sons, Limited,<br /> +Stamford Street and Charing Cross.</h6> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CUCKOO CLOCK***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 15569-h.txt or 15569-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/5/6/15569">https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/5/6/15569</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Cuckoo Clock + + +Author: Mrs. Molesworth + +Release Date: April 6, 2005 [eBook #15569] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CUCKOO CLOCK*** + + +E-text prepared by Ted Garvin, Chuck Greif, and the Project Gutenberg +Online Distributed Proofreading Team (www.pgdp.net) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 15569-h.htm or 15569-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/5/6/15569/15569-h/15569-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/5/6/15569/15569-h.zip) + + + + + +THE CUCKOO CLOCK + +by + +MRS. MOLESWORTH + +Author of "Herr Baby," "Carrots," "Grandmother Dear," etc. + +Illustrated by Walter Crane + +London: +MacMillan and Co., +and New York. + +1895 + + + + + + + +[Illustration: IT WAS A LITTLE BOAT.] + + +[Illustration] + + + + +TO + +MARY JOSEPHINE, + +AND TO THE DEAR MEMORY OF HER BROTHER, + +THOMAS GRINDAL, + +BOTH FRIENDLY LITTLE CRITICS OF +MY CHILDREN'S STORIES. + +Edinburgh, 1877. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + + I. THE OLD HOUSE + + II. _IM_PATIENT GRISELDA + + III. OBEYING ORDERS + + IV. THE COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS + + V. PICTURES + + VI. RUBBED THE WRONG WAY + + VII. BUTTERFLY-LAND + + VIII. MASTER PHIL + + IX. UP AND DOWN THE CHIMNEY + + X. THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOON + + XI. "CUCKOO, CUCKOO, GOOD-BYE!" + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. + +"WHY WON'T YOU SPEAK TO ME?" + +MANDARINS NODDING + +"MY AUNTS MUST HAVE COME BACK!" + +SHE LOOKED LIKE A FAIRY QUEEN + +"WHERE ARE THAT CUCKOO?" + +"TIRED! HOW COULD I BE TIRED, CUCKOO?" + +IT WAS A LITTLE BOAT + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE OLD HOUSE. + + + "Somewhat back from the village street + Stands the old-fashioned country seat." + + +Once upon a time in an old town, in an old street, there stood a very +old house. Such a house as you could hardly find nowadays, however you +searched, for it belonged to a gone-by time--a time now quite passed +away. + +It stood in a street, but yet it was not like a town house, for though +the front opened right on to the pavement, the back windows looked out +upon a beautiful, quaintly terraced garden, with old trees growing so +thick and close together that in summer it was like living on the edge +of a forest to be near them; and even in winter the web of their +interlaced branches hid all clear view behind. + +There was a colony of rooks in this old garden. Year after year they +held their parliaments and cawed and chattered and fussed; year after +year they built their nests and hatched their eggs; year after year, I +_suppose_, the old ones gradually died off and the young ones took their +place, though, but for knowing this _must_ be so, no one would have +suspected it, for to all appearance the rooks were always the same--ever +and always the same. + +Time indeed seemed to stand still in and all about the old house, as if +it and the people who inhabited it had got _so_ old that they could not +get any older, and had outlived the possibility of change. + +But one day at last there did come a change. Late in the dusk of an +autumn afternoon a carriage drove up to the door of the old house, came +rattling over the stones with a sudden noisy clatter that sounded quite +impertinent, startling the rooks just as they were composing themselves +to rest, and setting them all wondering what could be the matter. + +A little girl was the matter! A little girl in a grey merino frock and +grey beaver bonnet, grey tippet and grey gloves--all grey together, even +to her eyes, all except her round rosy face and bright brown hair. Her +name even was rather grey, for it was Griselda. + +A gentleman lifted her out of the carriage and disappeared with her into +the house, and later that same evening the gentleman came out of the +house and got into the carriage which had come back for him again, and +drove away. That was all that the rooks saw of the change that had come +to the old house. Shall we go inside to see more? + +Up the shallow, wide, old-fashioned staircase, past the wainscoted +walls, dark and shining like a mirror, down a long narrow passage with +many doors, which but for their gleaming brass handles one would not +have known were there, the oldest of the three old servants led little +Griselda, so tired and sleepy that her supper had been left almost +untasted, to the room prepared for her. It was a queer room, for +everything in the house was queer; but in the dancing light of the fire +burning brightly in the tiled grate, it looked cheerful enough. + +"I am glad there's a fire," said the child. "Will it keep alight till +the morning, do you think?" + +The old servant shook her head. + +"'Twould not be safe to leave it so that it would burn till morning," +she said. "When you are in bed and asleep, little missie, you won't want +the fire. Bed's the warmest place." + +"It isn't for that I want it," said Griselda; "it's for the light I like +it. This house all looks so dark to me, and yet there seem to be lights +hidden in the walls too, they shine so." + +The old servant smiled. + +"It will all seem strange to you, no doubt," she said; "but you'll get +to like it, missie. 'Tis a _good_ old house, and those that know best +love it well." + +"Whom do you mean?" said Griselda. "Do you mean my great-aunts?" + +"Ah, yes, and others beside," replied the old woman. "The rooks love it +well, and others beside. Did you ever hear tell of the 'good people,' +missie, over the sea where you come from?" + +"Fairies, do you mean?" cried Griselda, her eyes sparkling. "Of course +I've _heard_ of them, but I never saw any. Did you ever?" + +"I couldn't say," answered the old woman. + +"My mind is not young like yours, missie, and there are times when +strange memories come back to me as of sights and sounds in a dream. I +am too old to see and hear as I once could. We are all old here, missie. +'Twas time something young came to the old house again." + +"How strange and queer everything seems!" thought Griselda, as she got +into bed. "I don't feel as if I belonged to it a bit. And they are all +_so_ old; perhaps they won't like having a child among them?" + +The very same thought that had occurred to the rooks! They could not +decide as to the fors and againsts at all, so they settled to put it to +the vote the next morning, and in the meantime they and Griselda all +went to sleep. + +I never heard if _they_ slept well that night; after such unusual +excitement it was hardly to be expected they would. But Griselda, being +a little girl and not a rook, was so tired that two minutes after she +had tucked herself up in bed she was quite sound asleep, and did not +wake for several hours. + +"I wonder what it will all look like in the morning," was her last +waking thought. "If it was summer now, or spring, I shouldn't +mind--there would always be something nice to do then." + +As sometimes happens, when she woke again, very early in the morning, +long before it was light, her thoughts went straight on with the same +subject. + +"If it was summer now, or spring," she repeated to herself, just as if +she had not been asleep at all--like the man who fell into a trance for +a hundred years just as he was saying "it is bitt--" and when he woke up +again finished the sentence as if nothing had happened--"erly cold." "If +only it was spring," thought Griselda. + +Just as she had got so far in her thoughts, she gave a great start. What +was it she heard? Could her wish have come true? Was this fairyland +indeed that she had got to, where one only needs to _wish_, for it to +_be_? She rubbed her eyes, but it was too dark to see; _that_ was not +very fairyland-like, but her ears she felt certain had not deceived her: +she was quite, quite sure that she had heard the cuckoo! + +She listened with all her might, but she did not hear it again. Could +it, after all, have been fancy? She grew sleepy at last, and was just +dropping off when--yes, there it was again, as clear and distinct as +possible--"Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!" three, four, _five_ times, then +perfect silence as before. + +"What a funny cuckoo," said Griselda to herself. "I could almost fancy +it was in the house. I wonder if my great-aunts have a tame cuckoo in a +cage? I don't _think_ I ever heard of such a thing, but this is such a +queer house; everything seems different in it--perhaps they have a tame +cuckoo. I'll ask them in the morning. It's very nice to hear, whatever +it is." + +And, with a pleasant feeling of companionship, a sense that she was not +the only living creature awake in this dark world, Griselda lay +listening, contentedly enough, for the sweet, fresh notes of the +cuckoo's friendly greeting. But before it sounded again through the +silent house she was once more fast asleep. And this time she slept till +daylight had found its way into all but the _very_ darkest nooks and +crannies of the ancient dwelling. + +She dressed herself carefully, for she had been warned that her aunts +loved neatness and precision; she fastened each button of her grey +frock, and tied down her hair as smooth as such a brown tangle _could_ +be tied down; and, absorbed with these weighty cares, she forgot all +about the cuckoo for the time. It was not till she was sitting at +breakfast with her aunts that she remembered it, or rather was reminded +of it, by some little remark that was made about the friendly robins on +the terrace walk outside. + +"Oh, aunt," she exclaimed, stopping short half-way the journey to her +mouth of a spoonful of bread and milk, "have you got a cuckoo in a +cage?" + +"A cuckoo in a cage," repeated her elder aunt, Miss Grizzel; "what is +the child talking about?" + +"In a cage!" echoed Miss Tabitha, "a cuckoo in a cage!" + +"There is a cuckoo somewhere in the house," said Griselda; "I heard it +in the night. It couldn't have been out-of-doors, could it? It would be +too cold." + +The aunts looked at each other with a little smile. "So like her +grandmother," they whispered. Then said Miss Grizzel-- + +"We have a cuckoo, my dear, though it isn't in a cage, and it isn't +exactly the sort of cuckoo you are thinking of. It lives in a clock." + +"In a clock," repeated Miss Tabitha, as if to confirm her sister's +statement. + +"In a clock!" exclaimed Griselda, opening her grey eyes very wide. + +It sounded something like the three bears, all speaking one after the +other, only Griselda's voice was not like Tiny's; it was the loudest of +the three. + +"In a clock!" she exclaimed; "but it can't be alive, then?" + +"Why not?" said Miss Grizzel. + +"I don't know," replied Griselda, looking puzzled. + +"I knew a little girl once," pursued Miss Grizzel, "who was quite of +opinion the cuckoo _was_ alive, and nothing would have persuaded her it +was not. Finish your breakfast, my dear, and then if you like you shall +come with me and see the cuckoo for yourself." + +"Thank you, Aunt Grizzel," said Griselda, going on with her bread and +milk. + +"Yes," said Miss Tabitha, "you shall see the cuckoo for yourself." + +"Thank you, Aunt Tabitha," said Griselda. It was rather a bother to have +always to say "thank you," or "no, thank you," twice, but Griselda +thought it was polite to do so, as Aunt Tabitha always repeated +everything that Aunt Grizzel said. It wouldn't have mattered so much if +Aunt Tabitha had said it _at once_ after Miss Grizzel, but as she +generally made a little pause between, it was sometimes rather awkward. +But of course it was better to say "thank you" or "no, thank you" twice +over than to hurt Aunt Tabitha's feelings. + +After breakfast Aunt Grizzel was as good as her word. She took Griselda +through several of the rooms in the house, pointing out all the +curiosities, and telling all the histories of the rooms and their +contents; and Griselda liked to listen, only in every room they came +to, she wondered _when_ they would get to the room where lived the +cuckoo. + +Aunt Tabitha did not come with them, for she was rather rheumatic. On +the whole, Griselda was not sorry. It would have taken such a _very_ +long time, you see, to have had all the histories twice over, and +possibly, if Griselda had got tired, she might have forgotten about the +"thank you's" or "no, thank you's" twice over. + +The old house looked quite as queer and quaint by daylight as it had +seemed the evening before; almost more so indeed, for the view from the +windows added to the sweet, odd "old-fashionedness" of everything. + +"We have beautiful roses in summer," observed Miss Grizzel, catching +sight of the direction in which the child's eyes were wandering. + +"I wish it was summer. I do love summer," said Griselda. "But there is a +very rosy scent in the rooms even now, Aunt Grizzel, though it is +winter, or nearly winter." + +Miss Grizzel looked pleased. + +"My pot-pourri," she explained. + +They were just then standing in what she called the "great saloon," a +handsome old room, furnished with gold-and-white chairs, that must once +have been brilliant, and faded yellow damask hangings. A feeling of awe +had crept over Griselda as they entered this ancient drawing-room. What +grand parties there must have been in it long ago! But as for dancing in +it _now_--dancing, or laughing, or chattering--such a thing was quite +impossible to imagine! + +Miss Grizzel crossed the room to where stood in one corner a marvellous +Chinese cabinet, all black and gold and carving. It was made in the +shape of a temple, or a palace--Griselda was not sure which. Any way, it +was very delicious and wonderful. At the door stood, one on each side, +two solemn mandarins; or, to speak more correctly, perhaps I should +say, a mandarin and his wife, for the right-hand figure was evidently +intended to be a lady. + +Miss Grizzel gently touched their heads. Forthwith, to Griselda's +astonishment, they began solemnly to nod. + +"Oh, how do you make them do that, Aunt Grizzel?" she exclaimed. + +"Never you mind, my dear; it wouldn't do for _you_ to try to make them +nod. They wouldn't like it," replied Miss Grizzel mysteriously. "Respect +to your elders, my dear, always remember that. The mandarins are _many_ +years older than you--older than I myself, in fact." + +Griselda wondered, if this were so, how it was that Miss Grizzel took +such liberties with them herself, but she said nothing. + +"Here is my last summer's pot-pourri," continued Miss Grizzel, touching +a great china jar on a little stand, close beside the cabinet. "You may +smell it, my dear." + +Nothing loth, Griselda buried her round little nose in the fragrant +leaves. + +"It's lovely," she said. "May I smell it whenever I like, Aunt Grizzel?" + +"We shall see," replied her aunt. "It isn't _every_ little girl, you +know, that we could trust to come into the great saloon alone." + +"No," said Griselda meekly. + +Miss Grizzel led the way to a door opposite to that by which they had +entered. She opened it and passed through, Griselda following, into a +small ante-room. + +"It is on the stroke of ten," said Miss Grizzel, consulting her watch; +"now, my dear, you shall make acquaintance with our cuckoo." + +The cuckoo "that lived in a clock!" Griselda gazed round her eagerly. +Where was the clock? She could see nothing in the least like one, only +up on the wall in one corner was what looked like a miniature house, of +dark brown carved wood. It was not so _very_ like a house, but it +certainly had a roof--a roof with deep projecting eaves; and, looking +closer, yes, it _was_ a clock, after all, only the figures, which had +once been gilt, had grown dim with age, like everything else, and the +hands at a little distance were hardly to be distinguished from the +face. + +Miss Grizzel stood perfectly still, looking up at the clock; Griselda +beside her, in breathless expectation. Presently there came a sort of +distant rumbling. _Something_ was going to happen. Suddenly two little +doors above the clock face, which Griselda had not known were there, +sprang open with a burst and out flew a cuckoo, flapped his wings, and +uttered his pretty cry, "Cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo!" Miss Grizzel counted +aloud, "Seven, eight, nine, ten." "Yes, he never makes a mistake," she +added triumphantly. "All these long years I have never known him wrong. +There are no such clocks made nowadays, I can assure you, my dear." + +"But _is_ it a clock? Isn't he alive?" exclaimed Griselda. "He looked at +me and nodded his head, before he flapped his wings and went in to his +house again--he did indeed, aunt," she said earnestly; "just like +saying, 'How do you do?' to me." + +Again Miss Grizzel smiled, the same odd yet pleased smile that Griselda +had seen on her face at breakfast. "Just what Sybilla used to say," she +murmured. "Well, my dear," she added aloud, "it is quite right he +_should_ say, 'How do you do?' to you. It is the first time he has seen +_you_, though many a year ago he knew your dear grandmother, and your +father, too, when he was a little boy. You will find him a good friend, +and one that can teach you many lessons." + +"What, Aunt Grizzel?" inquired Griselda, looking puzzled. + +"Punctuality, for one thing, and faithful discharge of duty," replied +Miss Grizzel. + +"May I come to see the cuckoo--to watch for him coming out, sometimes?" +asked Griselda, who felt as if she could spend all day looking up at the +clock, watching for her little friend's appearance. + +"You will see him several times a day," said her aunt, "for it is in +this little room I intend you to prepare your tasks. It is nice and +quiet, and nothing to disturb you, and close to the room where your Aunt +Tabitha and I usually sit." + +So saying, Miss Grizzel opened a second door in the little ante-room, +and, to Griselda's surprise, at the foot of a short flight of stairs +through another door, half open, she caught sight of her Aunt Tabitha, +knitting quietly by the fire, in the room in which they had breakfasted. + +"What a _very_ funny house it is, Aunt Grizzel," she said, as she +followed her aunt down the steps. "Every room has so many doors, and you +come back to where you were just when you think you are ever so far +off. I shall never be able to find my way about." + +"Oh yes, you will, my dear, very soon," said her aunt encouragingly. + +"She is very kind," thought Griselda; "but I wish she wouldn't call my +lessons tasks. It makes them sound so dreadfully hard. But, any way, I'm +glad I'm to do them in the room where that dear cuckoo lives." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +_IM_PATIENT GRISELDA. + + + "... fairies but seldom appear; + If we do wrong we must expect + That it will cost us dear!" + + +It was all very well for a few days. Griselda found plenty to amuse +herself with while the novelty lasted, enough to prevent her missing +_very_ badly the home she had left "over the sea," and the troop of +noisy merry brothers who teased and petted her. Of course she _missed_ +them, but not "dreadfully." She was neither homesick nor "dull." + +It was not quite such smooth sailing when lessons began. She did not +dislike lessons; in fact, she had always thought she was rather fond of +them. But the having to do them alone was not lively, and her teachers +were very strict. The worst of all was the writing and arithmetic +master, a funny little old man who wore knee-breeches and took snuff, +and called her aunt "Madame," bowing formally whenever he addressed her. +He screwed Griselda up into such an unnatural attitude to write her +copies, that she really felt as if she would never come straight and +loose again; and the arithmetic part of his instructions was even worse. +Oh! what sums in addition he gave her! Griselda had never been partial +to sums, and her rather easy-going governess at home had not, to tell +the truth, been partial to them either. And Mr.--I can't remember the +little old gentleman's name. Suppose we call him Mr. Kneebreeches--Mr. +Kneebreeches, when he found this out, conscientiously put her back to +the very beginning. + +It was dreadful, really. He came twice a week, and the days he didn't +come were as bad as those he did, for he left her a whole _row_ I was +going to say, but you couldn't call Mr. Kneebreeches' addition sums +"rows," they were far too fat and wide across to be so spoken of!--whole +slatefuls of these terrible mountains of figures to climb wearily to the +top of. And not to climb _once_ up merely. _The_ terrible thing was Mr. +Kneebreeches' favourite method of what he called "proving." I can't +explain it--it is far beyond my poor powers--but it had something to do +with cutting off the top line, after you had added it all up and had +actually done the sum, you understand--cutting off the top line and +adding the long rows up again without it, and then joining it on again +somewhere else. + +"I wouldn't mind so much," said poor Griselda, one day, "if it was any +good. But you see, Aunt Grizzel, it isn't. For I'm just as likely to do +the _proving_ wrong as the sum itself--more likely, for I'm always so +tired when I get to the proving--and so all that's proved is that +_something's_ wrong, and I'm sure that isn't any good, except to make me +cross." + +"Hush!" said her aunt gravely. "That is not the way for a little girl to +speak. Improve these golden hours of youth, Griselda; they will never +return." + +"I hope not," muttered Griselda, "if it means doing sums." + +Miss Grizzel fortunately was a little deaf; she did not hear this +remark. Just then the cuckoo clock struck eleven. + +"Good little cuckoo," said Miss Grizzel. "What an example he sets you. +His life is spent in the faithful discharge of duty;" and so saying she +left the room. + +The cuckoo was still telling the hour--eleven took a good while. It +seemed to Griselda that the bird repeated her aunt's last words. +"Faith--ful, dis--charge, of--your, du--ty," he said, "faith--ful." + +"You horrid little creature!" exclaimed Griselda in a passion; "what +business have you to mock me?" + +She seized a book, the first that came to hand, and flung it at the bird +who was just beginning his eleventh cuckoo. He disappeared with a snap, +disappeared without flapping his wings, or, as Griselda always fancied +he did, giving her a friendly nod, and in an instant all was silent. + +Griselda felt a little frightened. What had she done? She looked up at +the clock. It seemed just the same as usual, the cuckoo's doors closely +shut, no sign of any disturbance. Could it have been her fancy only that +he had sprung back more hastily than he would have done but for her +throwing the book at him? She began to hope so, and tried to go on with +her lessons. But it was no use. Though she really gave her best +attention to the long addition sums, and found that by so doing she +managed them much better than before, she could not feel happy or at +ease. Every few minutes she glanced up at the clock, as if expecting the +cuckoo to come out, though she knew quite well there was no chance of +his doing so till twelve o'clock, as it was only the hours, not the half +hours and quarters, that he told. + +"I wish it was twelve o'clock," she said to herself anxiously more than +once. + +If only the clock had not been so very high up on the wall, she would +have been tempted to climb up and open the little doors, and peep in to +satisfy herself as to the cuckoo's condition. But there was no +possibility of this. The clock was far, very far above her reach, and +there was no high piece of furniture standing near, upon which she could +have climbed to get to it. There was nothing to be done but to wait for +twelve o'clock. + +And, after all, she did not wait for twelve o'clock, for just about +half-past eleven, Miss Grizzel's voice was heard calling to her to put +on her hat and cloak quickly, and come out to walk up and down the +terrace with her. + +"It is fine just now," said Miss Grizzel, "but there is a prospect of +rain before long. You must leave your lessons for the present, and +finish them in the afternoon." + +"I have finished them," said Griselda, meekly. + +"_All_?" inquired her aunt. + +"Yes, all," replied Griselda. + +"Ah, well, then, this afternoon, if the rain holds off, we shall drive +to Merrybrow Hall, and inquire for the health of your dear godmother, +Lady Lavander," said Miss Grizzel. + +Poor Griselda! There were few things she disliked more than a drive with +her aunts. They went in the old yellow chariot, with all the windows up, +and of course Griselda had to sit with her back to the horses, which +made her very uncomfortable when she had no air, and had to sit still +for so long. + +Merrybrow Hall was a large house, quite as old and much grander, but not +nearly so wonderful as the home of Griselda's aunts. It was six miles +off, and it took a very long time indeed to drive there in the rumbling +old chariot, for the old horses were fat and wheezy, and the old +coachman fat and wheezy too. Lady Lavander was, of course, old too--very +old indeed, and rather grumpy and very deaf. Miss Grizzel and Miss +Tabitha had the greatest respect for her; she always called them "My +dear," as if they were quite girls, and they listened to all she said as +if her words were of gold. For some mysterious reason she had been +invited to be Griselda's godmother; but, as she had never shown her any +proof of affection beyond giving her a prayer-book, and hoping, whenever +she saw her, that she was "a good little miss," Griselda did not feel +any particular cause for gratitude to her. + +The drive seemed longer and duller than ever this afternoon, but +Griselda bore it meekly; and when Lady Lavander, as usual, expressed her +hopes about her, the little girl looked down modestly, feeling her +cheeks grow scarlet. "I am not a good little girl at all," she felt +inclined to call out. "I'm very bad and cruel. I believe I've killed the +dear little cuckoo." + +What _would_ the three old ladies have thought if she had called it out? +As it was, Lady Lavander patted her approvingly, said she loved to see +young people modest and humble-minded, and gave her a slice of very +highly-spiced, rather musty gingerbread, which Griselda couldn't bear. + +All the way home Griselda felt in a fever of impatience to rush up to +the ante-room and see if the cuckoo was all right again. It was late and +dark when the chariot at last stopped at the door of the old house. Miss +Grizzel got out slowly, and still more slowly Miss Tabitha followed +her. Griselda was obliged to restrain herself and move demurely. + +"It is past your supper-time, my dear," said Miss Grizzel. "Go up at +once to your room, and Dorcas shall bring some supper to you. Late hours +are bad for young people." + +Griselda obediently wished her aunts good-night, and went quietly +upstairs. But once out of sight, at the first landing, she changed her +pace. She turned to the left instead of to the right, which led to her +own room, and flew rather than ran along the dimly-lighted passage, at +the end of which a door led into the great saloon. She opened the door. +All was quite dark. It was impossible to fly or run across the great +saloon! Even in daylight this would have been a difficult matter. +Griselda _felt_ her way as best she could, past the Chinese cabinet and +the pot-pourri jar, till she got to the ante-room door. It was open, and +now, knowing her way better, she hurried in. But what was the use? All +was silent, save the tick-tick of the cuckoo clock in the corner. Oh, if +_only_ the cuckoo would come out and call the hour as usual, what a +weight would be lifted off Griselda's heart! + +She had no idea what o'clock it was. It might be close to the hour, or +it might be just past it. She stood listening for a few minutes, then +hearing Miss Grizzel's voice in the distance, she felt that she dared +not stay any longer, and turned to feel her way out of the room again. +Just as she got to the door it seemed to her that something softly +brushed her cheek, and a very, very faint "cuckoo" sounded as it were in +the air close to her. + +Startled, but not frightened, Griselda stood perfectly still. + +"Cuckoo," she said, softly. But there was no answer. + +Again the tones of Miss Grizzel's voice coming upstairs reached her +ear. + +"I _must_ go," said Griselda; and finding her way across the saloon +without, by great good luck, tumbling against any of the many breakable +treasures with which it was filled, she flew down the long passage +again, reaching her own room just before Dorcas appeared with her +supper. + +Griselda slept badly that night. She was constantly dreaming of the +cuckoo, fancying she heard his voice, and then waking with a start to +find it was _only_ fancy. She looked pale and heavy-eyed when she came +down to breakfast the next morning; and her Aunt Tabitha, who was alone +in the room when she entered, began immediately asking her what was the +matter. + +"I am sure you are going to be ill, child," she said, nervously. "Sister +Grizzel must give you some medicine. I wonder what would be the best. +Tansy tea is an excellent thing when one has taken cold, or----" + +But the rest of Miss Tabitha's sentence was never heard, for at this +moment Miss Grizzel came hurriedly into the room--her cap awry, her +shawl disarranged, her face very pale. I hardly think any one had ever +seen her so discomposed before. + +"Sister Tabitha!" she exclaimed, "what can be going to happen? The +cuckoo clock has stopped." + +"The cuckoo clock has stopped!" repeated Miss Tabitha, holding up her +hands; "_im_possible!" + +"But it has, or rather I should say--dear me, I am so upset I cannot +explain myself--the _cuckoo_ has stopped. The clock is going on, but the +cuckoo has not told the hours, and Dorcas is of opinion that he left off +doing so yesterday. What can be going to happen? What shall we do?" + +"What can we do?" said Miss Tabitha. "Should we send for the +watch-maker?" + +Miss Grizzel shook her head. + +"'Twould be worse than useless. Were we to search the world over, we +could find no one to put it right. Fifty years and more, Tabitha, fifty +years and more, it has never missed an hour! We are getting old, +Tabitha, our day is nearly over; perhaps 'tis to remind us of this." + +Miss Tabitha did not reply. She was weeping silently. The old ladies +seemed to have forgotten the presence of their niece, but Griselda could +not bear to see their distress. She finished her breakfast as quickly as +she could, and left the room. + +On her way upstairs she met Dorcas. + +"Have you heard what has happened, little missie?" said the old servant. + +"Yes," replied Griselda. + +"My ladies are in great trouble," continued Dorcas, who seemed inclined +to be more communicative than usual, "and no wonder. For fifty years +that clock has never gone wrong." + +"Can't it be put right?" asked the child. + +Dorcas shook her head. + +"No good would come of interfering," she said. "What must be, must be. +The luck of the house hangs on that clock. Its maker spent a good part +of his life over it, and his last words were that it would bring good +luck to the house that owned it, but that trouble would follow its +silence. It's my belief," she added solemnly, "that it's a _fairy_ +clock, neither more nor less, for good luck it has brought there's no +denying. There are no cows like ours, missie--their milk is a proverb +hereabouts; there are no hens like ours for laying all the year round; +there are no roses like ours. And there's always a friendly feeling in +this house, and always has been. 'Tis not a house for wrangling and +jangling, and sharp words. The 'good people' can't stand that. Nothing +drives them away like ill-temper or anger." + +Griselda's conscience gave her a sharp prick. Could it be _her_ doing +that trouble was coming upon the old house? What a punishment for a +moment's fit of ill-temper. + +"I wish you wouldn't talk that way, Dorcas," she said; "it makes me so +unhappy." + +"What a feeling heart the child has!" said the old servant as she went +on her way downstairs. "It's true--she is very like Miss Sybilla." + +That day was a very weary and sad one for Griselda. She was oppressed by +a feeling she did not understand. She knew she had done wrong, but she +had sorely repented it, and "I do think the cuckoo might have come back +again," she said to herself, "if he is a fairy; and if he isn't, it +can't be true what Dorcas says." + +Her aunts made no allusion to the subject in her presence, and almost +seemed to have forgotten that she had known of their distress. They were +more grave and silent than usual, but otherwise things went on in their +ordinary way. Griselda spent the morning "at her tasks," in the +ante-room, but was thankful to get away from the tick-tick of the clock +in the corner and out into the garden. + +But there, alas! it was just as bad. The rooks seemed to know that +something was the matter; they set to work making such a chatter +immediately Griselda appeared that she felt inclined to run back into +the house again. + +"I am sure they are talking about me," she said to herself. "Perhaps +they are fairies too. I am beginning to think I don't like fairies." + +She was glad when bed-time came. It was a sort of reproach to her to see +her aunts so pale and troubled; and though she tried to persuade herself +that she thought them very silly, she could not throw off the +uncomfortable feeling. + +She was so tired when she went to bed--tired in the disagreeable way +that comes from a listless, uneasy day--that she fell asleep at once and +slept heavily. When she woke, which she did suddenly, and with a start, +it was still perfectly dark, like the first morning that she had wakened +in the old house. It seemed to her that she had not wakened of +herself--something had roused her. Yes! there it was again, a very, +_very_ soft distant "cuckoo." _Was_ it distant? She could not tell. +Almost she could have fancied it was close to her. + +"If it's that cuckoo come back again, I'll catch him!" exclaimed +Griselda. + +She darted out of bed, felt her way to the door, which was closed, and +opening it let in a rush of moonlight from the unshuttered passage +window. In another moment her little bare feet were pattering along the +passage at full speed, in the direction of the great saloon. + +For Griselda's childhood among the troop of noisy brothers had taught +her one lesson--she was afraid of nothing. Or rather perhaps I should +say she had never learnt that there was anything to be afraid of! And is +there? + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +OBEYING ORDERS. + + + "Little girl, thou must thy part fulfil, + If we're to take kindly to ours: + Then pull up the weeds with a will, + And fairies will cherish the flowers." + + +There was moonlight, though not so much, in the saloon and the +ante-room, too; for though the windows, like those in Griselda's +bed-room, had the shutters closed, there was a round part at the top, +high up, which the shutters did not reach to, and in crept, through +these clear uncovered panes, quite as many moonbeams, you may be sure, +as could find their way. + +Griselda, eager though she was, could not help standing still a moment +to admire the effect. + +"It looks prettier with the light coming in at those holes at the top +than even if the shutters were open," she said to herself. "How +goldy-silvery the cabinet looks; and, yes, I do declare, the mandarins +are nodding! I wonder if it is out of politeness to me, or does Aunt +Grizzel come in last thing at night and touch them to make them keep +nodding till morning? I _suppose_ they're a sort of policemen to the +palace; and I dare say there are all sorts of beautiful things inside. +How I should like to see all through it!" + +But at this moment the faint tick-tick of the cuckoo clock in the next +room, reaching her ear, reminded her of the object of this midnight +expedition of hers. She hurried into the ante-room. + +It looked darker than the great saloon, for it had but one window. But +through the uncovered space at the top of this window there penetrated +some brilliant moonbeams, one of which lighted up brightly the face of +the clock with its queer over-hanging eaves. + +[Illustration: "WHY WON'T YOU SPEAK TO ME?"] + +Griselda approached it and stood below, looking up. + +"Cuckoo," she said softly--very softly. + +But there was no reply. + +"Cuckoo," she repeated rather more loudly. "Why won't you speak to me? I +know you are there, and you're not asleep, for I heard your voice in my +own room. Why won't you come out, cuckoo?" + +"Tick-tick" said the clock, but there was no other reply. + +Griselda felt ready to cry. + +"Cuckoo," she said reproachfully, "I didn't think you were so +hard-hearted. I have been _so_ unhappy about you, and I was so pleased +to hear your voice again, for I thought I had killed you, or hurt you +very badly; and I didn't _mean_ to hurt you, cuckoo. I was sorry the +moment I had done it, _dreadfully_ sorry. Dear cuckoo, won't you +forgive me?" + +There was a little sound at last--a faint _coming_ sound, and by the +moonlight Griselda saw the doors open, and out flew the cuckoo. He stood +still for a moment, looked round him as it were, then gently flapped his +wings, and uttered his usual note--"Cuckoo." + +Griselda stood in breathless expectation, but in her delight she could +not help very softly clapping her hands. + +The cuckoo cleared his throat. You never heard such a funny little noise +as he made; and then, in a very clear, distinct, but yet "cuckoo-y" +voice, he spoke. + +"Griselda," he said, "are you truly sorry?" + +"I told you I was," she replied. "But I didn't _feel_ so very naughty, +cuckoo. I didn't, really. I was only vexed for one minute, and when I +threw the book I seemed to be a very little in fun, too. And it made me +so unhappy when you went away, and my poor aunts have been dreadfully +unhappy too. If you hadn't come back I should have told them to-morrow +what I had done. I would have told them before, but I was afraid it +would have made them more unhappy. I thought I had hurt you dreadfully." + +"So you did," said the cuckoo. + +"But you _look_ quite well," said Griselda. + +"It was _my feelings_," replied the cuckoo; "and I couldn't help going +away. I have to obey orders like other people." + +Griselda stared. "How do you mean?" she asked. + +"Never mind. You can't understand at present," said the cuckoo. "You can +understand about obeying _your_ orders, and you see, when you don't, +things go wrong." + +"Yes," said Griselda humbly, "they certainly do. But, cuckoo," she +continued, "I never used to get into tempers at home--_hardly_ never, +at least; and I liked my lessons then, and I never was scolded about +them." + +"What's wrong here, then?" said the cuckoo. "It isn't often that things +go wrong in this house." + +"That's what Dorcas says," said Griselda. "It must be with my being a +child--my aunts and the house and everything have got out of children's +ways." + +"About time they did," remarked the cuckoo drily. + +"And so," continued Griselda, "it is really very dull. I have lots of +lessons, but it isn't so much that I mind. It is that I've no one to +play with." + +"There's something in that," said the cuckoo. He flapped his wings and +was silent for a minute or two. "I'll consider about it," he observed at +last. + +"Thank you," said Griselda, not exactly knowing what else to say. + +"And in the meantime," continued the cuckoo, "you'd better obey present +orders and go back to bed." + +"Shall I say good-night to you, then?" asked Griselda somewhat timidly. + +"You're quite welcome to do so," replied the cuckoo. "Why shouldn't +you?" + +"You see I wasn't sure if you would like it," returned Griselda, "for of +course you're not like a person, and--and--I've been told all sorts of +queer things about what fairies like and don't like." + +"Who said I was a fairy?" inquired the cuckoo. + +"Dorcas did, and, _of course_, my own common sense did too," replied +Griselda. "You must be a fairy--you couldn't be anything else." + +"I might be a fairyfied cuckoo," suggested the bird. + +Griselda looked puzzled. + +"I don't understand," she said, "and I don't think it could make much +difference. But whatever you are, I wish you would tell me one thing." + +"What?" said the cuckoo. + +"I want to know, now that you've forgiven me for throwing the book at +you, have you come back for good?" + +"Certainly not for evil," replied the cuckoo. + +Griselda gave a little wriggle. "Cuckoo, you're laughing at me," she +said. "I mean, have you come back to stay and cuckoo as usual and make +my aunts happy again?" + +"You'll see in the morning," said the cuckoo. "Now go off to bed." + +"Good night," said Griselda, "and thank you, and please don't forget to +let me know when you've considered." + +"Cuckoo, cuckoo," was her little friend's reply. Griselda thought it was +meant for good night, but the fact of the matter was that at that exact +second of time it was two o'clock in the morning. + +She made her way back to bed. She had been standing some time talking to +the cuckoo, but, though it was now well on in November, she did not feel +the least cold, nor sleepy! She felt as happy and light-hearted as +possible, and she wished it was morning, that she might get up. Yet the +moment she laid her little brown curly head on the pillow, she fell +asleep; and it seemed to her that just as she dropped off a soft +feathery wing brushed her cheek gently and a tiny "Cuckoo" sounded in +her ear. + +When she woke it was bright morning, really bright morning, for the +wintry sun was already sending some clear yellow rays out into the pale +grey-blue sky. + +"It must be late," thought Griselda, when she had opened the shutters +and seen how light it was. "I must have slept a long time. I feel so +beautifully unsleepy now. I must dress quickly--how nice it will be to +see my aunts look happy again! I don't even care if they scold me for +being late." + +But, after all, it was not so much later than usual; it was only a much +brighter morning than they had had for some time. Griselda did dress +herself very quickly, however. As she went downstairs two or three of +the clocks in the house, for there were several, were striking eight. +These clocks must have been a little before the right time, for it was +not till they had again relapsed into silence that there rang out from +the ante-room the clear sweet tones, eight times repeated, of "Cuckoo." + +Miss Grizzel and Miss Tabitha were already at the breakfast-table, but +they received their little niece most graciously. Nothing was said about +the clock, however, till about half-way through the meal, when Griselda, +full of eagerness to know if her aunts were aware of the cuckoo's +return, could restrain herself no longer. + +"Aunt Grizzel," she said, "isn't the cuckoo all right again?" + +"Yes, my dear. I am delighted to say it is," replied Miss Grizzel. + +"Did you get it put right, Aunt Grizzel?" inquired Griselda, slyly. + +"Little girls should not ask so many questions," replied Miss Grizzel, +mysteriously. "It _is_ all right again, and that is enough. During fifty +years that cuckoo has never, till yesterday, missed an hour. If you, in +your sphere, my dear, do as well during fifty years, you won't have done +badly." + +"No, indeed, you won't have done badly," repeated Miss Tabitha. + +But though the two old ladies thus tried to improve the occasion by a +little lecturing, Griselda could see that at the bottom of their hearts +they were both so happy that, even if she had been very naughty indeed, +they could hardly have made up their minds to scold her. + +She was not at all inclined to be naughty this day. She had something +to think about and look forward to, which made her quite a different +little girl, and made her take heart in doing her lessons as well as she +possibly could. + +"I wonder when the cuckoo will have considered enough about my having no +one to play with?" she said to herself, as she was walking up and down +the terrace at the back of the house. + +"Caw, caw!" screamed a rook just over her head, as if in answer to her +thought. + +Griselda looked up at him. + +"Your voice isn't half so pretty as the cuckoo's, Mr. Rook," she said. +"All the same, I dare say I should make friends with you, if I +understood what you meant. How funny it would be to know all the +languages of the birds and the beasts, like the prince in the fairy +tale! I wonder if I should wish for that, if a fairy gave me a wish? No, +I don't think I would. I'd _far_ rather have the fairy carpet that would +take you anywhere you liked in a minute. I'd go to China to see if all +the people there look like Aunt Grizzel's mandarins; and I'd first of +all, of course, go to fairyland." + +"You must come in now, little missie," said Dorcas's voice. "Miss Grizzel +says you have had play enough, and there's a nice fire in the ante-room +for you to do your lessons by." + +"Play!" repeated Griselda indignantly, as she turned to follow the old +servant. "Do you call walking up and down the terrace 'play,' Dorcas? I +mustn't loiter even to pick a flower, if there were any, for fear of +catching cold, and I mustn't run for fear of overheating myself. I +declare, Dorcas, if I don't have some play soon, or something to amuse +me, I think I'll run away." + +"Nay, nay, missie, don't talk like that. You'd never do anything so +naughty, and you so like Miss Sybilla, who was so good." + +"Dorcas, I'm tired of being told I'm like Miss Sybilla," said Griselda, +impatiently. "She was my grandmother; no one would like to be told they +were like their grandmother. It makes me feel as if my face must be all +screwy up and wrinkly, and as if I should have spectacles on and a wig." + +"_That_ is not like what Miss Sybilla was when I first saw her," said +Dorcas. "She was younger than you, missie, and as pretty as a fairy." + +"_Was_ she?" exclaimed Griselda, stopping short. + +"Yes, indeed she was. She might have been a fairy, so sweet she was and +gentle--and yet so merry. Every creature loved her; even the animals +about seemed to know her, as if she was one of themselves. She brought +good luck to the house, and it was a sad day when she left it." + +"I thought you said it was the cuckoo that brought good luck?" said +Griselda. + +"Well, so it was. The cuckoo and Miss Sybilla came here the same day. It +was left to her by her mother's father, with whom she had lived since +she was a baby, and when he died she came here to her sisters. She +wasn't _own_ sister to my ladies, you see, missie. Her mother had come +from Germany, and it was in some strange place there, where her +grandfather lived, that the cuckoo clock was made. They make wonderful +clocks there, I've been told, but none more wonderful than our cuckoo, +I'm sure." + +"No, I'm _sure_ not," said Griselda, softly. "Why didn't Miss Sybilla +take it with her when she was married and went away?" + +"She knew her sisters were so fond of it. It was like a memory of her +left behind for them. It was like a part of her. And do you know, +missie, the night she died--she died soon after your father was born, a +year after she was married--for a whole hour, from twelve to one, that +cuckoo went on cuckooing in a soft, sad way, like some living creature +in trouble. Of course, we did not know anything was wrong with her, and +folks said something had caught some of the springs of the works; but +_I_ didn't think so, and never shall. And----" + +But here Dorcas's reminiscences were abruptly brought to a close by Miss +Grizzel's appearance at the other end of the terrace. + +"Griselda, what are you loitering so for? Dorcas, you should have +hastened, not delayed Miss Griselda." + +So Griselda was hurried off to her lessons, and Dorcas to her kitchen. +But Griselda did not much mind. She had plenty to think of and wonder +about, and she liked to do her lessons in the ante-room, with the +tick-tick of the clock in her ears, and the feeling that _perhaps_ the +cuckoo was watching her through some invisible peep-hole in his closed +doors. + +"And if he sees," thought Griselda, "if he sees how hard I am trying to +do my lessons well, it will perhaps make him be quick about +'considering.'" + +So she did try very hard. And she didn't speak to the cuckoo when he +came out to say it was four o'clock. She was busy, and he was busy. She +felt it was better to wait till he gave her some sign of being ready to +talk to her again. + +For fairies, you know, children, however charming, are sometimes +_rather_ queer to have to do with. They don't like to be interfered +with, or treated except with very great respect, and they have their own +ideas about what is proper and what isn't, I can assure you. + +I suppose it was with working so hard at her lessons--most people would +say it was with having been up the night before, running about the house +in the moonlight; but as she had never felt so "fresh" in her life as +when she got up that morning, it could hardly have been that--that +Griselda felt so tired and sleepy that evening, she could hardly keep +her eyes open. She begged to go to bed quite half an hour earlier than +usual, which made Miss Tabitha afraid again that she was going to be +ill. But as there is nothing better for children than to go to bed +early, even if they _are_ going to be ill, Miss Grizzel told her to say +good-night, and to ask Dorcas to give her a wine-glassful of elderberry +wine, nice and hot, after she was in bed. + +Griselda had no objection to the elderberry wine, though she felt she +was having it on false pretences. She certainly did not need it to send +her to sleep, for almost before her head touched the pillow she was as +sound as a top. She had slept a good long while, when again she wakened +suddenly--just as she had done the night before, and again with the +feeling that something had wakened her. And the queer thing was that the +moment she was awake she felt so _very_ awake--she had no inclination to +stretch and yawn and hope it wasn't quite time to get up, and think how +nice and warm bed was, and how cold it was outside! She sat straight up, +and peered out into the darkness, feeling quite ready for an adventure. + +"Is it you, cuckoo?" she said softly. + +There was no answer, but listening intently, the child fancied she heard +a faint rustling or fluttering in the corner of the room by the door. +She got up and, feeling her way, opened it, and the instant she had done +so she heard, a few steps only in front of her it seemed, the familiar +notes, very, _very_ soft and whispered, "Cuckoo, cuckoo." + +It went on and on, down the passage, Griselda trotting after. There was +no moon to-night, heavy clouds had quite hidden it, and outside the rain +was falling heavily. Griselda could hear it on the window-panes, through +the closed shutters and all. But dark as it was, she made her way along +without any difficulty, down the passage, across the great saloon, in +through the ante-room door, guided only by the little voice now and then +to be heard in front of her. She came to a standstill right before the +clock, and stood there for a minute or two patiently waiting. + +She had not very long to wait. There came the usual murmuring sound, +then the doors above the clock face opened--she heard them open, it was +far too dark to see--and in his ordinary voice, clear and distinct (it +was just two o'clock, so the cuckoo was killing two birds with one +stone, telling the hour and greeting Griselda at once), the bird sang +out, "Cuckoo, cuckoo." + +"Good evening, cuckoo," said Griselda, when he had finished. + +"Good morning, you mean," said the cuckoo. + +"Good morning, then, cuckoo," said Griselda. "Have you considered about +me, cuckoo?" + +The cuckoo cleared his throat. + +"Have you learnt to obey orders yet, Griselda?" he inquired. + +"I'm trying," replied Griselda. "But you see, cuckoo, I've not had very +long to learn in--it was only last night you told me, you know." + +The cuckoo sighed. + +"You've a great deal to learn, Griselda." + +"I dare say I have," she said. "But I can tell you one thing, +cuckoo--whatever lessons I have, I _couldn't_ ever have any worse than +those addition sums of Mr. Kneebreeches'. I have made up my mind about +that, for to-day, do you know, cuckoo----" + +"Yesterday," corrected the cuckoo. "Always be exact in your statements, +Griselda." + +"Well, yesterday, then," said Griselda, rather tartly; "though when you +know quite well what I mean, I don't see that you need be so _very_ +particular. Well, as I was saying, I tried and _tried_, but still they +were fearful. They were, indeed." + +"You've a great deal to learn, Griselda," repeated the cuckoo. + +"I wish you wouldn't say that so often," said Griselda. "I thought you +were going to _play_ with me." + +"There's something in that," said the cuckoo, "there's something in +that. I should like to talk about it. But we could talk more comfortably +if you would come up here and sit beside me." + +Griselda thought her friend must be going out of his mind. + +"Sit beside you up there!" she exclaimed. "Cuckoo, how _could_ I? I'm +far, far too big." + +"Big!" returned the cuckoo. "What do you mean by big? It's all a matter +of fancy. Don't you know that if the world and everything in it, +counting yourself of course, was all made little enough to go into a +walnut, you'd never find out the difference." + +"_Wouldn't_ I?" said Griselda, feeling rather muddled; "but, _not_ +counting myself, cuckoo, I would then, wouldn't I?" + +"Nonsense," said the cuckoo hastily; "you've a great deal to learn, and +one thing is, not to _argue_. Nobody should argue; it's a shocking bad +habit, and ruins the digestion. Come up here and sit beside me +comfortably. Catch hold of the chain; you'll find you can manage if you +try." + +"But it'll stop the clock," said Griselda. "Aunt Grizzel said I was +never to touch the weights or the chains." + +"Stuff," said the cuckoo; "it won't stop the clock. Catch hold of the +chains and swing yourself up. There now--I told you you could manage +it." + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. + + + "We're all nodding, nid-nid-nodding." + + +_How_ she managed it she never knew; but, somehow or other, it _was_ +managed. She seemed to slide up the chain just as easily as in a general +way she would have slidden down, only without any disagreeable +anticipation of a bump at the end of the journey. And when she got to +the top how wonderfully different it looked from anything she could have +expected! The doors stood open, and Griselda found them quite big +enough, or herself quite small enough--which it was she couldn't tell, +and as it was all a matter of fancy she decided not to trouble to +inquire--to pass through quite comfortably. + +And inside there was the most charming little snuggery imaginable. It +was something like a saloon railway carriage--it seemed to be all lined +and carpeted and everything, with rich mossy red velvet; there was a +little round table in the middle and two arm-chairs, on one of which sat +the cuckoo--"quite like other people," thought Griselda to +herself--while the other, as he pointed out to Griselda by a little nod, +was evidently intended for her. + +"Thank you," said she, sitting down on the chair as she spoke. + +"Are you comfortable?" inquired the cuckoo. + +"Quite," replied Griselda, looking about her with great satisfaction. +"Are all cuckoo clocks like this when you get up inside them?" she +inquired. "I can't think how there's room for this dear little place +between the clock and the wall. Is it a hole cut out of the wall on +purpose, cuckoo?" + +"Hush!" said the cuckoo, "we've got other things to talk about. First, +shall I lend you one of my mantles? You may feel cold." + +"I don't just now," replied Griselda; "but perhaps I _might_." + +She looked at her little bare feet as she spoke, and wondered why _they_ +weren't cold, for it was very chilblainy weather. + +The cuckoo stood up, and with one of his claws reached from a corner +where it was hanging a cloak which Griselda had not before noticed. For +it was hanging wrong side out, and the lining was red velvet, very like +what the sides of the little room were covered with, so it was no wonder +she had not noticed it. + +Had it been hanging the _right_ side out she must have done so; this +side was so very wonderful! + +It was all feathers--feathers of every shade and colour, but +beautifully worked in, somehow, so as to lie quite smoothly and evenly, +one colour melting away into another like those in a prism, so that you +could hardly tell where one began and another ended. + +"What a _lovely_ cloak!" said Griselda, wrapping it round her and +feeling even more comfortable than before, as she watched the rays of +the little lamp in the roof--I think I was forgetting to tell you that +the cuckoo's boudoir was lighted by a dear little lamp set into the red +velvet roof like a pearl in a ring--playing softly on the brilliant +colours of the feather mantle. + +"It's better than lovely," said the cuckoo, "as you shall see. Now, +Griselda," he continued, in the tone of one coming to business--"now, +Griselda, let us talk." + +"We have been talking," said Griselda, "ever so long. I am very +comfortable. When you say 'let us talk' like that, it makes me forget +all I wanted to say. Just let me sit still and say whatever comes into +my head." + +"That won't do," said the cuckoo; "we must have a plan of action." + +"A what?" said Griselda. + +"You see you _have_ a great deal to learn," said the cuckoo +triumphantly. "You don't understand what I say." + +"But I didn't come up here to learn," said Griselda; "I can do that down +there;" and she nodded her head in the direction of the ante-room table. +"I want to play." + +"Just so," said the cuckoo; "that's what I want to talk about. What do +you call 'play'--blindman's-buff and that sort of thing?" + +"No," said Griselda, considering. "I'm getting rather too big for that +kind of play. Besides, cuckoo, you and I alone couldn't have much fun at +blindman's-buff; there'd be only me to catch you or you to catch me." + +"Oh, we could easily get more," said the cuckoo. "The mandarins would be +pleased to join." + +"The mandarins!" repeated Griselda. "Why, cuckoo, they're not alive! How +could they play?" + +The cuckoo looked at her gravely for a minute, then shook his head. + +"You have a _great_ deal to learn," he said solemnly. "Don't you know +that _everything's_ alive?" + +"No," said Griselda, "I don't; and I don't know what you mean, and I +don't think I want to know what you mean. I want to talk about playing." + +"Well," said the cuckoo, "talk." + +"What I call playing," pursued Griselda, "is--I have thought about it +now, you see--is being amused. If you will amuse me, cuckoo, I will +count that you are playing with me." + +"How shall I amuse you?" inquired he. + +"Oh, that's for you to find out!" exclaimed Griselda. "You might tell +me fairy stories, you know: if you're a fairy you should know lots; +or--oh yes, of course that would be far nicer--if you are a fairy you +might take me with you to fairyland." + +Again the cuckoo shook his head. + +"That," said he, "I cannot do." + +"Why not?" said Griselda. "Lots of children have been there." + +"I doubt it," said the cuckoo. "_Some_ may have been, but not lots. And +some may have thought they had been there who hadn't really been there +at all. And as to those who have been there, you may be sure of one +thing--they were not _taken_, they found their own way. No one ever was +_taken_ to fairyland--to the real fairyland. They may have been taken to +the neighbouring countries, but not to fairyland itself." + +"And how is one ever to find one's own way there?" asked Griselda. + +"That I cannot tell you either," replied the cuckoo. "There are many +roads there; you may find yours some day. And if ever you do find it, be +sure you keep what you see of it well swept and clean, and then you may +see further after a while. Ah, yes, there are many roads and many doors +into fairyland!" + +"Doors!" cried Griselda. "Are there any doors into fairyland in this +house?" + +"Several," said the cuckoo; "but don't waste your time looking for them +at present. It would be no use." + +"Then how will you amuse me?" inquired Griselda, in a rather +disappointed tone. + +"Don't you care to go anywhere except to fairyland?" said the cuckoo. + +"Oh yes, there are lots of places I wouldn't mind seeing. Not geography +sort of places--it would be just like lessons to go to India and Africa +and all those places--but _queer_ places, like the mines where the +goblins make diamonds and precious stones, and the caves down under the +sea where the mermaids live. And--oh, I've just thought--now I'm so nice +and little, I _would_ like to go all over the mandarins' palace in the +great saloon." + +"That can be easily managed," said the cuckoo; "but--excuse me for an +instant," he exclaimed suddenly. He gave a spring forward and +disappeared. Then Griselda heard his voice outside the doors, "Cuckoo, +cuckoo, cuckoo." It was three o'clock. + +The doors opened again to let him through, and he re-settled himself on +his chair. "As I was saying," he went on, "nothing could be easier. But +that palace, as you call it, has an entrance on the other side, as well +as the one you know." + +"Another door, do you mean?" said Griselda. "How funny! Does it go +through the wall? And where does it lead to?" + +"It leads," replied the cuckoo, "it leads to the country of the Nodding +Mandarins." + +"_What_ fun!" exclaimed Griselda, clapping her hands. "Cuckoo, do let us +go there. How can we get down? You can fly, but must I slide down the +chain again?" + +"Oh dear, no," said the cuckoo, "by no means. You have only to stretch +out your feather mantle, flap it as if it was wings--so"--he flapped his +own wings encouragingly--"wish, and there you'll be." + +"Where?" said Griselda bewilderedly. + +"Wherever you wish to be, of course," said the cuckoo. "Are you ready? +Here goes." + +"Wait--wait a moment," cried Griselda. "Where am I to wish to be?" + +"Bless the child!" exclaimed the cuckoo. "Where _do_ you wish to be? You +said you wanted to visit the country of the Nodding Mandarins." + +"Yes; but am I to wish first to be in the palace in the great saloon?" + +"Certainly," replied the cuckoo. "That is the entrance to Mandarin Land, +and you said you would like to see through it. So--you're surely ready +now?" + +"A thought has just struck me," said Griselda. "How will you know what +o'clock it is, so as to come back in time to tell the next hour? My +aunts will get into such a fright if you go wrong again! Are you sure we +shall have time to go to the mandarins' country to-night?" + +"Time!" repeated the cuckoo; "what is time? Ah, Griselda, you have a +_very_ great deal to learn! What do you mean by time?" + +"I don't know," replied Griselda, feeling rather snubbed. "Being slow or +quick--I suppose that's what I mean." + +"And what is slow, and what is quick?" said the cuckoo. "_All_ a matter +of fancy! If everything that's been done since the world was made till +now, was done over again in five minutes, you'd never know the +difference." + +[Illustration: MANDARINS NODDING.] + +"Oh, cuckoo, I wish you wouldn't!" cried poor Griselda; "you're worse +than sums, you do so puzzle me. It's like what you said about nothing +being big or little, only it's worse. Where would all the days and hours +be if there was nothing but minutes? Oh, cuckoo, you said you'd amuse +me, and you do nothing but puzzle me." + +"It was your own fault. You wouldn't get ready," said the cuckoo. +"_Now_, here goes! Flap and wish." + +Griselda flapped and wished. She felt a sort of rustle in the air, that +was all--then she found herself standing with the cuckoo in front of the +Chinese cabinet, the door of which stood open, while the mandarins on +each side, nodding politely, seemed to invite them to enter. Griselda +hesitated. + +"Go on," said the cuckoo, patronizingly; "ladies first." + +Griselda went on. To her surprise, inside the cabinet it was quite +light, though where the light came from that illuminated all the queer +corners and recesses and streamed out to the front, where stood the +mandarins, she could not discover. + +The "palace" was not quite as interesting as she had expected. There +were lots of little rooms in it opening on to balconies commanding, no +doubt, a splendid view of the great saloon; there were ever so many +little staircases leading to more little rooms and balconies; but it all +seemed empty and deserted. + +"I don't care for it," said Griselda, stopping short at last; "it's all +the same, and there's nothing to see. I thought my aunts kept ever so +many beautiful things in here, and there's nothing." + +"Come along, then," said the cuckoo. "I didn't expect you'd care for the +palace, as you called it, much. Let us go out the other way." + +He hopped down a sort of little staircase near which they were standing, +and Griselda followed him willingly enough. At the foot they found +themselves in a vestibule, much handsomer than the entrance at the other +side, and the cuckoo, crossing it, lifted one of his claws and touched a +spring in the wall. Instantly a pair of large doors flew open in the +middle, revealing to Griselda the prettiest and most curious sight she +had ever seen. + +A flight of wide shallow steps led down from this doorway into a long, +long avenue bordered by stiffly growing trees, from the branches of +which hung innumerable lamps of every colour, making a perfect network +of brilliance as far as the eye could reach. + +"Oh, how lovely!" cried Griselda, clapping her hands. "It'll be like +walking along a rainbow. Cuckoo, come quick." + +"Stop," said the cuckoo; "we've a good way to go. There's no need to +walk. Palanquin!" + +He flapped his wings, and instantly a palanquin appeared at the foot of +the steps. It was made of carved ivory, and borne by four +Chinese-looking figures with pigtails and bright-coloured jackets. A +feeling came over Griselda that she was dreaming, or else that she had +seen this palanquin before. She hesitated. Suddenly she gave a little +jump of satisfaction. + +"I know," she exclaimed. "It's exactly like the one that stands under a +glass shade on Lady Lavander's drawing-room mantelpiece. I wonder if it +is the very one? Fancy me being able to get _into_ it!" + +She looked at the four bearers. Instantly they all nodded. + +"What do they mean?" asked Griselda, turning to the cuckoo. + +"Get in," he replied. + +"Yes, I'm just going to get in," she said; "but what do _they_ mean when +they nod at me like that?" + +"They mean, of course, what I tell you--'Get in,'" said the cuckoo. + +"Why don't they say so, then?" persisted Griselda, getting in, however, +as she spoke. + +"Griselda, you have a _very_ great----" began the cuckoo, but Griselda +interrupted him. + +"Cuckoo," she exclaimed, "if you say that again, I'll jump out of the +palanquin and run away home to bed. Of course I've a great deal to +learn--that's why I like to ask questions about everything I see. Now, +tell me where we are going." + +"In the first place," said the cuckoo, "are you comfortable?" + +"Very," said Griselda, settling herself down among the cushions. + +It was a change from the cuckoo's boudoir. There were no chairs or +seats, only a number of very, _very_ soft cushions covered with green +silk. There were green silk curtains all round, too, which you could +draw or not as you pleased, just by touching a spring. Griselda stroked +the silk gently. It was not "fruzzley" silk, if you know what that +means; it did not make you feel as if your nails wanted cutting, or as +if all the rough places on your skin were being rubbed up the wrong way; +its softness was like that of a rose or pansy petal. + +"What nice silk!" said Griselda. "I'd like a dress of it. I never +noticed that the palanquin was lined so nicely," she continued, "for I +suppose it _is_ the one from Lady Lavander's mantelpiece? There couldn't +be two so exactly like each other." + +The cuckoo gave a sort of whistle. + +"What a goose you are, my dear!" he exclaimed. "Excuse me," he +continued, seeing that Griselda looked rather offended; "I didn't mean +to hurt your feelings, but you won't let me say the other thing, you +know. The palanquin from Lady Lavander's! I should think not. You might +as well mistake one of those horrible paper roses that Dorcas sticks in +her vases for one of your aunt's Gloires de Dijon! The palanquin from +Lady Lavander's--a clumsy human imitation not worth looking at!" + +"I didn't know," said Griselda humbly. "Do they make such beautiful +things in Mandarin Land?" + +"Of course," said the cuckoo. + +Griselda sat silent for a minute or two, but very soon she recovered her +spirits. + +"Will you please tell me where we are going?" she asked again. + +"You'll see directly," said the cuckoo; "not that I mind telling you. +There's to be a grand reception at one of the palaces to-night. I +thought you'd like to assist at it. It'll give you some idea of what a +palace is like. By-the-by, can you dance?" + +"A little," replied Griselda. + +"Ah, well, I dare say you will manage. I've ordered a court dress for +you. It will be all ready when we get there." + +"Thank you," said Griselda. + +In a minute or two the palanquin stopped. The cuckoo got out, and +Griselda followed him. + +She found that they were at the entrance to a _very_ much grander palace +than the one in her aunt's saloon. The steps leading up to the door were +very wide and shallow, and covered with a gold embroidered carpet, which +_looked_ as if it would be prickly to her bare feet, but which, on the +contrary, when she trod upon it, felt softer than the softest moss. She +could see very little besides the carpet, for at each side of the steps +stood rows and rows of mandarins, all something like, but a great deal +grander than, the pair outside her aunt's cabinet; and as the cuckoo +hopped and Griselda walked up the staircase, they all, in turn, row by +row, began solemnly to nod. It gave them the look of a field of very +high grass, through which, any one passing, leaves for the moment a +trail, till all the heads bob up again into their places. + +"What do they mean?" whispered Griselda. + +"It's a royal salute," said the cuckoo. + +"A salute!" said Griselda. "I thought that meant kissing or guns." + +"Hush!" said the cuckoo, for by this time they had arrived at the top of +the staircase; "you must be dressed now." + +Two mandariny-looking young ladies, with porcelain faces and +three-cornered head-dresses, stepped forward and led Griselda into a +small ante-room, where lay waiting for her the most magnificent dress +you ever saw. But how _do_ you think they dressed her? It was all by +nodding. They nodded to the blue and silver embroidered jacket, and in a +moment it had fitted itself on to her. They nodded to the splendid +scarlet satin skirt, made very short in front and very long behind, and +before Griselda knew where she was, it was adjusted quite correctly. +They nodded to the head-dress, and the sashes, and the necklaces and +bracelets, and forthwith they all arranged themselves. Last of all, they +nodded to the dearest, sweetest little pair of high-heeled shoes +imaginable--all silver, and blue, and gold, and scarlet, and everything +mixed up together, _only_ they were rather a stumpy shape about the +toes, and Griselda's bare feet were encased in them, and, to her +surprise, quite comfortably so. + +"They don't hurt me a bit," she said aloud; "yet they didn't look the +least the shape of my foot." + +But her attendants only nodded; and turning round, she saw the cuckoo +waiting for her. He did not speak either, rather to her annoyance, but +gravely led the way through one grand room after another to the grandest +of all, where the entertainment was evidently just about to begin. And +everywhere there were mandarins, rows and rows, who all set to work +nodding as fast as Griselda appeared. She began to be rather tired of +royal salutes, and was glad when, at last, in profound silence, the +procession, consisting of the cuckoo and herself, and about half a dozen +"mandarins," came to a halt before a kind of dais, or raised seat, at +the end of the hall. + +Upon this dais stood a chair--a throne of some kind, Griselda supposed +it to be--and upon this was seated the grandest and gravest personage +she had yet seen. + +"Is he the king of the mandarins?" she whispered. But the cuckoo did not +reply; and before she had time to repeat the question, the very grand +and grave person got down from his seat, and coming towards her, offered +her his hand, at the same time nodding--first once, then two or three +times together, then once again. Griselda seemed to know what he meant. +He was asking her to dance. + +"Thank you," she said. "I can't dance _very_ well, but perhaps you won't +mind." + +The king, if that was his title, took not the slightest notice of her +reply, but nodded again--once, then two or three times together, then +once alone, just as before. Griselda did not know what to do, when +suddenly she felt something poking her head. It was the cuckoo--he had +lifted his claw, and was tapping her head to make her nod. So she +nodded--once, twice together, then once--that appeared to be enough. The +king nodded once again; an invisible band suddenly struck up the +loveliest music, and off they set to the places of honour reserved for +them in the centre of the room, where all the mandarins were assembling. + +What a dance that was! It began like a minuet and ended something like +the hay-makers. Griselda had not the least idea what the figures or +steps were, but it did not matter. If she did not know, her shoes or +something about her did; for she got on famously. The music was +lovely--"so the mandarins can't be deaf, though they are dumb," thought +Griselda, "which is one good thing about them." The king seemed to enjoy +it as much as she did, though he never smiled or laughed; any one could +have seen he liked it by the way he whirled and twirled himself about. +And between the figures, when they stopped to rest for a little, +Griselda got on very well too. There was no conversation, or rather, if +there was, it was all nodding. + +So Griselda nodded too, and though she did not know what her nods meant, +the king seemed to understand and be quite pleased; and when they had +nodded enough, the music struck up again, and off they set, harder than +before. + +And every now and then tiny little mandariny boys appeared with trays +filled with the most delicious fruits and sweetmeats. Griselda was not a +greedy child, but for once in her life she really _did_ feel rather so. +I cannot possibly describe these delicious things; just think of +whatever in all your life was the most "lovely" thing you ever eat, and +you may be sure they tasted like that. Only the cuckoo would not eat +any, which rather distressed Griselda. He walked about among the +dancers, apparently quite at home; and the mandarins did not seem at all +surprised to see him, though he did look rather odd, being nearly, if +not quite, as big as any of them. Griselda hoped he was enjoying +himself, considering that she had to thank him for all the fun _she_ was +having, but she felt a little conscience-stricken when she saw that he +wouldn't eat anything. + +"Cuckoo," she whispered; she dared not talk out loud--it would have +seemed so remarkable, you see. "Cuckoo," she said, very, very softly, "I +wish you would eat something. You'll be so tired and hungry." + +"No, thank you," said the cuckoo; and you can't think how pleased +Griselda was at having succeeded in making him speak. "It isn't my way. +I hope you are enjoying yourself?" + +"Oh, _very_ much," said Griselda. "I----" + +"Hush!" said the cuckoo; and looking up, Griselda saw a number of +mandarins, in a sort of procession, coming their way. + +When they got up to the cuckoo they set to work nodding, two or three at +a time, more energetically than usual. When they stopped, the cuckoo +nodded in return, and then hopped off towards the middle of the room. + +"They're very fond of good music, you see," he whispered as he passed +Griselda; "and they don't often get it." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +PICTURES. + + + "And she is always beautiful, + And always is eighteen!" + + +When he got to the middle of the room the cuckoo cleared his throat, +flapped his wings, and began to sing. Griselda was quite astonished. She +had had no idea that her friend was so accomplished. It wasn't +"cuckooing" at all; it was real singing, like that of the nightingale or +the thrush, or like something prettier than either. It made Griselda +think of woods in summer, and of tinkling brooks flowing through them, +with the pretty brown pebbles sparkling up through the water; and then +it made her think of something sad--she didn't know what; perhaps it +was of the babes in the wood and the robins covering them up with +leaves--and then again, in a moment, it sounded as if all the merry +elves and sprites that ever were heard of had escaped from fairyland, +and were rolling over and over with peals of rollicking laughter. And at +last, all of a sudden, the song came to an end. + +"Cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo!" rang out three times, clear and shrill. The +cuckoo flapped his wings, made a bow to the mandarins, and retired to +his old corner. + +There was no buzz of talk, as is usual after a performance has come to a +close, but there was a great buzz of nodding, and Griselda, wishing to +give the cuckoo as much praise as she could, nodded as hard as any of +them. The cuckoo really looked quite shy at receiving so much applause. +But in a minute or two the music struck up and the dancing began +again--one, two, three: it seemed a sort of mazurka this time, which +suited the mandarins very well, as it gave them a chance of nodding to +mark the time. + +Griselda had once learnt the mazurka, so she got on even better than +before--only she would have liked it more if her shoes had had sharper +toes; they looked so stumpy when she tried to point them. All the same, +it was very good fun, and she was not too well pleased when she suddenly +felt the little sharp tap of the cuckoo on her head, and heard him +whisper-- + +"Griselda, it's time to go." + +"Oh dear, why?" she asked. "I'm not a bit tired. Why need we go yet?" + +"Obeying orders," said the cuckoo; and after that, Griselda dared not +say another word. It was very nearly as bad as being told she had a +great deal to learn. + +"Must I say good-bye to the king and all the people?" she inquired; but +before the cuckoo had time to answer, she gave a little squeal. "Oh, +cuckoo," she cried, "you've trod on my foot." + +"I beg your pardon," said the cuckoo. + +"I must take off my shoe; it does so hurt," she went on. + +"Take it off, then," said the cuckoo. + +Griselda stooped to take off her shoe. "Are we going home in the pal--?" +she began to say; but she never finished the sentence, for just as she +had got her shoe off she felt the cuckoo throw something round her. It +was the feather mantle. + +And Griselda knew nothing more till she opened her eyes the next +morning, and saw the first early rays of sunshine peeping in through the +chinks of the closed shutters of her little bedroom. + +She rubbed her eyes, and sat up in bed. Could it have been a dream? + +"What could have made me fall asleep so all of a sudden?" she thought. +"I wasn't the least sleepy at the mandarins' ball. What fun it was! I +believe that cuckoo made me fall asleep on purpose to make me fancy it +was a dream. _Was_ it a dream?" + +She began to feel confused and doubtful, when suddenly she felt +something hurting her arm, like a little lump in the bed. She felt with +her hand to see if she could smooth it away, and drew out--one of the +shoes belonging to her court dress! The very one she had held in her +hand at the moment the cuckoo spirited her home again to bed. + +"Ah, Mr. Cuckoo!" she exclaimed, "you meant to play me a trick, but you +haven't succeeded, you see." + +She jumped out of bed and unfastened one of the window-shutters, then +jumped in again to admire the little shoe in comfort. It was even +prettier than she had thought it at the ball. She held it up and looked +at it. It was about the size of the first joint of her little finger. +"To think that I should have been dancing with you on last night!" she +said to the shoe. "And yet the cuckoo says being big or little is all a +matter of fancy. I wonder what he'll think of to amuse me next?" + +She was still holding up the shoe and admiring it when Dorcas came with +the hot water. + +"Look, Dorcas," she said. + +"Bless me, it's one of the shoes off the Chinese dolls in the saloon," +exclaimed the old servant. "How ever did you get that, missie? Your +aunts wouldn't be pleased." + +"It just isn't one of the Chinese dolls' shoes, and if you don't believe +me, you can go and look for yourself," said Griselda. "It's my very own +shoe, and it was given me to my own self." + +Dorcas looked at her curiously, but said no more, only as she was going +out of the room Griselda heard her saying something about "so very like +Miss Sybilla." + +"I wonder what 'Miss Sybilla' _was_ like?" thought Griselda. "I have a +good mind to ask the cuckoo. He seems to have known her very well." + +It was not for some days that Griselda had a chance of asking the cuckoo +anything. She saw and heard nothing of him--nothing, that is to say, but +his regular appearance to tell the hours as usual. + +"I suppose," thought Griselda, "he thinks the mandarins' ball was fun +enough to last me a good while. It really was very good-natured of him +to take me to it, so I mustn't grumble." + +A few days after this poor Griselda caught cold. It was not a very bad +cold, I must confess, but her aunts made rather a fuss about it. They +wanted her to stay in bed, but to this Griselda so much objected that +they did not insist upon it. + +"It would be so dull," she said piteously. "Please let me stay in the +ante-room, for all my things are there; and, then, there's the cuckoo." + +Aunt Grizzel smiled at this, and Griselda got her way. But even in the +ante-room it was rather dull. Miss Grizzel and Miss Tabitha were obliged +to go out, to drive all the way to Merrybrow Hall, as Lady Lavander sent +a messenger to say that she had an attack of influenza, and wished to +see her friends at once. + +Miss Tabitha began to cry--she was so tender-hearted. + +"Troubles never come singly," said Miss Grizzel, by way of consolation. + +"No, indeed, they never come singly," said Miss Tabitha, shaking her +head and wiping her eyes. + +So off they set; and Griselda, in her arm-chair by the ante-room fire, +with some queer little old-fashioned books of her aunts', which she had +already read more than a dozen times, beside her by way of amusement, +felt that there was one comfort in her troubles--she had escaped the +long weary drive to her godmother's. + +But it was very dull. It got duller and duller. Griselda curled herself +up in her chair, and wished she could go to sleep, though feeling quite +sure she couldn't, for she had stayed in bed much later than usual this +morning, and had been obliged to spend the time in sleeping, for want of +anything better to do. + +She looked up at the clock. + +"I don't know even what to wish for," she said to herself. "I don't feel +the least inclined to play at anything, and I shouldn't care to go to +the mandarins again. Oh, cuckoo, cuckoo, I am so dull; couldn't you +think of anything to amuse me?" + +It was not near "any o'clock." But after waiting a minute or two, it +seemed to Griselda that she heard the soft sound of "coming" that always +preceded the cuckoo's appearance. She was right. In another moment she +heard his usual greeting, "Cuckoo, cuckoo!" + +"Oh, cuckoo!" she exclaimed, "I am so glad you have come at last. I _am_ +so dull, and it has nothing to do with lessons this time. It's that I've +got such a bad cold, and my head's aching, and I'm so tired of reading, +all by myself." + +"What would you like to do?" said the cuckoo. "You don't want to go to +see the mandarins again?" + +"Oh no; I couldn't dance." + +"Or the mermaids down under the sea?" + +"Oh, dear, no," said Griselda, with a little shiver, "it would be far +too cold. I would just like to stay where I am, if some one would tell +me stories. I'm not even sure that I could listen to stories. What could +you do to amuse me, cuckoo?" + +"Would you like to see some pictures?" said the cuckoo. "I could show +you pictures without your taking any trouble." + +"Oh yes, that would be beautiful," cried Griselda. "What pictures will +you show me? Oh, I know. I would like to see the place where you were +born--where that very, very clever man made you and the clock, I mean." + +"Your great-great-grandfather," said the cuckoo. "Very well. Now, +Griselda, shut your eyes. First of all, I am going to sing." + +Griselda shut her eyes, and the cuckoo began his song. It was something +like what he had sung at the mandarins' palace, only even more +beautiful. It was so soft and dreamy, Griselda felt as if she could have +sat there for ever, listening to it. + +The first notes were low and murmuring. Again they made Griselda think +of little rippling brooks in summer, and now and then there came a sort +of hum as of insects buzzing in the warm sunshine near. This humming +gradually increased, till at last Griselda was conscious of nothing +more--_everything_ seemed to be humming, herself too, till at last she +fell asleep. + +When she opened her eyes, the ante-room and everything in it, except the +arm-chair on which she was still curled up, had disappeared--melted away +into a misty cloud all round her, which in turn gradually faded, till +before her she saw a scene quite new and strange. It was the first of +the cuckoo's "pictures." + +An old, quaint room, with a high, carved mantelpiece, and a bright fire +sparkling in the grate. It was not a pretty room--it had more the look +of a workshop of some kind; but it was curious and interesting. All +round, the walls were hung with clocks and strange mechanical toys. +There was a fiddler slowly fiddling, a gentleman and lady gravely +dancing a minuet, a little man drawing up water in a bucket out of a +glass vase in which gold fish were swimming about--all sorts of queer +figures; and the clocks were even queerer. There was one intended to +represent the sun, moon, and planets, with one face for the sun and +another for the moon, and gold and silver stars slowly circling round +them; there was another clock with a tiny trumpeter perched on a ledge +above the face, who blew a horn for the hours. I cannot tell you half +the strange and wonderful things there were. + +Griselda was so interested in looking at all these queer machines, that +she did not for some time observe the occupant of the room. And no +wonder; he was sitting in front of a little table, so perfectly still, +much more still than the un-living figures around him. He was examining, +with a magnifying glass, some small object he held in his hand, so +closely and intently that Griselda, forgetting she was only looking at a +"picture," almost held her breath for fear she should disturb him. He +was a very old man, his coat was worn and threadbare in several places, +looking as if he spent a great part of his life in one position. Yet he +did not look _poor_, and his face, when at last he lifted it, was mild +and intelligent and very earnest. + +While Griselda was watching him closely there came a soft tap at the +door, and a little girl danced into the room. The dearest little girl +you ever saw, and _so_ funnily dressed! Her thick brown hair, rather +lighter than Griselda's, was tied in two long plaits down her back. She +had a short red skirt with silver braid round the bottom, and a white +chemisette with beautiful lace at the throat and wrists, and over that +again a black velvet bodice, also trimmed with silver. And she had a +great many trinkets, necklaces, and bracelets, and ear-rings, and a sort +of little silver coronet; no, it was not like a coronet, it was a band +with a square piece of silver fastened so as to stand up at each side of +her head something like a horse's blinkers, only they were not placed +over her eyes. + +She made quite a jingle as she came into the room, and the old man +looked up with a smile of pleasure. + +"Well, my darling, and are you all ready for your _fete_?" he said; and +though the language in which he spoke was quite strange to Griselda, she +understood his meaning perfectly well. + +"Yes, dear grandfather; and isn't my dress lovely?" said the child. "I +should be _so_ happy if only you were coming too, and would get yourself +a beautiful velvet coat like Mynheer van Huyten." + +The old man shook his head. + +"I have no time for such things, my darling," he replied; "and besides, +I am too old. I must work--work hard to make money for my pet when I am +gone, that she may not be dependent on the bounty of those English +sisters." + +"But I won't care for money when you are gone, grandfather," said the +child, her eyes filling with tears. "I would rather just go on living in +this little house, and I am sure the neighbours would give me something +to eat, and then I could hear all your clocks ticking, and think of you. +I don't want you to sell all your wonderful things for money for me, +grandfather. They would remind me of you, and money wouldn't." + +"Not all, Sybilla, not all," said the old man. "The best of all, the +_chef-d'oeuvre_ of my life, shall not be sold. It shall be yours, and +you will have in your possession a clock that crowned heads might seek +in vain to purchase." + +His dim old eyes brightened, and for a moment he sat erect and strong. + +"Do you mean the cuckoo clock?" said Sybilla, in a low voice. + +"Yes, my darling, the cuckoo clock, the crowning work of my life--a +clock that shall last long after I, and perhaps thou, my pretty child, +are crumbling into dust; a clock that shall last to tell my +great-grandchildren to many generations that the old Dutch mechanic was +not altogether to be despised." + +Sybilla sprang into his arms. + +"You are not to talk like that, little grandfather," she said. "I shall +teach my children and my grandchildren to be so proud of you--oh, so +proud!--as proud as I am of you, little grandfather." + +"Gently, my darling," said the old man, as he placed carefully on the +table the delicate piece of mechanism he held in his hand, and tenderly +embraced the child. "Kiss me once again, my pet, and then thou must go; +thy little friends will be waiting." + + * * * * * + +As he said these words the mist slowly gathered, again before Griselda's +eyes--the first of the cuckoo's pictures faded from her sight. + + * * * * * + +When she looked again the scene was changed, but this time it was not a +strange one, though Griselda had gazed at it for some moments before +she recognized it. It was the great saloon, but it looked very +different from what she had ever seen it. Forty years or so make a +difference in rooms as well as in people! + +The faded yellow damask hangings were rich and brilliant. There were +bouquets of lovely flowers arranged about the tables; wax lights were +sending out their brightness in every direction, and the room was filled +with ladies and gentlemen in gay attire. + +Among them, after a time, Griselda remarked two ladies, no longer very +young, but still handsome and stately, and something whispered to her +that they were her two aunts, Miss Grizzel and Miss Tabitha. + +"Poor aunts!" she said softly to herself; "how old they have grown since +then." + +But she did not long look at them; her attention was attracted by a much +younger lady--a mere girl she seemed, but oh, so sweet and pretty! She +was dancing with a gentleman whose eyes looked as if they saw no one +else, and she herself seemed brimming over with youth and happiness. Her +very steps had joy in them. + +"Well, Griselda," whispered a voice, which she knew was the cuckoo's; +"so you don't like to be told you are like your grandmother, eh?" + +Griselda turned round sharply to look for the speaker, but he was not to +be seen. And when she turned again, the picture of the great saloon had +faded away. + + * * * * * + +One more picture. + +Griselda looked again. She saw before her a country road in full summer +time; the sun was shining, the birds were singing, the trees covered +with their bright green leaves--everything appeared happy and joyful. +But at last in the distance she saw, slowly approaching, a group of a +few people, all walking together, carrying in their centre something +long and narrow, which, though the black cloth covering it was almost +hidden by the white flowers with which it was thickly strewn, Griselda +knew to be a coffin. + +It was a funeral procession, and in the place of chief mourner, with +pale, set face, walked the same young man whom Griselda had last seen +dancing with the girl Sybilla in the great saloon. + +The sad group passed slowly out of sight; but as it disappeared there +fell upon the ear the sounds of sweet music, lovelier far than she had +heard before--lovelier than the magic cuckoo's most lovely songs--and +somehow, in the music, it seemed to the child's fancy there were mingled +the soft strains of a woman's voice. + +"It is Sybilla singing," thought Griselda dreamily, and with that she +fell asleep again. + + * * * * * + +When she woke she was in the arm-chair by the ante-room fire, +everything around her looking just as usual, the cuckoo clock ticking +away calmly and regularly. Had it been a dream only? Griselda could not +make up her mind. + +"But I don't see that it matters if it was," she said to herself. "If it +was a dream, the cuckoo sent it to me all the same, and I thank you very +much indeed, cuckoo," she went on, looking up at the clock. "The last +picture was rather sad, but still it was very nice to see it, and I +thank you very much, and I'll never say again that I don't like to be +told I'm like my dear pretty grandmother." + +The cuckoo took no notice of what she said, but Griselda did not mind. +She was getting used to his "ways." + +"I expect he hears me quite well," she thought; "and even if he doesn't, +it's only civil to _try_ to thank him." + +[Illustration: My aunts must have come back!] + +She sat still contentedly enough, thinking over what she had seen, +and trying to make more "pictures" for herself in the fire. Then there +came faintly to her ears the sound of carriage wheels, opening and +shutting of doors, a little bustle of arrival. + +"My aunts must have come back," thought Griselda; and so it was. In a +few minutes Miss Grizzel, closely followed by Miss Tabitha, appeared at +the ante-room door. + +"Well, my love," said Miss Grizzel anxiously, "and how are you? Has the +time seemed very long while we were away?" + +"Oh no, thank you, Aunt Grizzel," replied Griselda, "not at all. I've +been quite happy, and my cold's ever so much better, and my headache's +_quite_ gone." + +"Come, that is good news," said Miss Grizzel. "Not that I'm exactly +_surprised_," she continued, turning to Miss Tabitha, "for there really +is nothing like tansy tea for a feverish cold." + +"Nothing," agreed Miss Tabitha; "there really is nothing like it." + +"Aunt Grizzel," said Griselda, after a few moments' silence, "was my +grandmother quite young when she died?" + +"Yes, my love, very young," replied Miss Grizzel with a change in her +voice. + +"And was her husband _very_ sorry?" pursued Griselda. + +"Heart-broken," said Miss Grizzel. "He did not live long after, and then +you know, my dear, your father was sent to us to take care of. And now +he has sent _you_--the third generation of young creatures confided to +our care." + +"Yes," said Griselda. "My grandmother died in the summer, when all the +flowers were out; and she was buried in a pretty country place, wasn't +she?" + +"Yes," said Miss Grizzel, looking rather bewildered. + +"And when she was a little girl she lived with her grandfather, the old +Dutch mechanic," continued Griselda, unconsciously using the very words +she had heard in her vision. "He was a nice old man; and how clever of +him to have made the cuckoo clock, and such lots of other pretty, +wonderful things. I don't wonder little Sybilla loved him; he was so +good to her. But, oh, Aunt Grizzel, _how_ pretty she was when she was a +young lady! That time that she danced with my grandfather in the great +saloon. And how very nice you and Aunt Tabitha looked then, too." + +Miss Grizzel held her very breath in astonishment; and no doubt if Miss +Tabitha had known she was doing so, she would have held hers too. But +Griselda lay still, gazing at the fire, quite unconscious of her aunt's +surprise. + +"Your papa told you all these old stories, I suppose, my dear," said +Miss Grizzel at last. + +"Oh no," said Griselda dreamily. "Papa never told me anything like +that. Dorcas told me a very little, I think; at least, she made me want +to know, and I asked the cuckoo, and then, you see, he showed me it all. +It was so pretty." + +Miss Grizzel glanced at her sister. + +"Tabitha, my dear," she said in a low voice, "do you hear?" + +And Miss Tabitha, who really was not very deaf when she set herself to +hear, nodded in awestruck silence. + +"Tabitha," continued Miss Grizzel in the same tone, "it is wonderful! +Ah, yes, how true it is, Tabitha, that 'there are more things in heaven +and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy'" (for Miss Grizzel was a +well-read old lady, you see); "and from the very first, Tabitha, we +always had a feeling that the child was strangely like Sybilla." + +"Strangely like Sybilla," echoed Miss Tabitha. + +"May she grow up as good, if not quite as beautiful--_that_ we could +scarcely expect; and may she be longer spared to those that love her," +added Miss Grizzel, bending over Griselda, while two or three tears +slowly trickled down her aged cheeks. "See, Tabitha, the dear child is +fast asleep. How sweet she looks! I trust by to-morrow morning she will +be quite herself again: her cold is so much better." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +RUBBED THE WRONG WAY. + + + "For now and then there comes a day + When everything goes wrong." + + +Griselda's cold _was_ much better by "to-morrow morning." In fact, I +might almost say it was quite well. + +But Griselda herself did not feel quite well, and saying this reminds me +that it is hardly sense to speak of a _cold_ being better or well--for a +cold's being "well" means that it is not there at all, out of existence, +in short, and if a thing is out of existence how can we say anything +about it? Children, I feel quite in a hobble--I cannot get my mind +straight about it--please think it over and give me your opinion. In +the meantime, I will go on about Griselda. + +She felt just a little ill--a sort of feeling that sometimes is rather +nice, sometimes "very extremely" much the reverse! She felt in the +humour for being petted, and having beef-tea, and jelly, and sponge cake +with her tea, and for a day or two this was all very well. She _was_ +petted, and she had lots of beef-tea, and jelly, and grapes, and sponge +cakes, and everything nice, for her aunts, as you must have seen by this +time, were really very, very kind to her in every way in which they +understood how to be so. + +But after a few days of the continued petting, and the beef-tea and the +jelly and all the rest of it, it occurred to Miss Grizzel, who had a +good large bump of "common sense," that it might be possible to overdo +this sort of thing. + +"Tabitha," she said to her sister, when they were sitting together in +the evening after Griselda had gone to bed, "Tabitha, my dear, I think +the child is quite well again now. It seems to me it would be well to +send a note to good Mr. Kneebreeches, to say that she will be able to +resume her studies the day after to-morrow." + +"The day after to-morrow," repeated Miss Tabitha. "The day after +to-morrow--to say that she will be able to resume her studies the day +after to-morrow--oh yes, certainly. It would be very well to send a note +to good Mr. Kneebreeches, my dear Grizzel." + +"I thought you would agree with me," said Miss Grizzel, with a sigh of +relief (as if poor Miss Tabitha during all the last half-century had +ever ventured to do anything else), getting up to fetch her writing +materials as she spoke. "It is such a satisfaction to consult together +about what we do. I was only a little afraid of being hard upon the +child, but as you agree with me, I have no longer any misgiving." + +"Any misgiving, oh dear, no!" said Miss Tabitha. "You have no reason +for any misgiving, I am sure, my dear Grizzel." + +So the note was written and despatched, and the next morning when, about +twelve o'clock, Griselda made her appearance in the little drawing-room +where her aunts usually sat, looking, it must be confessed, very plump +and rosy for an invalid, Miss Grizzel broached the subject. + +"I have written to request Mr. Kneebreeches to resume his instructions +to-morrow," she said quietly. "I think you are quite well again now, so +Dorcas must wake you at your usual hour." + +Griselda had been settling herself comfortably on a corner of the sofa. +She had got a nice book to read, which her father, hearing of her +illness, had sent her by post, and she was looking forward to the +tempting plateful of jelly which Dorcas had brought her for luncheon +every day since she had been ill. Altogether, she was feeling very +"lazy-easy" and contented. Her aunt's announcement felt like a sudden +downpour of cold water, or rush of east wind. She sat straight up in her +sofa, and exclaimed in a tone of great annoyance-- + +"_Oh_, Aunt Grizzel!" + +"Well, my dear?" said Miss Grizzel, placidly. + +"I _wish_ you wouldn't make me begin lessons again just yet. I _know_ +they'll make my head ache again, and Mr. Kneebreeches will be _so_ +cross. I know he will, and he is so horrid when he is cross." + +"Hush!" said Miss Grizzel, holding up her hand in a way that reminded +Griselda of the cuckoo's favourite "obeying orders." Just then, too, in +the distance the ante-room clock struck twelve. "Cuckoo! cuckoo! +cuckoo!" on it went. Griselda could have stamped with irritation, but +_somehow_, in spite of herself, she felt compelled to say nothing. She +muttered some not very pretty words, coiled herself round on the sofa, +opened her book, and began to read. + +But it was not as interesting as she had expected. She had not read many +pages before she began to yawn, and she was delighted to be interrupted +by Dorcas and the jelly. + +But the jelly was not as nice as she had expected, either. She tasted +it, and thought it was too sweet; and when she tasted it again, it +seemed too strong of cinnamon; and the third taste seemed too strong of +everything. She laid down her spoon, and looked about her +discontentedly. + +"What is the matter, my dear?" said Miss Grizzel. "Is the jelly not to +your liking?" + +"I don't know," said Griselda shortly. She ate a few spoonfuls, and then +took up her book again. Miss Grizzel said nothing more, but to herself +she thought that Mr. Kneebreeches had not been recalled any too soon. + +All day long it was much the same. Nothing seemed to come right to +Griselda. It was a dull, cold day, what is called "a black frost;" not a +bright, clear, _pretty_, cold day, but the sort of frost that really +makes the world seem dead--makes it almost impossible to believe that +there will ever be warmth and sound and "growing-ness" again. + +Late in the afternoon Griselda crept up to the ante-room, and sat down +by the window. Outside it was nearly dark, and inside it was not much +more cheerful--for the fire was nearly out, and no lamps were lighted; +only the cuckoo clock went on tick-ticking briskly as usual. + +"I hate winter," said Griselda, pressing her cold little face against +the colder window-pane, "I hate winter, and I hate lessons. I would give +up being a _person_ in a minute if I might be a--a--what would I best +like to be? Oh yes, I know--a butterfly. Butterflies never see winter, +and they _certainly_ never have any lessons or any kind of work to do. I +hate _must_-ing to do anything." + +"Cuckoo," rang out suddenly above her head. + +It was only four o'clock striking, and as soon as he had told it the +cuckoo was back behind his doors again in an instant, just as usual. +There was nothing for Griselda to feel offended at, but somehow she got +quite angry. + +"I don't care what you think, cuckoo!" she exclaimed defiantly. "I know +you came out on purpose just now, but I don't care. I _do_ hate winter, +and I _do_ hate lessons, and I _do_ think it would be nicer to be a +butterfly than a little girl." + +In her secret heart I fancy she was half in hopes that the cuckoo would +come out again, and talk things over with her. Even if he were to scold +her, she felt that it would be better than sitting there alone with +nobody to speak to, which was very dull work indeed. At the bottom of +her conscience there lurked the knowledge that what she _should_ be +doing was to be looking over her last lessons with Mr. Kneebreeches, and +refreshing her memory for the next day; but, alas! knowing one's duty is +by no means the same thing as doing it, and Griselda sat on by the +window doing nothing but grumble and work herself up into a belief that +she was one of the most-to-be-pitied little girls in all the world. So +that by the time Dorcas came to call her to tea, I doubt if she had a +single pleasant thought or feeling left in her heart. + +Things grew no better after tea, and before long Griselda asked if she +might go to bed. She was "so tired," she said; and she certainly looked +so, for ill-humour and idleness are excellent "tirers," and will soon +take the roses out of a child's cheeks, and the brightness out of her +eyes. She held up her face to be kissed by her aunts in a meekly +reproachful way, which made the old ladies feel quite uncomfortable. + +"I am by no means sure that I have done right in recalling Mr. +Kneebreeches so soon, Sister Tabitha," remarked Miss Grizzel, uneasily, +when Griselda had left the room. But Miss Tabitha was busy counting her +stitches, and did not give full attention to Miss Grizzel's observation, +so she just repeated placidly, "Oh yes, Sister Grizzel, you may be sure +you have done right in recalling Mr. Kneebreeches." + +"I am glad you think so," said Miss Tabitha, with again a little sigh of +relief. "I was only distressed to see the child looking so white and +tired." + +Upstairs Griselda was hurry-scurrying into bed. There was a lovely fire +in her room--fancy that! Was she not a poor neglected little creature? +But even this did not please her. She was too cross to be pleased with +anything; too cross to wash her face and hands, or let Dorcas brush her +hair out nicely as usual; too cross, alas, to say her prayers! She just +huddled into bed, huddling up her mind in an untidy hurry and confusion, +just as she left her clothes in an untidy heap on the floor. She would +not look into herself, was the truth of it; she shrank from doing so +because she _knew_ things had been going on in that silly little heart +of hers in a most unsatisfactory way all day, and she wanted to go to +sleep and forget all about it. + +She did go to sleep, very quickly too. No doubt she really was tired; +tired with crossness and doing nothing, and she slept very soundly. When +she woke up she felt so refreshed and rested that she fancied it must be +morning. It was dark, of course, but that was to be expected in +mid-winter, especially as the shutters were closed. + +"I wonder," thought Griselda, "I wonder if it really _is_ morning. I +should like to get up early--I went so early to bed. I think I'll just +jump out of bed and open a chink of the shutters. I'll see at once if +it's nearly morning, by the look of the sky." + +She was up in a minute, feeling her way across the room to the window, +and without much difficulty she found the hook of the shutters, +unfastened it, and threw one side open. Ah no, there was no sign of +morning to be seen. There was moonlight, but nothing else, and not so +very much of that, for the clouds were hurrying across the "orbed +maiden's" face at such a rate, one after the other, that the light was +more like a number of pale flashes than the steady, cold shining of most +frosty moonlight nights. There was going to be a change of weather, and +the cloud armies were collecting together from all quarters; that was +the real explanation of the hurrying and skurrying Griselda saw +overhead, but this, of course, she did not understand. She only saw that +it looked wild and stormy, and she shivered a little, partly with cold, +partly with a half-frightened feeling that she could not have explained. + +"I had better go back to bed," she said to herself; "but I am not a bit +sleepy." + +She was just drawing-to the shutter again, when something caught her +eye, and she stopped short in surprise. A little bird was outside on the +windowsill--a tiny bird crouching in close to the cold glass. +Griselda's kind heart was touched in an instant. Cold as she was, she +pushed back the shutter again, and drawing a chair forward to the +window, managed to unfasten it--it was not a very heavy one--and to open +it wide enough to slip her hand gently along to the bird. It did not +start or move. + +"Can it be dead?" thought Griselda anxiously. + +But no, it was not dead. It let her put her hand round it and draw it +in, and to her delight she felt that it was soft and warm, and it even +gave a gentle peck on her thumb. + +"Poor little bird, how cold you must be," she said kindly. But, to her +amazement, no sooner was the bird safely inside the room, than it +managed cleverly to escape from her hand. It fluttered quietly up on to +her shoulder, and sang out in a soft but cheery tone, "Cuckoo, +cuckoo--cold, did you say, Griselda? Not so very, thank you." + +Griselda stept back from the window. + +"It's _you_, is it?" she said rather surlily, her tone seeming to infer +that she had taken a great deal of trouble for nothing. + +"Of course it is, and why shouldn't it be? You're not generally so sorry +to see me. What's the matter?" + +"Nothing's the matter," replied Griselda, feeling a little ashamed of +her want of civility; "only, you see, if I had known it was _you_----" She +hesitated. + +"You wouldn't have clambered up and hurt your poor fingers in opening +the window if you had known it was me--is that it, eh?" said the cuckoo. + +Somehow, when the cuckoo said "eh?" like that, Griselda was obliged to +tell just what she was thinking. + +"No, I wouldn't have _needed_ to open the window," she said. "_You_ can +get in or out whenever you like; you're not like a real bird. Of +course, you were just tricking me, sitting out there and pretending to +be a starved robin." + +There was a little indignation in her voice, and she gave her head a +toss, which nearly upset the cuckoo. + +"Dear me, dear me!" exclaimed the cuckoo. "You have a great deal to +complain of, Griselda. Your time and strength must be very valuable for +you to regret so much having wasted a little of them on me." + +Griselda felt her face grow red. What did he mean? Did he know how +yesterday had been spent? She said nothing, but she drooped her head, +and one or two tears came slowly creeping up to her eyes. + +"Child!" said the cuckoo, suddenly changing his tone, "you are very +foolish. Is a kind thought or action _ever_ wasted? Can your eyes see +what such good seeds grow into? They have wings, Griselda--kindnesses +have wings and roots, remember that--wings that never droop, and roots +that never die. What do you think I came and sat outside your window +for?" + +"Cuckoo," said Griselda humbly, "I am very sorry." + +"Very well," said the cuckoo, "we'll leave it for the present. I have +something else to see about. Are you cold, Griselda?" + +"_Very_," she replied. "I would very much like to go back to bed, +cuckoo, if you please; and there's plenty of room for you too, if you'd +like to come in and get warm." + +"There are other ways of getting warm besides going to bed," said the +cuckoo. "A nice brisk walk, for instance. I was going to ask you to come +out into the garden with me." + +Griselda almost screamed. + +"Out into the garden! _Oh_, cuckoo!" she exclaimed, "how can you think +of such a thing? Such a freezing cold night. Oh no, indeed, cuckoo, I +couldn't possibly." + +"Very well, Griselda," said the cuckoo; "if you haven't yet learnt to +trust me, there's no more to be said. Good-night." + +He flapped his wings, cried out "Cuckoo" once only, flew across the +room, and almost before Griselda understood what he was doing, had +disappeared. + +She hurried after him, stumbling against the furniture in her haste, and +by the uncertain light. The door was not open, but the cuckoo had got +through it--"by the keyhole, I dare say," thought Griselda; "he can +'scrooge' himself up any way"--for a faint "Cuckoo" was to be heard on +its other side. In a moment Griselda had opened it, and was speeding +down the long passage in the dark, guided only by the voice from time to +time heard before her, "Cuckoo, cuckoo." + +She forgot all about the cold, or rather, she did not feel it, though +the floor was of uncarpeted old oak, whose hard, polished surface would +have usually felt like ice to a child's soft, bare feet. It was a very +long passage, and to-night, somehow, it seemed longer than ever. In +fact, Griselda could have fancied she had been running along it for half +a mile or more, when at last she was brought to a standstill by finding +she could go no further. Where was she? She could not imagine! It must +be a part of the house she had never explored in the daytime, she +decided. In front of her was a little stair running downwards, and +ending in a doorway. All this Griselda could see by a bright light that +streamed in by the keyhole and through the chinks round the door--a +light so brilliant that the little girl blinked her eyes, and for a +moment felt quite dazzled and confused. + +"It came so suddenly," she said to herself; "some one must have lighted +a lamp in there all at once. But it can't be a lamp, it's too bright +for a lamp. It's more like the sun; but how ever could the sun be +shining in a room in the middle of the night? What shall I do? Shall I +open the door and peep in?" + +"Cuckoo, cuckoo," came the answer, soft but clear, from the other side. + +"Can it be a trick of the cuckoo's to get me out into the garden?" +thought Griselda; and for the first time since she had run out of her +room a shiver of cold made her teeth chatter and her skin feel creepy. + +"Cuckoo, cuckoo," sounded again, nearer this time, it seemed to +Griselda. + +"He's waiting for me. I _will_ trust him," she said resolutely. "He has +always been good and kind, and it's horrid of me to think he's going to +trick me." + +She ran down the little stair, she seized the handle of the door. It +turned easily; the door opened--opened, and closed again noiselessly +behind her, and what do you think she saw? + +"Shut your eyes for a minute, Griselda," said the cuckoo's voice beside +her; "the light will dazzle you at first. Shut them, and I will brush +them with a little daisy dew, to strengthen them." + +Griselda did as she was told. She felt the tip of the cuckoo's softest +feather pass gently two or three times over her eyelids, and a delicious +scent seemed immediately to float before her. + +"I didn't know _daisies_ had any scent," she remarked. + +"Perhaps you didn't. You forget, Griselda, that you have a great----" + +"Oh, please don't, cuckoo. Please, please don't, _dear_ cuckoo," she +exclaimed, dancing about with her hands clasped in entreaty, but her +eyes still firmly closed. "Don't say that, and I'll promise to believe +whatever you tell me. And how soon may I open my eyes, please, cuckoo?" + +"Turn round slowly, three times. That will give the dew time to take +effect," said the cuckoo. "Here goes--one--two--three. There, now." + +Griselda opened her eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +BUTTERFLY-LAND. + + + "I'd be a butterfly." + + +Griselda opened her eyes. + +What did she see? + +The loveliest, loveliest garden that ever or never a little girl's eyes +saw. As for describing it, I cannot. I must leave a good deal to your +fancy. It was just a _delicious_ garden. There was a charming mixture of +all that is needed to make a garden perfect--grass, velvety lawn rather; +water, for a little brook ran tinkling in and out, playing bo-peep among +the bushes; trees, of course, and flowers, of course, flowers of every +shade and shape. But all these beautiful things Griselda did not at +first give as much attention to as they deserved; her eyes were so +occupied with a quite unusual sight that met them. + +This was butterflies! Not that butterflies are so very uncommon; but +butterflies, as Griselda saw them, I am quite sure, children, none of +you ever saw, or are likely to see. There were such enormous numbers of +them, and the variety of their colours and sizes was so great. They were +fluttering about everywhere; the garden seemed actually alive with them. + +Griselda stood for a moment in silent delight, feasting her eyes on the +lovely things before her, enjoying the delicious sunshine which kissed +her poor little bare feet, and seemed to wrap her all up in its warm +embrace. Then she turned to her little friend. + +"Cuckoo," she said, "I thank you _so_ much. This _is_ fairyland, at +last!" + +The cuckoo smiled, I was going to say, but that would be a figure of +speech only, would it not? He shook his head gently. + +"No, Griselda," he said kindly; "this is only butterfly-land." + +"_Butterfly_-land!" repeated Griselda, with a little disappointment in +her tone. + +"Well," said the cuckoo, "it's where you were wishing to be yesterday, +isn't it?" + +Griselda did not particularly like these allusions to "yesterday." She +thought it would be as well to change the subject. + +"It's a beautiful place, whatever it is," she said, "and I'm sure, +cuckoo, I'm _very_ much obliged to you for bringing me here. Now may I +run about and look at everything? How delicious it is to feel the warm +sunshine again! I didn't know how cold I was. Look, cuckoo, my toes and +fingers are quite blue; they're only just beginning to come right again. +I suppose the sun always shines here. How nice it must be to be a +butterfly; don't you think so, cuckoo? Nothing to do but fly about." + +She stopped at last, quite out of breath. + +"Griselda," said the cuckoo, "if you want me to answer your questions, +you must ask them one at a time. You may run about and look at +everything if you like, but you had better not be in such a hurry. You +will make a great many mistakes if you are--you have made some already." + +"How?" said Griselda. + +"_Have_ the butterflies nothing to do but fly about? Watch them." + +Griselda watched. + +"They do seem to be doing something," she said, at last, "but I can't +think what. They seem to be nibbling at the flowers, and then flying +away something like bees gathering honey. _Butterflies_ don't gather +honey, cuckoo?" + +"No," said the cuckoo. "They are filling their paint-boxes." + +"What _do_ you mean?" said Griselda. + +"Come and see," said the cuckoo. + +He flew quietly along in front of her, leading the way through the +prettiest paths in all the pretty garden. The paths were arranged in +different colours, as it were; that is to say, the flowers growing along +their sides were not all "mixty-maxty," but one shade after another in +regular order--from the palest blush pink to the very deepest damask +crimson; then, again, from the soft greenish blue of the small grass +forget-me-not to the rich warm tinge of the brilliant cornflower. +_Every_ tint was there; shades, to which, though not exactly strange to +her, Griselda could yet have given no name, for the daisy dew, you see, +had sharpened her eyes to observe delicate variations of colour, as she +had never done before. + +"How beautifully the flowers are planned," she said to the cuckoo. "Is +it just to look pretty, or why?" + +"It saves time," replied the cuckoo. "The fetch-and-carry butterflies +know exactly where to go to for the tint the world-flower-painters +want." + +"Who are the fetch-and-carry butterflies, and who are the +world-flower-painters?" asked Griselda. + +"Wait a bit and you'll see, and use your eyes," answered the cuckoo. +"It'll do your tongue no harm to have a rest now and then." + +Griselda thought it as well to take his advice, though not particularly +relishing the manner in which it was given. She did use her eyes, and as +she and the cuckoo made their way along the flower alleys, she saw that +the butterflies were never idle. They came regularly, in little parties +of twos and threes, and nibbled away, as she called it, at flowers of +the same colour but different shades, till they had got what they +wanted. Then off flew butterfly No. 1 with perhaps the palest tint of +maize, or yellow, or lavender, whichever he was in quest of, followed +by No. 2 with the next deeper shade of the same, and No. 3 bringing up +the rear. + +Griselda gave a little sigh. + +"What's the matter?" said the cuckoo. + +"They work very hard," she replied, in a melancholy tone. + +"It's a busy time of year," observed the cuckoo, drily. + +After a while they came to what seemed to be a sort of centre to the +garden. It was a huge glass house, with numberless doors, in and out of +which butterflies were incessantly flying--reminding Griselda again of +bees and a beehive. But she made no remark till the cuckoo spoke again. + +"Come in," he said. + +Griselda had to stoop a good deal, but she did manage to get in without +knocking her head or doing any damage. Inside was just a mass of +butterflies. A confused mass it seemed at first, but after a while she +saw that it was the very reverse of confused. The butterflies were all +settled in rows on long, narrow, white tables, and before each was a +tiny object about the size of a flattened-out pin's head, which he was +most carefully painting with one of his tentacles, which, from time to +time, he moistened by rubbing it on the head of a butterfly waiting +patiently behind him. Behind this butterfly again stood another, who +after a while took his place, while the first attendant flew away. + +"To fill his paint-box again," remarked the cuckoo, who seemed to read +Griselda's thoughts. + +"But what _are_ they painting, cuckoo?" she inquired eagerly. + +"All the flowers in the world," replied the cuckoo. "Autumn, winter, and +spring, they're hard at work. It's only just for the three months of +summer that the butterflies have any holiday, and then a few stray ones +now and then wander up to the world, and people talk about 'idle +butterflies'! And even then it isn't true that they are idle. They go up +to take a look at the flowers, to see how their work has turned out, and +many a damaged petal they repair, or touch up a faded tint, though no +one ever knows it." + +"_I_ know it now," said Griselda. "I will never talk about idle +butterflies again--never. But, cuckoo, do they paint all the flowers +_here_, too? What a _fearful_ lot they must have to do!" + +"No," said the cuckoo; "the flowers down here are fairy flowers. They +never fade or die, they are always just as you see them. But the colours +of your flowers are all taken from them, as you have seen. Of course +they don't look the same up there," he went on, with a slight +contemptuous shrug of his cuckoo shoulders; "the coarse air and the ugly +things about must take the bloom off. The wild flowers do the best, to +my thinking; people don't meddle with them in their stupid, clumsy +way." + +"But how do they get the flowers sent up to the world, cuckoo?" asked +Griselda. + +"They're packed up, of course, and taken up at night when all of you are +asleep," said the cuckoo. "They're painted on elastic stuff, you see, +which fits itself as the plant grows. Why, if your eyes were as they are +usually, Griselda, you couldn't even _see_ the petals the butterflies +are painting now." + +"And the packing up," said Griselda; "do the butterflies do that too?" + +"No," said the cuckoo, "the fairies look after that." + +"How wonderful!" exclaimed Griselda. But before the cuckoo had time to +say more a sudden tumult filled the air. It was butterfly dinner-time! + +"Are you hungry, Griselda?" said the cuckoo. + +"Not so very," replied Griselda. + +"It's just as well perhaps that you're not," he remarked, "for I don't +know that you'd be much the better for dinner here." + +"Why not?" inquired Griselda curiously. "What do they have for dinner? +Honey? I like that very well, spread on the top of bread-and-butter, of +course--I don't think I should care to eat it alone." + +"You won't get any honey," the cuckoo was beginning; but he was +interrupted. Two handsome butterflies flew into the great glass hall, +and making straight for the cuckoo, alighted on his shoulders. They +fluttered about him for a minute or two, evidently rather excited about +something, then flew away again, as suddenly as they had appeared. + +"Those were royal messengers," said the cuckoo, turning to Griselda. +"They have come with a message from the king and queen to invite us to +a banquet which is to be held in honour of your visit." + +"What fun!" cried Griselda. "Do let's go at once, cuckoo. But, oh dear +me," she went on, with a melancholy change of tone, "I was forgetting, +cuckoo. I can't go to the banquet. I have nothing on but my night-gown. +I never thought of it before, for I'm not a bit cold." + +"Never mind," said the cuckoo, "I'll soon have that put to rights." + +[Illustration: SHE LOOKED LIKE A FAIRY QUEEN.] + +He flew off, and was back almost immediately, followed by a whole flock +of butterflies. They were of a smaller kind than Griselda had hitherto +seen, and they were of two colours only; half were blue, half yellow. +They flew up to Griselda, who felt for a moment as if she were really +going to be suffocated by them, but only for a moment. There seemed a +great buzz and flutter about her, and then the butterflies set to work +to _dress_ her. And how do you think they dressed her? With +_themselves_! They arranged themselves all over her in the cleverest +way. One set of blue ones clustered round the hem of her little white +night-gown, making a thick "_ruche_," as it were; and then there came +two or three thinner rows of yellow, and then blue again. Round her +waist they made the loveliest belt of mingled blue and yellow, and all +over the upper part of her night-gown, in and out among the pretty white +frills which Dorcas herself "goffered," so nicely, they made themselves +into fantastic trimmings of every shape and kind; bows, rosettes--I +cannot tell you what they did not imitate. + +Perhaps the prettiest ornament of all was the coronet or wreath they +made of themselves for her head, dotting over her curly brown hair too +with butterfly spangles, which quivered like dew-drops as she moved +about. No one would have known Griselda; she looked like a fairy queen, +or princess, at least, for even her little white feet had what _looked_ +like butterfly shoes upon them, though these, you will understand, were +only a sort of make-believe, as, of course, the shoes were soleless. + +"Now," said the cuckoo, when at last all was quiet again, and every blue +and every yellow butterfly seemed settled in his place, "now, Griselda, +come and look at yourself." + +He led the way to a marble basin, into which fell the waters of one of +the tinkling brooks that were to be found everywhere about the garden, +and bade Griselda look into the water mirror. It danced about rather; +but still she was quite able to see herself. She peered in with great +satisfaction, turning herself round so as to see first over one +shoulder, then over the other. + +"It _is_ lovely," she said at last. "But, cuckoo, I'm just thinking--how +shall I possibly be able to sit down without crushing ever so many?" + +"Bless you, you needn't trouble about that," said the cuckoo; "the +butterflies are quite able to take care of themselves. You don't suppose +you are the first little girl they have ever made a dress for?" + +Griselda said no more, but followed the cuckoo, walking rather +"gingerly," notwithstanding his assurances that the butterflies could +take care of themselves. At last the cuckoo stopped, in front of a sort +of banked-up terrace, in the centre of which grew a strange-looking +plant with large, smooth, spreading-out leaves, and on the two topmost +leaves, their splendid wings glittering in the sunshine, sat two +magnificent butterflies. They were many times larger than any Griselda +had yet seen; in fact, the cuckoo himself looked rather small beside +them, and they were _so_ beautiful that Griselda felt quite over-awed. +You could not have said what colour they were, for at the faintest +movement they seemed to change into new colours, each more exquisite +than the last. Perhaps I could best give you an idea of them by saying +that they were like living rainbows. + +"Are those the king and queen?" asked Griselda in a whisper. + +"Yes," said the cuckoo. "Do you admire them?" + +"I should rather think I did," said Griselda. "But, cuckoo, do they +never do anything but lie there in the sunshine?" + +"Oh, you silly girl," exclaimed the cuckoo, "always jumping at +conclusions. No, indeed, that is not how they manage things in +butterfly-land. The king and queen have worked harder than any other +butterflies. They are chosen every now and then, out of all the others, +as being the most industrious and the cleverest of all the +world-flower-painters, and then they are allowed to rest, and are fed on +the finest essences, so that they grow as splendid as you see. But even +now they are not idle; they superintend all the work that is done, and +choose all the new colours." + +"Dear me!" said Griselda, under her breath, "how clever they must be." + +Just then the butterfly king and queen stretched out their magnificent +wings, and rose upwards, soaring proudly into the air. + +"Are they going away?" said Griselda in a disappointed tone. + +"Oh no," said the cuckoo; "they are welcoming you. Hold out your hands." + +Griselda held out her hands, and stood gazing up into the sky. In a +minute or two the royal butterflies appeared again, slowly, majestically +circling downwards, till at length they alighted on Griselda's little +hands, the king on the right, the queen on the left, almost covering her +fingers with their great dazzling wings. + +"You _do_ look nice now," said the cuckoo, hopping back a few steps and +looking up at Griselda approvingly; "but it's time for the feast to +begin, as it won't do for us to be late." + +The king and queen appeared to understand. They floated away from +Griselda's hands and settled themselves, this time, at one end of a +beautiful little grass plot or lawn, just below the terrace where grew +the large-leaved plant. This was evidently their dining-room, for no +sooner were they in their place than butterflies of every kind and +colour came pouring in, in masses, from all directions. Butterflies +small and butterflies large; butterflies light and butterflies dark; +butterflies blue, pink, crimson, green, gold-colour--_every_ colour, and +far, far more colours than you could possibly imagine. + +They all settled down, round the sides of the grassy dining-table, and +in another minute a number of small white butterflies appeared, carrying +among them flower petals carefully rolled up, each containing a drop of +liquid. One of these was presented to the king, and then one to the +queen, who each sniffed at their petal for an instant, and then passed +it on to the butterfly next them, whereupon fresh petals were handed to +them, which they again passed on. + +"What are they doing, cuckoo?" said Griselda; "that's not _eating_." + +"It's their kind of eating," he replied. "They don't require any other +kind of food than a sniff of perfume; and as there are perfumes +extracted from every flower in butterfly-land, and there are far more +flowers than you could count between now and Christmas, you must allow +there is plenty of variety of dishes." + +"Um-m," said Griselda; "I suppose there is. But all the same, cuckoo, +it's a very good thing I'm not hungry, isn't it? May I pour the scent on +my pocket-handkerchief when it comes round to me? I have my handkerchief +here, you see. Isn't it nice that I brought it? It was under my pillow, +and I wrapped it round my hand to open the shutter, for the hook +scratched it once." + +"You may pour one drop on your handkerchief," said the cuckoo, "but not +more. I shouldn't like the butterflies to think you greedy." + +But Griselda grew very tired of the scent feast long before all the +petals had been passed round. The perfumes were very nice, certainly, +but there were such quantities of them--double quantities in honour of +the guest, of course! Griselda screwed up her handkerchief into a tight +little ball, so that the one drop of scent should not escape from it, +and then she kept sniffing at it impatiently, till at last the cuckoo +asked her what was the matter. + +"I am so tired of the feast," she said. "Do let us do something else, +cuckoo." + +"It is getting rather late," said the cuckoo. "But see, Griselda, they +are going to have an air-dance now." + +"What's that?" said Griselda. + +"Look, and you'll see," he replied. + +Flocks and flocks of butterflies were rising a short way into the air, +and there arranging themselves in bands according to their colours. + +"Come up on to the bank," said the cuckoo to Griselda; "you'll see them +better." + +Griselda climbed up the bank, and as from there she could look down on +the butterfly show, she saw it beautifully. The long strings of +butterflies twisted in and out of each other in the most wonderful way, +like ribbons of every hue plaiting themselves and then in an instant +unplaiting themselves again. Then the king and queen placed themselves +in the centre, and round and round in moving circles twisted and +untwisted the brilliant bands of butterflies. + +"It's like a kaleidoscope," said Griselda; "and now it's like those +twisty-twirly dissolving views that papa took me to see once. It's +_just_ like them. Oh, how pretty! Cuckoo, are they doing it all on +purpose to please me?" + +"A good deal," said the cuckoo. "Stand up and clap your hands loud three +times, to show them you're pleased." + +Griselda obeyed. "Clap" number one--all the butterflies rose up into the +air in a cloud; clap number two--they all fluttered and twirled and +buzzed about, as if in the greatest excitement; clap number three--they +all turned in Griselda's direction with a rush. + +"They're going to kiss you, Griselda," cried the cuckoo. + +Griselda felt her breath going. Up above her was the vast feathery cloud +of butterflies, fluttering, _rushing_ down upon her. + +"Cuckoo, cuckoo," she screamed, "they'll suffocate me. Oh, cuckoo!" + +"Shut your eyes, and clap your hands loud, very loud," called out the +cuckoo. + +And just as Griselda clapped her hands, holding her precious +handkerchief between her teeth, she heard him give his usual cry, +"Cuckoo, cuckoo." + +_Clap_--where were they all? + +Griselda opened her eyes--garden, butterflies, cuckoo, all had +disappeared. She was in bed, and Dorcas was knocking at the door with +the hot water. + +"Miss Grizzel said I was to wake you at your usual time this morning, +missie," she said. "I hope you don't feel too tired to get up." + +"Tired! I should think not," replied Griselda. "I was awake this morning +ages before you, I can tell you, my dear Dorcas. Come here for a minute, +Dorcas, please," she went on. "There now, sniff my handkerchief. What do +you think of that?" + +"It's beautiful," said Dorcas. "It's out of the big blue chinay bottle +on your auntie's table, isn't it, missie?" + +"Stuff and nonsense," replied Griselda; "it's scent of my own, Dorcas. +Aunt Grizzel never had any like it in her life. There now! Please give +me my slippers, I want to get up and look over my lessons for Mr. +Kneebreeches before he comes. Dear me," she added to herself, as she +was putting on her slippers, "how pretty my feet did look with the blue +butterfly shoes! It was very good of the cuckoo to take me there, but I +don't think I shall ever wish to be a butterfly again, now I know how +hard they work! But I'd like to do my lessons well to-day. I fancy it'll +please the dear old cuckoo." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +MASTER PHIL. + + + "Who comes from the world of flowers? + Daisy and crocus, and sea-blue bell, + And violet shrinking in dewy cell-- + Sly cells that know the secrets of night, + When earth is bathed in fairy light-- + Scarlet, and blue, and golden flowers." + + +And so Mr. Kneebreeches had no reason to complain of his pupil that day. + +And Miss Grizzel congratulated herself more heartily than ever on her +wise management of children. + +And Miss Tabitha repeated that Sister Grizzel might indeed congratulate +herself. + +And Griselda became gradually more and more convinced that the only way +as yet discovered of getting through hard tasks is to set to work and +do them; also, that grumbling, as things are at present arranged in this +world, does not _always_, nor I may say _often_, do good; furthermore, +that an ill-tempered child is not, on the whole, likely to be as much +loved as a good-tempered one; lastly, that if you wait long enough, +winter will go and spring will come. + +For this was the case this year, after all! Spring had only been sleepy +and lazy, and in such a case what could poor old winter do but fill the +vacant post till she came? Why he should be so scolded and reviled for +faithfully doing his best, as he often is, I really don't know. Not that +all the ill words he gets have much effect on him--he comes again just +as usual, whatever we say of or to him. I suppose his feelings have long +ago been frozen up, or surely before this he would have taken +offence--well for us that he has not done so! + +But when the spring did come at last this year, it would be impossible +for me to tell you how Griselda enjoyed it. It was like new life to her +as well as to the plants, and flowers, and birds, and insects. Hitherto, +you see, she had been able to see very little of the outside of her +aunt's house; and charming as the inside was, the outside, I must say, +was still "charminger." There seemed no end to the little up-and-down +paths and alleys, leading to rustic seats and quaint arbours; no limits +to the little pine-wood, down into which led the dearest little +zig-zaggy path you ever saw, all bordered with snow-drops and primroses +and violets, and later on with periwinkles, and wood anemones, and those +bright, starry, white flowers, whose name no two people agree about. + +This wood-path was the place, I think, which Griselda loved the best. +The bowling-green was certainly very delightful, and so was the terrace +where the famous roses grew; but lovely as the roses were (I am +speaking just now, of course, of later on in the summer, when they were +all in bloom), Griselda could not enjoy them as much as the +wild-flowers, for she was forbidden to gather or touch them, except with +her funny round nose! + +"You may _scent_ them, my dear," said Miss Grizzel, who was of opinion +that smell was not a pretty word; "but I cannot allow anything more." + +And Griselda did "scent" them, I assure you. She burrowed her whole rosy +face in the big ones; but gently, for she did not want to spoil them, +both for her aunt's sake, and because, too, she had a greater regard for +flowers now that she knew the secret of how they were painted, and what +a great deal of trouble the butterflies take about them. + +But after a while one grows tired of "scenting" roses; and even the +trying to walk straight across the bowling-green with her eyes shut, +from the arbour at one side to the arbour exactly like it at the other, +grew stupid, though no doubt it would have been capital fun with a +companion to applaud or criticize. + +So the wood-path became Griselda's favourite haunt. As the summer grew +on, she began to long more than ever for a companion--not so much for +play, as for some one to play with. She had lessons, of course, just as +many as in the winter; but with the long days, there seemed to come a +quite unaccountable increase of play-time, and Griselda sometimes found +it hang heavy on her hands. She had not seen or heard anything of the +cuckoo either, save, of course, in his "official capacity" of +time-teller, for a very long time. + +"I suppose," she thought, "he thinks I don't need amusing, now that the +fine days are come and I can play in the garden; and certainly, if I +had _any one_ to play with, the garden would be perfectly lovely." + +But, failing companions, she did the best she could for herself, and +this was why she loved the path down into the wood so much. There was a +sort of mystery about it; it might have been the path leading to the +cottage of Red-Ridinghood's grandmother, or a path leading to fairyland +itself. There were all kinds of queer, nice, funny noises to be heard +there--in one part of it especially, where Griselda made herself a seat +of some moss-grown stones, and where she came so often that she got to +know all the little flowers growing close round about, and even the +particular birds whose nests were hard by. + +She used to sit there and _fancy_--fancy that she heard the wood-elves +chattering under their breath, or the little underground gnomes and +kobolds hammering at their fairy forges. And the tinkling of the brook +in the distance sounded like the enchanted bells round the necks of the +fairy kine, who are sent out to pasture sometimes on the upper world +hill-sides. For Griselda's head was crammed full, perfectly full, of +fairy lore; and the mandarins' country, and butterfly-land, were quite +as real to her as the every-day world about her. + +But all this time she was not forgotten by the cuckoo, as you will see. + +One day she was sitting in her favourite nest, feeling, notwithstanding +the sunshine, and the flowers, and the soft sweet air, and the pleasant +sounds all about, rather dull and lonely. For though it was only May, it +was really quite a hot day, and Griselda had been all the morning at her +lessons, and had tried very hard, and done them very well, and now she +felt as if she deserved some reward. Suddenly in the distance, she heard +a well-known sound, "Cuckoo, cuckoo." + +"Can that be the cuckoo?" she said to herself; and in a moment she felt +sure that it must be. For, for some reason that I do not know enough +about the habits of real "flesh and blood" cuckoos to explain, that bird +was not known in the neighbourhood where Griselda's aunts lived. Some +twenty miles or so further south it was heard regularly, but all this +spring Griselda had never caught the sound of its familiar note, and she +now remembered hearing it never came to these parts. + +So, "it must be my cuckoo," she said to herself. "He must be coming out +to speak to me. How funny! I have never seen him by daylight." + +She listened. Yes, again there it was, "Cuckoo, cuckoo," as plain as +possible, and nearer than before. + +"Cuckoo," cried Griselda, "do come and talk to me. It's such a long time +since I have seen you, and I have nobody to play with." + +But there was no answer. Griselda held her breath to listen, but there +was nothing to be heard. + +"Unkind cuckoo!" she exclaimed. "He is tricking me, I do believe; and +to-day too, just when I was so dull and lonely." + +The tears came into her eyes, and she was beginning to think herself +very badly used, when suddenly a rustling in the bushes beside her made +her turn round, more than half expecting to see the cuckoo himself. But +it was not he. The rustling went on for a minute or two without anything +making its appearance, for the bushes were pretty thick just there, and +any one scrambling up from the pinewood below would have had rather hard +work to get through, and indeed for a very big person such a feat would +have been altogether impossible. + +It was not a very big person, however, who was causing all the rustling, +and crunching of branches, and general commotion, which now absorbed +Griselda's attention. She sat watching for another minute in perfect +stillness, afraid of startling by the slightest movement the squirrel or +rabbit or creature of some kind which she expected to see. At last--was +that a squirrel or rabbit--that rosy, round face, with shaggy, fair hair +falling over the eager blue eyes, and a general look of breathlessness +and over-heatedness and determination? + +A squirrel or a rabbit! No, indeed, but a very sturdy, very merry, very +ragged little boy. + +"Where are that cuckoo? Does _you_ know?" were the first words he +uttered, as soon as he had fairly shaken himself, though not by any +means all his clothes, free of the bushes (for ever so many pieces of +jacket and knickerbockers, not to speak of one boot and half his hat, +had been left behind on the way), and found breath to say something. + +[Illustration: "WHERE ARE THAT CUCKOO?"] + +Griselda stared at him for a moment without speaking. She was so +astonished. It was months since she had spoken to a child, almost since +she had seen one, and about children younger than herself she knew very +little at any time, being the baby of the family at home, you see, +and having only big brothers older than herself for play-fellows. + +"Who are you?" she said at last. "What's your name, and what do you +want?" + +"My name's Master Phil, and I want that cuckoo," answered the little +boy. "He camed up this way. I'm sure he did, for he called me all the +way." + +"He's not here," said Griselda, shaking her head; "and this is my aunts' +garden. No one is allowed to come here but friends of theirs. You had +better go home; and you have torn your clothes so." + +"This aren't a garden," replied the little fellow undauntedly, looking +round him; "this are a wood. There are blue-bells and primroses here, +and that shows it aren't a garden--not anybody's garden, I mean, with +walls round, for nobody to come in." + +"But it _is_," said Griselda, getting rather vexed. + +"If it isn't a garden it's _grounds_, private grounds, and nobody +should come without leave. This path leads down to the wood, and there's +a door in the wall at the bottom to get into the lane. You may go down +that way, little boy. No one comes scrambling up the way you did." + +"But I want to find the cuckoo," said the little boy. "I do so want to +find the cuckoo." + +His voice sounded almost as if he were going to cry, and his pretty, +hot, flushed face puckered up. Griselda's heart smote her; she looked at +him more carefully. He was such a very little boy, after all; she did +not like to be cross to him. + +"How old are you?" she asked. + +"Five and a bit. I had a birthday after the summer, and if I'm good, +nurse says perhaps I'll have one after next summer too. Do you ever have +birthdays?" he went on, peering up at Griselda. "Nurse says she used to +when she was young, but she never has any now." + +"_Have_ you a nurse?" asked Griselda, rather surprised; for, to tell the +truth, from "Master Phil's" appearance, she had not felt at all sure +what _sort_ of little boy he was, or rather what sort of people he +belonged to. + +"Of course I have a nurse, and a mother too," said the little boy, +opening wide his eyes in surprise at the question. "Haven't you? Perhaps +you're too big, though. People leave off having nurses and mothers when +they're big, don't they? Just like birthdays. But _I_ won't. I won't +never leave off having a mother, any way. I don't care so much about +nurse and birthdays, not _kite_ so much. Did you care when you had to +leave off, when you got too big?" + +"I hadn't to leave off because I got big," said Griselda sadly. "I left +off when I was much littler than you," she went on, unconsciously +speaking as Phil would best understand her. "My mother died." + +"I'm werry sorry," said Phil; and the way in which he said it quite +overcame Griselda's unfriendliness. "But perhaps you've a nice nurse. My +nurse is rather nice; but she _will_ 'cold me to-day, won't she?" he +added, laughing, pointing to the terrible rents in his garments. "These +are my very oldestest things; that's a good thing, isn't it? Nurse says +I don't look like Master Phil in these, but when I have on my blue +welpet, then I look like Master Phil. I shall have my blue welpet when +mother comes." + +"Is your mother away?" said Griselda. + +"Oh yes, she's been away a long time; so nurse came here to take care of +me at the farmhouse, you know. Mother was ill, but she's better now, and +some day she'll come too." + +"Do you like being at the farmhouse? Have you anybody to play with?" +said Griselda. + +Phil shook his curly head. "I never have anybody to play with," he said. +"I'd like to play with you if you're not too big. And do you think you +could help me to find the cuckoo?" he added insinuatingly. + +"What do you know about the cuckoo?" said Griselda. + +"He called me," said Phil, "he called me lots of times; and to-day nurse +was busy, so I thought I'd come. And do you know," he added +mysteriously, "I do believe the cuckoo's a fairy, and when I find him +I'm going to ask him to show me the way to fairyland." + +"He says we must all find the way ourselves," said Griselda, quite +forgetting to whom she was speaking. + +"_Does_ he?" cried Phil, in great excitement. "Do you know him, then? +and have you asked him? Oh, do tell me." + +Griselda recollected herself. "You couldn't understand," she said. "Some +day perhaps I'll tell you--I mean if ever I see you again." + +"But I may see you again," said Phil, settling himself down comfortably +beside Griselda on her mossy stone. "You'll let me come, won't you? I +like to talk about fairies, and nurse doesn't understand. And if the +cuckoo knows you, perhaps that's why he called me to come to play with +you." + +"How did he call you?" asked Griselda. + +"First," said Phil gravely, "it was in the night. I was asleep, and I +had been wishing I had somebody to play with, and then I d'eamed of the +cuckoo--such a nice d'eam. And when I woke up I heard him calling me, +and I wasn't d'eaming then. And then when I was in the field he called +me, but I _couldn't_ find him, and nurse said 'Nonsense.' And to-day he +called me again, so I camed up through the bushes. And mayn't I come +again? Perhaps if we both tried together we could find the way to +fairyland. Do you think we could?" + +"I don't know," said Griselda, dreamily. + +"There's a great deal to learn first, the cuckoo says." + +"Have you learnt a great deal?" (he called it "a gate deal") asked Phil, +looking up at Griselda with increased respect. "_I_ don't know scarcely +nothing. Mother was ill such a long time before she went away, but I +know she wanted me to learn to read books. But nurse is too old to teach +me." + +"Shall I teach you?" said Griselda. "I can bring some of my old books +and teach you here after I have done my own lessons." + +"And then mother _would_ be surprised when she comes back," said Master +Phil, clapping his hands. "Oh, _do_. And when I've learnt to read a +great deal, do you think the cuckoo would show us the way to fairyland?" + +"I don't think it was that sort of learning he meant," said Griselda. +"But I dare say that would help. I _think_," she went on, lowering her +voice a little, and looking down gravely into Phil's earnest eyes, "I +_think_ he means mostly learning to be very good--very, _very_ good, you +know." + +"Gooder than you?" said Phil. + +"Oh dear, yes; lots and lots gooder than me," replied Griselda. + +"_I_ think you're very good," observed Phil, in a parenthesis. Then he +went on with his cross-questioning. + +"Gooder than mother?" + +"I don't know your mother, so how can I tell how good she is?" said +Griselda. + +"_I_ can tell you," said Phil, importantly. "She is just as good as--as +good as--as good as _good_. That's what she is." + +"You mean she couldn't be better," said Griselda, smiling. + +"Yes, that'll do, if you like. Would that be good enough for us to be, +do you think?" + +"We must ask the cuckoo," said Griselda. "But I'm sure it would be a +good thing for you to learn to read. You must ask your nurse to let you +come here every afternoon that it's fine, and I'll ask my aunt." + +"I needn't ask nurse," said Phil composedly; "she'll never know where I +am, and I needn't tell her. She doesn't care what I do, except tearing +my clothes; and when she scolds me, _I_ don't care." + +"_That_ isn't good, Phil," said Griselda gravely. "You'll never be as +good as good if you speak like that." + +"What should I say, then? Tell me," said the little boy submissively. + +"You should ask nurse to let you come to play with me, and tell her I'm +much bigger than you, and I won't let you tear your clothes. And you +should tell her you're very sorry you've torn them to-day." + +"Very well," said Phil, "I'll say that. But, oh see!" he exclaimed, +darting off, "there's a field mouse! If only I could catch him!" + +Of course he couldn't catch him, nor could Griselda either; very ready, +though, she was to do her best. But it was great fun all the same, and +the children laughed heartily and enjoyed themselves tremendously. And +when they were tired they sat down again and gathered flowers for +nosegays, and Griselda was surprised to find how clever Phil was about +it. He was much quicker than she at spying out the prettiest blossoms, +however hidden behind tree, or stone, or shrub. And he told her of all +the best places for flowers near by, and where grew the largest +primroses and the sweetest violets, in a way that astonished her. + +"You're such a little boy," she said; "how do you know so much about +flowers?" + +"I've had no one else to play with," he said innocently. "And then, you +know, the fairies are so fond of them." + +When Griselda thought it was time to go home, she led little Phil down +the wood-path, and through the door in the wall opening on to the lane. + +"Now you can find your way home without scrambling through any more +bushes, can't you, Master Phil?" she said. + +"Yes, thank you, and I'll come again to that place to-morrow afternoon, +shall I?" asked Phil. "I'll know when--after I've had my dinner and +raced three times round the big field, then it'll be time. That's how it +was to-day." + +"I should think it would do if you _walked_ three times--or twice if you +like--round the field. It isn't a good thing to race just when you've +had your dinner," observed Griselda sagely. "And you mustn't try to come +if it isn't fine, for my aunts won't let me go out if it rains even the +tiniest bit And of course you must ask your nurse's leave." + +"Very well," said little Phil as he trotted off. "I'll try to remember +all those things. I'm so glad you'll play with me again; and if you see +the cuckoo, please thank him." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +UP AND DOWN THE CHIMNEY. + + + "_Helper_. Well, but if it was all dream, it would be the same as if + it was all real, would it not? + + "_Keeper_. Yes, I see. I mean, Sir, I do _not_ see."--_A Liliput + Revel_. + + +_Not_ having "just had her dinner," and feeling very much inclined for +her tea, Griselda ran home at a great rate. + +She felt, too, in such good spirits; it had been so delightful to have a +companion in her play. + +"What a good thing it was I didn't make Phil run away before I found out +what a nice little boy he was," she said to herself. "I must look out my +old reading books to-night. I shall so like teaching him, poor little +boy, and the cuckoo will be pleased at my doing something useful, I'm +sure." + +Tea was quite ready, in fact waiting for her, when she came in. This was +a meal she always had by herself, brought up on a tray to Dorcas's +little sitting-room, where Dorcas waited upon her. And sometimes when +Griselda was in a particularly good humour she would beg Dorcas to sit +down and have a cup of tea with her--a liberty the old servant was far +too dignified and respectful to have thought of taking, unless specially +requested to do so. + +This evening, as you know, Griselda was in a very particularly good +humour, and besides this, so very full of her adventures, that she would +have been glad of an even less sympathising listener than Dorcas was +likely to be. + +"Sit down, Dorcas, and have some more tea, do," she said coaxingly. "It +looks ever so much more comfortable, and I'm sure you could eat a +little more if you tried, whether you've had your tea in the kitchen or +not. I'm _fearfully_ hungry, I can tell you. You'll have to cut a whole +lot more bread and butter, and not 'ladies' slices' either." + +"How your tongue does go, to be sure, Miss Griselda," said Dorcas, +smiling, as she seated herself on the chair Griselda had drawn in for +her. + +"And why shouldn't it?" said Griselda saucily. "It doesn't do it any +harm. But oh, Dorcas, I've had such fun this afternoon--really, you +couldn't guess what I've been doing." + +"Very likely not, missie," said Dorcas. + +"But you might try to guess. Oh no, I don't think you need--guessing +takes such a time, and I want to tell you. Just fancy, Dorcas, I've been +playing with a little boy in the wood." + +"Playing with a little boy, Miss Griselda!" exclaimed Dorcas, aghast. + +"Yes, and he's coming again to-morrow, and the day after, and every +day, I dare say," said Griselda. "He _is_ such a nice little boy." + +"But, missie," began Dorcas. + +"Well? What's the matter? You needn't look like that--as if I had done +something naughty," said Griselda sharply. + +"But you'll tell your aunt, missie?" + +"Of course," said Griselda, looking up fearlessly into Dorcas's face +with her bright grey eyes. "Of course; why shouldn't I? I must ask her +to give the little boy leave to come into _our_ grounds; and I told the +little boy to be sure to tell his nurse, who takes care of him, about +his playing with me." + +"His nurse," repeated Dorcas, in a tone of some relief. "Then he must be +quite a little boy, perhaps Miss Grizzel would not object so much in +that case." + +"Why should she object at all? She might know I wouldn't want to play +with a naughty rude boy," said Griselda. + +"She thinks all boys rude and naughty, I'm afraid, missie," said Dorcas. +"All, that is to say, excepting your dear papa. But then, of course, she +had the bringing up of _him_ in her own way from the beginning." + +"Well, I'll ask her, any way," said Griselda, "and if she says I'm not +to play with him, I shall think--I know what I shall _think_ of Aunt +Grizzel, whether I _say_ it or not." + +And the old look of rebellion and discontent settled down again on her +rosy face. + +"Be careful, missie, now do, there's a dear good girl," said Dorcas +anxiously, an hour later, when Griselda, dressed as usual in her little +white muslin frock, was ready to join her aunts at dessert. + +But Griselda would not condescend to make any reply. + +"Aunt Grizzel," she said suddenly, when she had eaten an orange and +three biscuits and drunk half a glass of home-made elderberry wine, +"Aunt Grizzel, when I was out in the garden to-day--down the wood-path, +I mean--I met a little boy, and he played with me, and I want to know if +he may come every day to play with me." + +Griselda knew she was not making her request in a very amiable or +becoming manner; she knew, indeed, that she was making it in such a way +as was almost certain to lead to its being refused; and yet, though she +was really so very, very anxious to get leave to play with little Phil, +she took a sort of spiteful pleasure in injuring her own cause. + +How _foolish_ ill-temper makes us! Griselda had allowed herself to get +so angry at the _thought_ of being thwarted that had her aunt looked up +quietly and said at once, "Oh yes, you may have the little boy to play +with you whenever you like," she would really, in a strange distorted +sort of way, have been _disappointed_. + +But, of course, Miss Grizzel made no such reply. Nothing less than a +miracle could have made her answer Griselda otherwise than as she did. +Like Dorcas, for an instant, she was utterly "flabbergasted," if you +know what that means. For she was really quite an old lady, you know, +and sensible as she was, things upset her much more easily than when she +was younger. + +Naughty Griselda saw her uneasiness, and enjoyed it. + +"Playing with a boy!" exclaimed Miss Grizzel. "A boy in my grounds, and +you, my niece, to have played with him!" + +"Yes," said Griselda coolly, "and I want to play with him again." + +"Griselda," said her aunt, "I am too astonished to say more at present. +Go to bed." + +"Why should I go to bed? It is not my bed-time," cried Griselda, blazing +up. "What have I done to be sent to bed as if I were in disgrace?" + +"Go to bed," repeated Miss Grizzel. "I will speak to you to-morrow." + +"You are very unfair and unjust," said Griselda, starting up from her +chair. "That's all the good of being honest and telling everything. I +might have played with the little boy every day for a month and you +would never have known, if I hadn't told you." + +She banged across the room as she spoke, and out at the door, slamming +it behind her rudely. Then upstairs like a whirlwind; but when she got +to her own room, she sat down on the floor and burst into tears, and +when Dorcas came up, nearly half an hour later, she was still in the +same place, crouched up in a little heap, sobbing bitterly. + +"Oh, missie, missie," said Dorcas, "it's just what I was afraid of!" + +As Griselda rushed out of the room Miss Grizzel leant back in her chair +and sighed deeply. + +"Already," she said faintly. "She was never so violent before. Can one +afternoon's companionship with rudeness have already contaminated her? +Already, Tabitha--can it be so?" + +"Already," said Miss Tabitha, softly shaking her head, which somehow +made her look wonderfully like an old cat, for she felt cold of an +evening and usually wore a very fine woolly shawl of a delicate grey +shade, and the borders of her cap and the ruffles round her throat and +wrists were all of fluffy, downy white--"already," she said. + +"Yet," said Miss Grizzel, recovering herself a little, "it is true what +the child said. She might have deceived us. Have I been hard upon her, +Sister Tabitha?" + +"Hard upon her! Sister Grizzel," said Miss Tabitha with more energy than +usual; "no, certainly not. For once, Sister Grizzel, I disagree with +you. Hard upon her! Certainly not." + +But Miss Grizzel did not feel happy. + +When she went up to her own room at night she was surprised to find +Dorcas waiting for her, instead of the younger maid. + +"I thought you would not mind having me, instead of Martha, to-night, +ma'am," she said, "for I did so want to speak to you about Miss +Griselda. The poor, dear young lady has gone to bed so very unhappy." + +"But do you know what she has done, Dorcas?" said Miss Grizzel. +"Admitted a _boy_, a rude, common, impertinent _boy_, into my precincts, +and played with him--with a _boy_, Dorcas." + +"Yes, ma'am," said Dorcas. "I know all about it, ma'am. Miss Griselda +has told me all. But if you would allow me to give an opinion, it isn't +quite so bad. He's quite a little boy, ma'am--between five and six--only +just about the age Miss Griselda's dear papa was when he first came to +us, and, by all I can hear, quite a little gentleman." + +"A little gentleman," repeated Miss Grizzel, "and not six years old! +That is less objectionable than I expected. What is his name, as you +know so much, Dorcas?" + +"Master Phil," replied Dorcas. "That is what he told Miss Griselda, and +she never thought to ask him more. But I'll tell you how we could get to +hear more about him, I think, ma'am. From what Miss Griselda says, I +believe he is staying at Mr. Crouch's farm, and that, you know, ma'am, +belongs to my Lady Lavander, though it is a good way from Merrybrow +Hall. My lady is pretty sure to know about the child, for she knows all +that goes on among her tenants, and I remember hearing that a little +gentleman and his nurse had come to Mr. Crouch's to lodge for six +months." + +Miss Grizzel listened attentively. + +"Thank you, Dorcas," she said, when the old servant had left off +speaking. "You have behaved with your usual discretion. I shall drive +over to Merrybrow to-morrow, and make inquiry. And you may tell Miss +Griselda in the morning what I purpose doing; but tell her also that, +as a punishment for her rudeness and ill-temper, she must have breakfast +in her own room to-morrow, and not see me till I send for her. Had she +restrained her temper and explained the matter, all this distress might +have been saved." + +Dorcas did not wait till "to-morrow morning;" she could not bear to +think of Griselda's unhappiness. From her mistress's room she went +straight to the little girl's, going in very softly, so as not to +disturb her should she be sleeping. + +"Are you awake, missie?" she said gently. + +Griselda started up. + +"Yes," she exclaimed. "Is it you, cuckoo? I'm quite awake." + +"Bless the child," said Dorcas to herself, "how her head does run on +Miss Sybilla's cuckoo. It's really wonderful. There's more in such +things than some people think." + +But aloud she only replied-- + +"It's Dorcas, missie. No fairy, only old Dorcas come to comfort you a +bit. Listen, missie. Your auntie is going over to Merrybrow Hall +to-morrow to inquire about this little Master Phil from my Lady +Lavander, for we think it's at one of her ladyship's farms that he and +his nurse are staying, and if she hears that he's a nice-mannered little +gentleman, and comes of good parents--why, missie, there's no saying but +that you'll get leave to play with him as much as you like." + +"But not to-morrow, Dorcas," said Griselda. "Aunt Grizzel never goes to +Merrybrow till the afternoon. She won't be back in time for me to play +with Phil to-morrow." + +"No, but next day, perhaps," said Dorcas. + +"Oh, but that won't do," said Griselda, beginning to cry again. "Poor +little Phil will be coming up to the wood-path _to-morrow_, and if he +doesn't find me, he'll be _so_ unhappy--perhaps he'll never come again +if I don't meet him to-morrow." + +Dorcas saw that the little girl was worn out and excited, and not yet +inclined to take a reasonable view of things. + +"Go to sleep, missie," she said kindly, "and don't think anything more +about it till to-morrow It'll be all right, you'll see." + +Her patience touched Griselda. + +"You are very kind, Dorcas," she said. "I don't mean to be cross to +_you_; but I can't bear to think of poor little Phil. Perhaps he'll sit +down on my mossy stone and cry. Poor little Phil!" + +But notwithstanding her distress, when Dorcas had left her she did feel +her heart a little lighter, and somehow or other before long she fell +asleep. + +When she awoke it seemed to be suddenly, and she had the feeling that +something had disturbed her. She lay for a minute or two perfectly +still--listening. Yes; there it was--the soft, faint rustle in the air +that she knew so well. It seemed as if something was moving away from +her. + +"Cuckoo," she said gently, "is that you?" + +A moment's pause, then came the answer--the pretty greeting she +expected. + +"Cuckoo, cuckoo," soft and musical. Then the cuckoo spoke. + +"Well, Griselda," he said, "and how are you? It's a good while since we +have had any fun together." + +"That's not _my_ fault," said Griselda sharply. She was not yet feeling +quite as amiable as might have been desired, you see. "That's +_certainly_ not my fault," she repeated. + +"I never said it was," replied the cuckoo. "Why will you jump at +conclusions so? It's a very bad habit, for very often you jump _over_ +them, you see, and go too far. One should always _walk_ up to +conclusions, very slowly and evenly, right foot first, then left, one +with another--that's the way to get where you want to go, and feel sure +of your ground. Do you see?" + +"I don't know whether I do or not, and I'm not going to speak to you if +you go on at me like that. You might see I don't want to be lectured +when I am so unhappy." + +"What are you unhappy about?" + +"About Phil, of course. I won't tell you, for I believe you know," said +Griselda. "Wasn't it you that sent him to play with me? I was so +pleased, and I thought it was very kind of you; but it's all spoilt +now." + +"But I heard Dorcas saying that your aunt is going over to consult my +Lady Lavander about it," said the cuckoo. "It'll be all right; you +needn't be in such low spirits about nothing." + +"Were you in the room _then_?" said Griselda. "How funny you are, +cuckoo. But it isn't all right. Don't you see, poor little Phil will be +coming up the wood-path to-morrow afternoon to meet me, and I won't be +there! I can't bear to think of it." + +"Is that all?" said the cuckoo. "It really is extraordinary how some +people make troubles out of nothing! We can easily tell Phil not to come +till the day after. Come along." + +"Come along," repeated Griselda; "what do you mean?" + +"Oh, I forgot," said the cuckoo. "You don't understand. Put out your +hand. There, do you feel me?" + +"Yes," said Griselda, stroking gently the soft feathers which seemed to +be close under her hand. "Yes, I feel you." + +"Well, then," said the cuckoo, "put your arms round my neck, and hold me +firm. I'll lift you up." + +"How _can_ you talk such nonsense, cuckoo?" said Griselda. "Why, one of +my little fingers would clasp your neck. How can I put my arms round +it?" + +"Try," said the cuckoo. + +Somehow Griselda had to try. + +She held out her arms in the cuckoo's direction, as if she expected his +neck to be about the size of a Shetland pony's, or a large Newfoundland +dog's; and, to her astonishment, so it was! A nice, comfortable, +feathery neck it felt--so soft that she could not help laying her head +down upon it, and nestling in the downy cushion. + +"That's right," said the cuckoo. + +Then he seemed to give a little spring, and Griselda felt herself +altogether lifted on to his back. She lay there as comfortably as +possible--it felt so firm as well as soft. Up he flew a little way--then +stopped short. + +"Are you all right?" he inquired. "You're not afraid of falling off?" + +"Oh no," said Griselda; "not a bit." + +"You needn't be," said the cuckoo, "for you couldn't if you tried. I'm +going on, then." + +"Where to?" said Griselda. + +"Up the chimney first," said the cuckoo. + +"But there'll never be room," said Griselda. "I might _perhaps_ crawl up +like a sweep, hands and knees, you know, like going up a ladder. But +stretched out like this--it's just as if I were lying on a sofa--I +_couldn't_ go up the chimney." + +"Couldn't you?" said the cuckoo. "We'll see. _I_ intend to go, any way, +and to take you with me. Shut your eyes--one, two, three--here +goes--we'll be up the chimney before you know." + +It was quite true. Griselda shut her eyes tight. She felt nothing but a +pleasant sort of rush. Then she heard the cuckoo's voice, saying-- + +"Well, wasn't that well done? Open your eyes and look about you." + +Griselda did so. Where were they? + +They were floating about above the top of the house, which Griselda saw +down below them, looking dark and vast. She felt confused and +bewildered. + +"Cuckoo," she said, "I don't understand. Is it I that have grown little, +or you that have grown big?" + +"Whichever you please," said the cuckoo. "You have forgotten. I told you +long ago it is all a matter of fancy." + +"Yes, if everything grew little _together_," persisted Griselda; "but it +isn't everything. It's just you or me, or both of us. No, it can't be +both of us. And I don't think it can be me, for if any of me had grown +little all would, and my eyes haven't grown little, for everything looks +as big as usual, only _you_ a great deal bigger. My eyes can't have +grown bigger without the rest of me, surely, for the moon looks just the +same. And I must have grown little, or else we couldn't have got up the +chimney. Oh, cuckoo, you have put all my thinking into such a muddle!" + +"Never mind," said the cuckoo. "It'll show you how little consequence +big and little are of. Make yourself comfortable all the same. Are you +all right? Shut your eyes if you like. I'm going pretty fast." + +"Where to?" said Griselda. + +"To Phil, of course," said the cuckoo. "What a bad memory you have! Are +you comfortable?" + +"_Very_, thank you," replied Griselda, giving the cuckoo's neck an +affectionate hug as she spoke. + +"That'll do, thank you. Don't throttle me, if it's quite the same to +you," said the cuckoo. "Here goes--one, two, three," and off he flew +again. + +Griselda shut her eyes and lay still. It was delicious--the gliding, yet +darting motion, like nothing she had ever felt before. It did not make +her the least giddy, either; but a slightly sleepy feeling came over +her. She felt no inclination to open her eyes; and, indeed, at the rate +they were going, she could have distinguished very little had she done +so. + +Suddenly the feeling in the air about her changed. For an instant it +felt more _rushy_ than before, and there was a queer, dull sound in her +ears. Then she felt that the cuckoo had stopped. + +"Where are we?" she asked. + +"We've just come _down_ a chimney again," said the cuckoo. "Open your +eyes and clamber down off my back, but don't speak loud, or you'll waken +him, and that wouldn't do. There you are--the moonlight's coming in +nicely at the window--you can see your way." + +Griselda found herself in a little bedroom, quite a tiny one, and by the +look of the simple furniture and the latticed window, she saw that she +was not in a grand house. But everything looked very neat and nice, and +on a little bed in one corner lay a lovely sleeping child. It was Phil! +He looked so pretty asleep--his shaggy curls all tumbling about, his +rosy mouth half open as if smiling, one little hand tossed over his +head, the other tight clasping a little basket which he had insisted on +taking to bed with him, meaning as soon as he was dressed the next +morning to run out and fill it with flowers for the little girl he had +made friends with. + +Griselda stepped up to the side of the bed on tiptoe. The cuckoo had +disappeared, but Griselda heard his voice. It seemed to come from a +little way up the chimney. + +"Don't wake him," said the cuckoo, "but whisper what you want to say +into his ear, as soon as I have called him. He'll understand; he's +accustomed to my ways." + +Then came the old note, soft and musical as ever-- + +"Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo. Listen, Phil," said the cuckoo, and without +opening his eyes a change passed over the little boy's face. Griselda +could see that he was listening to hear her message. + +"He thinks he's dreaming, I suppose," she said to herself with a smile. +Then she whispered softly-- + +"Phil, dear, don't come to play with me to-morrow, for I can't come. But +come the day after. I'll be at the wood-path then." + +"Welly well," murmured Phil. Then he put out his two arms towards +Griselda, all without opening his eyes, and she, bending down, kissed +him softly. + +"Phil's so sleepy," he whispered, like a baby almost. Then he turned +over and went to sleep more soundly than before. + +"That'll do," said the cuckoo. "Come along, Griselda." + +Griselda obediently made her way to the place whence the cuckoo's voice +seemed to come. + +"Shut your eyes and put your arms round my neck again," said the cuckoo. + +She did not hesitate this time. It all happened just as before. There +came the same sort of rushy sound; then the cuckoo stopped, and +Griselda opened her eyes. + +They were up in the air again--a good way up, too, for some grand old +elms that stood beside the farmhouse were gently waving their topmost +branches a yard or two from where the cuckoo was poising himself and +Griselda. + +"Where shall we go to now?" he said. "Or would you rather go home? Are +you tired?" + +"Tired!" exclaimed Griselda. "I should rather think not. How could I be +tired, cuckoo?" + +"Very well, don't excite yourself about nothing, whatever you do," said +the cuckoo. "Say where you'd like to go." + +"How can I?" said Griselda. "You know far more nice places than I do." + +"You don't care to go back to the mandarins, or the butterflies, I +suppose?" asked the cuckoo. + +[Illustration: "TIRED! HOW COULD I BE TIRED, CUCKOO?"] + +"No, thank you," said Griselda; "I'd like something new. And I'm not +sure that I care for seeing any more countries of that kind, unless +you could take me to the _real_ fairyland." + +"_I_ can't do that, you know," said the cuckoo. + +Just then a faint "soughing" sound among the branches suggested another +idea to Griselda. + +"Cuckoo," she exclaimed, "take me to the sea. It's _such_ a time since I +saw the sea. I can fancy I hear it; do take me to see it." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOON. + + + "That after supper time has come, + And silver dews the meadow steep. + And all is silent in the home, + And even nurses are asleep, + That be it late, or be it soon, + Upon this lovely night in June + They both will step into the moon." + + +"Very well," said the cuckoo. "You would like to look about you a little +on the way, perhaps, Griselda, as we shall not be going down chimneys, +or anything of that kind just at present." + +"Yes," said Griselda. "I think I should. I'm rather tired of shutting my +eyes, and I'm getting quite accustomed to flying about with you, +cuckoo." + +"Turn on your side, then," said the cuckoo, "and you won't have to twist +your neck to see over my shoulder. Are you comfortable now? And, +by-the-by, as you may be cold, just feel under my left wing. You'll find +the feather mantle there, that you had on once before. Wrap it round +you. I tucked it in at the last moment, thinking you might want it." + +"Oh, you dear, kind cuckoo!" cried Griselda. "Yes, I've found it. I'll +tuck it all round me like a rug--that's it. I _am_ so warm now, cuckoo." + +"Here goes, then," said the cuckoo, and off they set. Had ever a little +girl such a flight before? Floating, darting, gliding, sailing--no words +can describe it. Griselda lay still in delight, gazing all about her. + +"How lovely the stars are, cuckoo!" she said. "Is it true they're all +great, big _suns_? I'd rather they weren't. I like to think of them as +nice, funny little things." + +"They're not all suns," said the cuckoo. "Not all those you're looking +at now." + +"I like the twinkling ones best," said Griselda. "They look so +good-natured. Are they _all_ twirling about always, cuckoo? Mr. +Kneebreeches has just begun to teach me astronomy, and _he_ says they +are; but I'm not at all sure that he knows much about it." + +"He's quite right all the same," replied the cuckoo. + +"Oh dear me! How tired they must be, then!" said Griselda. "Do they +never rest just for a minute?" + +"Never." + +"Why not?" + +"Obeying orders," replied the cuckoo. + +Griselda gave a little wriggle. + +"What's the use of it?" she said. "It would be just as nice if they +stood still now and then." + +"Would it?" said the cuckoo. "I know some body who would soon find +fault if they did. What would you say to no summer; no day, or no night, +whichever it happened not to be, you see; nothing growing, and nothing +to eat before long? That's what it would be if they stood still, you +see, because----" + +"Thank you, cuckoo," interrupted Griselda. "It's very nice to hear +you--I mean, very dreadful to think of, but I don't want you to explain. +I'll ask Mr. Kneebreeches when I'm at my lessons. You might tell me one +thing, however. What's at the other side of the moon?" + +"There's a variety of opinions," said the cuckoo. + +"What are they? Tell me the funniest." + +"Some say all the unfinished work of the world is kept there," said the +cuckoo. + +"_That's_ not funny," said Griselda. "What a messy place it must be! +Why, even _my_ unfinished work makes quite a heap. I don't like that +opinion at all, cuckoo. Tell me another." + +"I _have_ heard," said the cuckoo, "that among the places there you +would find the country of the little black dogs. You know what sort of +creatures those are?" + +"Yes, I suppose so," said Griselda, rather reluctantly. + +"There are a good many of them in this world, as of course you know," +continued the cuckoo. "But up there, they are much worse than here. When +a child has made a great pet of one down here, I've heard tell the +fairies take him up there when his parents and nurses think he's +sleeping quietly in his bed, and make him work hard all night, with his +own particular little black dog on his back. And it's so dreadfully +heavy--for every time he takes it on his back down here it grows a pound +heavier up there--that by morning the child is quite worn out. I dare +say you've noticed how haggard and miserable some ill-tempered children +get to look--now you'll know the reason." + +"Thank you, cuckoo," said Griselda again; "but I can't say I like this +opinion about the other side of the moon any better than the first. If +you please, I would rather not talk about it any more." + +"Oh, but it's not so bad an idea after all," said the cuckoo. "Lots of +children, they say, get quite cured in the country of the little black +dogs. It's this way--for every time a child refuses to take the dog on +his back down here it grows a pound lighter up there, so at last any +sensible child learns how much better it is to have nothing to say to it +at all, and gets out of the way of it, you see. Of course, there _are_ +children whom nothing would cure, I suppose. What becomes of them I +really can't say. Very likely they get crushed into pancakes by the +weight of the dogs at last, and then nothing more is ever heard of +them." + +"Horrid!" said Griselda, with a shudder. "Don't let's talk about it any +more, cuckoo; tell me your _own_ opinion about what there really is on +the other side of the moon." + +The cuckoo was silent for a moment. Then suddenly he stopped short in +the middle of his flight. + +"Would you like to see for yourself, Griselda?" he said. "There would be +about time to do it," he added to himself, "and it would fulfil her +other wish, too." + +"See the moon for myself, do you mean?" cried Griselda, clasping her +hands. "I should rather think I would. Will you really take me there, +cuckoo?" + +"To the other side," said the cuckoo. "I couldn't take you to this +side." + +"Why not? Not that I'd care to go to this side as much as to the other; +for, of course, we can _see_ this side from here. But I'd like to know +why you couldn't take me there." + +"For _reasons_," said the cuckoo drily. "I'll give you one if you like. +If I took you to this side of the moon you wouldn't be yourself when you +got there." + +"Who would I be, then?" + +"Griselda," said the cuckoo, "I told you once that there are a great +many things you don't know. Now, I'll tell you something more. There are +a great many things you're not _intended_ to know." + +"Very well," said Griselda. "But do tell me when you're going on again, +and where you are going to take me to. There's no harm my asking that?" + +"No," said the cuckoo. "I'm going on immediately, and I'm going to take +you where you wanted to go to, only you must shut your eyes again, and +lie perfectly still without talking, for I must put on steam--a good +deal of steam--and I can't talk to you. Are you all right?" + +"All right," said Griselda. + +She had hardly said the words when she seemed to fall asleep. The +rushing sound in the air all round her increased so greatly that she was +conscious of nothing else. For a moment or two she tried to remember +where she was, and where she was going, but it was useless. She forgot +everything, and knew nothing more of what was passing till--till she +heard the cuckoo again. + +"Cuckoo, cuckoo; wake up, Griselda," he said. + +Griselda sat up. + +Where was she? + +Not certainly where she had been when she went to sleep. Not on the +cuckoo's back, for there he was standing beside her, as tiny as usual. +Either he had grown little again, or she had grown big--which, she +supposed, it did not much matter. Only it was very queer! + +"Where am I, cuckoo?" she said. + +"Where you wished to be," he replied. "Look about you and see." + +Griselda looked about her. What did she see? Something that I can only +give you a faint idea of, children; something so strange and unlike what +she had ever seen before, that only in a dream could you see it as +Griselda saw it. And yet _why_ it seemed to her so strange and unnatural +I cannot well explain; if I could, my words would be as good as +pictures, which I know they are not. + +After all, it was only the sea she saw; but such a great, strange, +silent sea, for there were no waves. Griselda was seated on the shore, +close beside the water's edge, but it did not come lapping up to her +feet in the pretty, coaxing way that _our_ sea does when it is in a good +humour. There were here and there faint ripples on the surface, caused +by the slight breezes which now and then came softly round Griselda's +face, but that was all. King Canute might have sat "from then till now" +by this still, lifeless ocean without the chance of reading his silly +attendants a lesson--if, indeed, there ever were such silly people, +which I very much doubt. + +Griselda gazed with all her eyes. Then she suddenly gave a little +shiver. + +"What's the matter?" said the cuckoo. "You have the mantle on--you're +not cold?" + +"No," said Griselda, "I'm not cold; but somehow, cuckoo, I feel a little +frightened. The sea is so strange, and so dreadfully big; and the light +is so queer, too. What is the light, cuckoo? It isn't moonlight, is it?" + +"Not exactly," said the cuckoo. "You can't both have your cake and eat +it, Griselda. Look up at the sky. There's no moon there, is there?" + +"No," said Griselda; "but what lots of stars, cuckoo. The light comes +from them, I suppose? And where's the sun, cuckoo? Will it be rising +soon? It isn't always like this up here, is it?" + +"Bless you, no," said the cuckoo. "There's sun enough, and rather too +much, sometimes. How would you like a day a fortnight long, and nights +to match? If it had been daytime here just now, I couldn't have brought +you. It's just about the very middle of the night now, and in about a +week of _your_ days the sun will begin to rise, because, you see----" + +"Oh, _dear_ cuckoo, please don't explain!" cried Griselda. "I'll promise +to ask Mr. Kneebreeches, I will indeed. In fact, he was telling me +something just like it to-day or yesterday--which should I say?--at my +astronomy lesson. And that makes it so strange that you should have +brought me up here to-night to see for myself, doesn't it, cuckoo?" + +"An odd coincidence," said the cuckoo. + +"What _would_ Mr. Kneebreeches think if I told him where I had been?" +continued Griselda. "Only, you see, cuckoo, I never tell anybody about +what I see when I am with you." + +"No," replied the cuckoo; "better not. ('Not that you could if you +tried,' he added to himself.) You're not frightened now, Griselda, are +you?" + +"No, I don't think I am," she replied. "But, cuckoo, isn't this sea +_awfully_ big?" + +"Pretty well," said the cuckoo. "Just half, or nearly half, the size of +the moon; and, no doubt, Mr. Kneebreeches has told you that the moon's +diameter and circumference are respec----" + +"Oh _don't_, cuckoo!" interrupted Griselda, beseechingly. "I want to +enjoy myself, and not to have lessons. Tell me something funny, cuckoo. +Are there any mermaids in the moon-sea?" + +"Not exactly," said the cuckoo. + +"What a stupid way to answer," said Griselda. "There's no sense in that; +there either must be or must not be. There couldn't be half mermaids." + +"I don't know about that," replied the cuckoo. "They might have been +here once and have left their tails behind them, like Bopeep's sheep, +you know; and some day they might be coming to find them again, you +know. That would do for 'not exactly,' wouldn't it?" + +"Cuckoo, you're laughing at me," said Griselda. "Tell me, are there any +mermaids, or fairies, or water-sprites, or any of those sort of +creatures here?" + +"I must still say 'not exactly,'" said the cuckoo. "There are beings +here, or rather there have been, and there may be again; but you, +Griselda, can know no more than this." + +His tone was rather solemn, and again Griselda felt a little "eerie." + +"It's a dreadfully long way from home, any way," she said. "I feel as +if, when I go back, I shall perhaps find I have been away fifty years or +so, like the little boy in the fairy story. Cuckoo, I think I would like +to go home. Mayn't I get on your back again?" + +"Presently," said the cuckoo. "Don't be uneasy, Griselda. Perhaps I'll +take you home by a short cut." + +"Was ever any child here before?" asked Griselda, after a little pause. + +"Yes," said the cuckoo. + +"And did they get safe home again?" + +"Quite," said the cuckoo. "It's so silly of you, Griselda, to have all +these ideas still about far and near, and big and little, and long and +short, after all I've taught you and all you've seen." + +"I'm very sorry," said Griselda humbly; "but you see, cuckoo, I can't +help it. I suppose I'm made so." + +"Perhaps," said the cuckoo, meditatively. + +He was silent for a minute. Then he spoke again. "Look over there, +Griselda," he said. "There's the short cut." + +Griselda looked. Far, far over the sea, in the silent distance, she saw +a tiny speck of light. It was very tiny; but yet the strange thing was +that, far away as it appeared, and minute as it was, it seemed to throw +off a thread of light to Griselda's very feet--right across the great +sheet of faintly gleaming water. And as Griselda looked, the thread +seemed to widen and grow, becoming at the same time brighter and +clearer, till at last it lay before her like a path of glowing light. + +"Am I to walk along there?" she said softly to the cuckoo. + +"No," he replied; "wait." + +Griselda waited, looking still, and presently in the middle of the +shining streak she saw something slowly moving--something from which the +light came, for the nearer it got to her the shorter grew the glowing +path, and behind the moving object the sea looked no brighter than +before it had appeared. + +At last--at last, it came quite near--near enough for Griselda to +distinguish clearly what it was. + +It was a little boat--the prettiest, the loveliest little boat that ever +was seen; and it was rowed by a little figure that at first sight +Griselda felt certain was a fairy. For it was a child with bright hair +and silvery wings, which with every movement sparkled and shone like a +thousand diamonds. + +Griselda sprang up and clapped her hands with delight. At the sound, the +child in the boat turned and looked at her. For one instant she could +not remember where she had seen him before; then she exclaimed, +joyfully-- + +"It is Phil! Oh, cuckoo, it is Phil. Have you turned into a fairy, +Phil?" + +But, alas, as she spoke the light faded away, the boy's figure +disappeared, the sea and the shore and the sky were all as they had been +before, lighted only by the faint, strange gleaming of the stars. Only +the boat remained. Griselda saw it close to her, in the shallow water, a +few feet from where she stood. + +"Cuckoo," she exclaimed in a tone of reproach and disappointment, "where +is Phil gone? Why did you send him away?" + +"I didn't send him away," said the cuckoo. "You don't understand. Never +mind, but get into the boat. It'll be all right, you'll see." + +"But are we to go away and leave Phil here, all alone at the other side +of the moon?" said Griselda, feeling ready to cry. + +"Oh, you silly girl!" said the cuckoo. "Phil's all right, and in some +ways he has a great deal more sense than you, I can tell you. Get into +the boat and make yourself comfortable; lie down at the bottom and cover +yourself up with the mantle. You needn't be afraid of wetting your feet +a little, moon water never gives cold. There, now." + +Griselda did as she was told. She was beginning to feel rather tired, +and it certainly was very comfortable at the bottom of the boat, with +the nice warm feather-mantle well tucked round her. + +"Who will row?" she said sleepily. "_You_ can't, cuckoo, with your tiny +little claws, you could never hold the oars, I'm----" + +"Hush!" said the cuckoo; and whether he rowed or not Griselda never +knew. + +Off they glided somehow, but it seemed to Griselda that _somebody_ +rowed, for she heard the soft dip, dip of the oars as they went along, +so regularly that she couldn't help beginning to count in time--one, +two, three, four--on, on--she thought she had got nearly to a hundred, +when---- + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +"CUCKOO, CUCKOO, GOOD-BYE!" + + + "Children, try to be good! + That is the end of all teaching; + Easily understood, + And very easy in preaching. + And if you find it hard, + Your efforts you need but double; + Nothing deserves reward + Unless it has given as trouble." + + +--When she forgot everything, and fell fast, fast asleep, to wake, of +course, in her own little bed as usual! + +"One of your tricks again, Mr. Cuckoo," she said to herself with a +smile. "However, I don't mind. It _was_ a short cut home, and it was +very comfortable in the boat, and I certainly saw a great deal last +night, and I'm very much obliged to you--particularly for making it all +right with Phil about not coming to play with me to-day. Ah! that +reminds me, I'm in disgrace. I wonder if Aunt Grizzel will really make +me stay in my room all day. How tired I shall be, and what will Mr. +Kneebreeches think! But it serves me right. I _was_ very cross and +rude." + +There came a tap at the door. It was Dorcas with the hot water. + +"Good morning, missie," she said gently, not feeling, to tell the truth, +very sure as to what sort of a humour "missie" was likely to be found in +this morning. "I hope you've slept well." + +"Exceedingly well, thank you, Dorcas. I've had a delightful night," +replied Griselda amiably, smiling to herself at the thought of what +Dorcas would say if she knew where she had been, and what she had been +doing since last she saw her. + +"That's good news," said Dorcas in a tone of relief; "and I've good +news for you, too, missie. At least, I hope you'll think it so. Your +aunt has ordered the carriage for quite early this morning--so you see +she really wants to please you, missie, about playing with little Master +Phil; and if to-morrow's a fine day, we'll be sure to find some way of +letting him know to come." + +"Thank you, Dorcas. I hope it will be all right, and that Lady Lavander +won't say anything against it. I dare say she won't. I feel ever so much +happier this morning, Dorcas; and I'm very sorry I was so rude to Aunt +Grizzel, for of course I know I _should_ obey her." + +"That's right, missie," said Dorcas approvingly. + +"It seems to me, Dorcas," said Griselda dreamily, when, a few minutes +later, she was standing by the window while the old servant brushed out +her thick, wavy hair, "it seems to me, Dorcas, that it's _all_ 'obeying +orders' together. There's the sun now, just getting up, and the moon +just going to bed--_they_ are always obeying, aren't they? I wonder why +it should be so hard for people--for children, at least." + +"To be sure, missie, you do put it a way of your own," replied Dorcas, +somewhat mystified; "but I see how you mean, I think, and it's quite +true. And it _is_ a hard lesson to learn." + +"I want to learn it _well_, Dorcas," said Griselda, resolutely. "So will +you please tell Aunt Grizzel that I'm very sorry about last night, and +I'll do just as she likes about staying in my room or anything. But, if +she _would_ let me, I'd far rather go down and do my lessons as usual +for Mr. Kneebreeches. I won't ask to go out in the garden; but I would +like to please Aunt Grizzel by doing my lessons _very_ well." + +Dorcas was both delighted and astonished. Never had she known her little +"missie" so altogether submissive and reasonable. + +"I only hope the child's not going to be ill," she said to herself. But +she proved a skilful ambassadress, notwithstanding her misgivings; and +Griselda's imprisonment confined her only to the bounds of the house and +terrace walk, instead of within the four walls of her own little room, +as she had feared. + +Lessons _were_ very well done that day, and Mr. Kneebreeches' report was +all that could be wished. + +"I am particularly gratified," he remarked to Miss Grizzel, "by the +intelligence and interest Miss Griselda displays with regard to the +study of astronomy, which I have recently begun to give her some +elementary instruction in. And, indeed, I have no fault to find with the +way in which any of the young lady's tasks are performed." + +"I am extremely glad to hear it," replied Miss Grizzel graciously, and +the kiss with which she answered Griselda's request for forgiveness was +a very hearty one. + +And it was "all right" about Phil. + +Lady Lavander knew all about him; his father and mother were friends of +hers, for whom she had a great regard, and for some time she had been +intending to ask the little boy to spend the day at Merrybrow Hall, to +be introduced to her god-daughter Griselda. So, _of course_, as Lady +Lavander knew all about him, there could be no objection to his playing +in Miss Grizzel's garden! + +And "to-morrow" turned out a fine day. So altogether you can imagine +that Griselda felt very happy and light-hearted as she ran down the +wood-path to meet her little friend, whose rosy face soon appeared among +the bushes. + +"What did you do yesterday, Phil?" asked Griselda. "Were you sorry not +to come to play with me?" + +"No," said Phil mysteriously, "I didn't mind. I was looking for the way +to fairyland to show you, and I do believe I've found it. Oh, it _is_ +such a pretty way." + +Griselda smiled. + +"I'm afraid the way to fairyland isn't so easily found," she said. "But +I'd like to hear about where you went. Was it far?" + +"A good way," said Phil. "Won't you come with me? It's in the wood. I +can show you quite well, and we can be back by tea-time." + +"Very well," said Griselda; and off they set. + +Whether it was the way to fairyland or not, it was not to be wondered at +that little Phil thought so. He led Griselda right across the wood to a +part where she had never been before. It was pretty rough work part of +the way. The children had to fight with brambles and bushes, and here +and there to creep through on hands and knees, and Griselda had to +remind Phil several times of her promise to his nurse that his clothes +should not be the worse for his playing with her, to prevent his +scrambling through "anyhow" and leaving bits of his knickerbockers +behind him. + +But when at last they reached Phil's favourite spot all their troubles +were forgotten. Oh, how pretty it was! It was a sort of tiny glade in +the very middle of the wood--a little green nest enclosed all round by +trees, and right through it the merry brook came rippling along as if +rejoicing at getting out into the sunlight again for a while. And all +the choicest and sweetest of the early summer flowers seemed to be +collected here in greater variety and profusion than in any other part +of the wood. + +"_Isn't_ it nice?" said Phil, as he nestled down beside Griselda on the +soft, mossy grass. "It must have been a fairies' garden some time, I'm +sure, and I shouldn't wonder if one of the doors into fairyland is +hidden somewhere here, if only we could find it." + +"If only!" said Griselda. "I don't think we shall find it, Phil; but, +any way, this is a lovely place you've found, and I'd like to come here +very often." + +Then at Phil's suggestion they set to work to make themselves a house in +the centre of this fairies' garden, as he called it. They managed it +very much to their own satisfaction, by dragging some logs of wood and +big stones from among the brushwood hard by, and filling the holes up +with bracken and furze. + +"And if the fairies _do_ come here," said Phil, "they'll be very pleased +to find a house all ready, won't they?" + +Then they had to gather flowers to ornament the house inside, and dry +leaves and twigs all ready for a fire in one corner. Altogether it was +quite a business, I can assure you, and when it was finished they were +very hot and very tired and _rather_ dirty. Suddenly a thought struck +Griselda. + +"Phil," she said, "it must be getting late." + +"Past tea-time?" he said coolly. + +"I dare say it is. Look how low down the sun has got. Come, Phil, we +must be quick. Where is the place we came out of the wood at?" + +"Here," said Phil, diving at a little opening among the bushes. + +Griselda followed him. He had been a good guide hitherto, and she +certainly could not have found her way alone. They scrambled on for some +way, then the bushes suddenly seemed to grow less thick, and in a minute +they came out upon a little path. + +"Phil," said Griselda, "this isn't the way we came." + +"Isn't it?" said Phil, looking about him. "Then we must have comed the +wrong way." + +"I'm afraid so," said Griselda, "and it seems to be so late already. I'm +so sorry, for Aunt Grizzel will be vexed, and I did so want to please +her. Will your nurse be vexed, Phil?" + +"I don't care if she are," replied Phil valiantly. + +"You shouldn't say that, Phil. You know we _shouldn't_ have stayed so +long playing." + +"Nebber mind," said Phil. "If it was mother I would mind. Mother's so +good, you don't know. And she never 'colds me, except when I _am_ +naughty--so I _do_ mind." + +"She wouldn't like you to be out so late, I'm sure," said Griselda in +distress, "and it's most my fault, for I'm the biggest. Now, which way +_shall_ we go?" + +They had followed the little path till it came to a point where two +roads, rough cart-ruts only, met; or, rather, where the path ran across +the road. Right, or left, or straight on, which should it be? Griselda +stood still in perplexity. Already it was growing dusk; already the +moon's soft light was beginning faintly to glimmer through the branches. +Griselda looked up to the sky. + +"To think," she said to herself--"to think that I should not know my way +in a little bit of a wood like this--I that was up at the other side of +the moon last night." + +The remembrance put another thought into her mind. + +"Cuckoo, cuckoo," she said softly, "couldn't you help us?" + +Then she stood still and listened, holding Phil's cold little hands in +her own. + +She was not disappointed. Presently, in the distance, came the +well-known cry, "cuckoo, cuckoo," so soft and far away, but yet so +clear. + +Phil clapped his hands. + +"He's calling us," he cried joyfully. "He's going to show us the way. +That's how he calls me always. Good cuckoo, we're coming;" and, pulling +Griselda along, he darted down the road to the right--the direction from +whence came the cry. + +They had some way to go, for they had wandered far in a wrong direction, +but the cuckoo never failed them. Whenever they were at a loss--whenever +the path turned or divided, they heard his clear, sweet call; and, +without the least misgiving, they followed it, till at last it brought +them out upon the high-road, a stone's throw from Farmer Crouch's gate. + +"I know the way now, good cuckoo," exclaimed Phil. "I can go home alone +now, if your aunt will be vexed with you." + +"No," said Griselda, "I must take you quite all the way home, Phil dear. +I promised to take care of you, and if nurse scolds any one it must be +me, not you." + +There was a little bustle about the door of the farmhouse as the +children wearily came up to it. Two or three men were standing together +receiving directions from Mr. Crouch himself, and Phil's nurse was +talking eagerly. Suddenly she caught sight of the truants. + +"Here he is, Mr. Crouch!" she exclaimed. "No need now to send to look +for him. Oh, Master Phil, how could you stay out so late? And to-night +of all nights, just when your--I forgot, I mustn't say. Come in to the +parlour at once--and this little girl, who is she?" + +"She isn't a little girl, she's a young lady," said Master Phil, putting +on his lordly air, "and she's to come into the parlour and have some +supper with me, and then some one must take her home to her auntie's +house--that's what I say." + +More to please Phil than from any wish for "supper," for she was really +in a fidget to get home, Griselda let the little boy lead her into the +parlour. But she was for a moment perfectly startled by the cry that +broke from him when he opened the door and looked into the room. A lady +was standing there, gazing out of the window, though in the quickly +growing darkness she could hardly have distinguished the little figure +she was watching for so anxiously. + +The noise of the door opening made her look round. + +"Phil," she cried, "my own little Phil; where have you been to? You +didn't know I was waiting here for you, did you?" + +"Mother, mother!" shouted Phil, darting into his mother's arms. + +But Griselda drew back into the shadow of the doorway, and tears filled +her eyes as for a minute or two she listened to the cooings and +caressings of the mother and son. + +Only for a minute, however. Then Phil called to her. + +"Mother, mother," he cried again, "you must kiss Griselda, too! She's +the little girl that is so kind, and plays with me; and she has no +mother," he added in a lower tone. + +The lady put her arm round Griselda, and kissed her, too. She did not +seem surprised. + +"I think I know about Griselda," she said very kindly, looking into her +face with her gentle eyes, blue and clear like Phil's. + +And then Griselda found courage to say how uneasy she was about the +anxiety her aunts would be feeling, and a messenger was sent off at once +to tell of her being safe at the farm. + +But Griselda herself the kind lady would not let go till she had had +some nice supper with Phil, and was both warmed and rested. + +"And what were you about, children, to lose your way?" she asked +presently. + +"I took Griselda to see a place that I thought was the way to fairyland, +and then we stayed to build a house for the fairies, in case they come, +and then we came out at the wrong side, and it got dark," explained +Phil. + +"And _was_ it the way to fairyland?" asked his mother, smiling. + +Griselda shook her head as she replied-- + +"Phil doesn't understand yet," she said gently. "He isn't old enough. +The way to the true fairyland is hard to find, and we must each find it +for ourselves, mustn't we?" + +She looked up in the lady's face as she spoke, and saw that _she_ +understood. + +"Yes, dear child," she answered softly, and perhaps a very little sadly. +"But Phil and you may help each other, and I perhaps may help you both." + +Griselda slid her hand into the lady's. "You're not going to take Phil +away, are you?" she whispered. + +"No, I have come to stay here," she answered, "and Phil's father is +coming too, soon. We are going to live at the White House--the house on +the other side of the wood, on the way to Merrybrow. Are you glad, +children?" + + * * * * * + +Griselda had a curious dream that night--merely a dream, nothing else. +She dreamt that the cuckoo came once more; this time, he told her, to +say "good-bye." + +"For you will not need me now," he said. + +"I leave you in good hands, Griselda. You have friends now who will +understand you--friends who will help you both to work and to play. +Better friends than the mandarins, or the butterflies, or even than your +faithful old cuckoo." + +And when Griselda tried to speak to him, to thank him for his goodness, +to beg him still sometimes to come to see her, he gently fluttered away. +"Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo," he warbled; but somehow the last "cuckoo" +sounded like "good-bye." + +In the morning, when Griselda awoke, her pillow was wet with tears. Thus +many stories end. She was happy, very happy in the thought of her kind +new friends; but there were tears for the one she felt she had said +farewell to, even though he was only a cuckoo in a clock. + + +London: Printed by William Clowes and Sons, Limited, +Stamford Street and Charing Cross. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CUCKOO CLOCK*** + + +******* This file should be named 15569.txt or 15569.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/5/6/15569 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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