Citation
The cuckoo clock

Material Information

Title:
The cuckoo clock
Creator:
Molesworth, 1839-1921
Copeland, Charles, 1858-1945 ( illustrator )
Thomas Y. Crowell & Co ( Publisher )
C.J. Peters & Son ( typographer )
Place of Publication:
New York ;
Boston
Publisher:
Thomas Y. Crowell & Company
Manufacturer:
Typography by C.J. Peters & Son
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
224 p., [8] leaf of plates : ill. (some col.) ; 17 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Loneliness -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Friendship -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Fairies -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Aunts -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Clocks and watches -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Voyages and travels -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Dreams -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Fantasy literature -- 1895 ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1895
Genre:
Fantasy literature ( rbgenr )
novel ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
United States -- New York -- New York
United States -- Massachusetts -- Boston
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

Summary:
The cuckoo in the clock leads a lonely little girl into fantastic adventures.
General Note:
Frontispiece, illustrated by Copeland, printed in colors.
Statement of Responsibility:
by Mrs. Molesworth.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026880111 ( ALEPH )
ALH4909 ( NOTIS )
10015443 ( OCLC )
12036898 ( LCCN )

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Full Text


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ITT TTTT TY RYT DT TTT ESTELLE Ls LALLA

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SNIFF EI BI EF
a LL Ss



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HE CUCKOO CLOCK

BY

MRS. MOLESWORTH

AUTHOR OF ‘CARROTS’?



New York: 46 East Fourterentnu Strerr
THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY

Boston: 100 PurcHase STREET



CopyRIGHT, 1895,

By Tuomas Y. Crowett & Company.

TYPOGRAPHY BY C. J. PETERS & SON,
BOSTON.



TO

MARY JOSEPHINE,
AND TO THE DEAR MEMORY OF HER BROTHER,
THOMAS GRINDAL,

BOTH FRIENDLY LITTLE CRITICS OF MY
CHILDREN’S STORIES.

Edinburgh, 1877.



“ Now, these little folks, like most girls and boys,
Loved fairy tales even better than toys.
* * * * *
And they knew that in flowers on the spray
Tiny spirits are hidden away,
That frisk at night on the forest green,
When earth is bathed in dewy sheen —
And shining halls of pearl and gem,
The Regions of Fancy — were open to them.”

: just as any little child has been guided towards the true
paradise by its fairy dreams of bliss. — E. A. ABBOTT.



GONEENTES:

CHAPTER
I. THe OLp House

II. JMPATIENT GRISELDA .

III. OBEYING ORDERS ....

IV. THE COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS .

V. PICTURES
VI. RusBBED 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, Goop-sBy!’’

PAGE

19
36
57
81
105
124
146
166
190

208






es



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, how-
ever 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 to-
1 e



ier THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

gether 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 gar-
den. 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 wzzst be so,
no one would have suspected it, for to all ap-
pearance 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 car-
riage drove up to the door of the old house,

came rattling over the stones with a sudden



THE OLD HOUSE. 3

noisy clatter that sounded quite impertinent,
startling the rooks just as they were composing
themselves to rest, and setting them all won-
dering what could be the matter.

A little girl was the matter! in a gray merino frock and gray beaver bonnet,
gray tippet and gray gloves —all gray together,
even to her eyes, all except her round rosy face
and bright brown hair. Her name even was
rather gray, 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 gleam-

ing brass handles one would not have known



4 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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.

“T 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.”

«Tt 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.

“Jt will all seem strange to you, no doubt,”

- she said; “but you'll get to like it, missie.







,

© Little Griselda, so tired and sleepy.’

— Page 4.



THE OLD HOUSE. 5

’*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?”

“T 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 some-
thing 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



6 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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
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 ¢hey 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.

“T 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.



THE OLD HOUSE. 7

“Tf it was summer now, or spring,” she re-
peated 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 say-
ing “it is bit—” and when he woke up again
finished the sentence as if nothing had _ hap-
pened — “terly 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
fairy-land indeed that she had got to, where one
only needs to «sh, for it to de? She rubbed
her eyes, but it was too dark to see; that
was not very fairy-land-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,



8 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

cuckoo, cuckoo!” three, four, ive times, then
perfect silence as before.

«What a funny ‘cuckoo!” said Griselda to
herself. “I could almost fancy it was in the
house. J wonder if my great-aunts have a
tame cuckoo in a cage? I don’t ¢hinzk I ever
heard of such a thing, but this is such a queer
house; everything seems different in it — per-
haps they have a tame cuckoo. Ill ask them
in the morning. It’s very nice to hear, what-
ever it is.”

And, with a pleasant feeling of companion-
ship, 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



THE OLD HOUSE. 9

precision ; she fastened each button of her gray
frock, and tied down her hair as smooth as such
a brown tangle could be tied down; and, ab-
sorbed 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 out-
side.

«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.”



Io THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

The aunts looked at each other with a little
smile. “So like her grandmother,” they whis-
pered. 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.

“Tn a clock!” exclaimed Griselda, opening
her gray 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.

“JT don’t know,” replied Griselda, looking
puzzled.

“TI 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



THE OLD HOUSE. II

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 sev-
eral of the rooms in the house, pointing out
all the curiosities, and telling all the histories

of the rooms and their contents; and Griselda



12 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 for-
gotten 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 even-
ing 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,” ob-
served Miss Grizzel, catching sight of the direc-
tion in which the child’s eyes were wandering.

“JT 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.”



THE OLD HOUSE. 13

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 dam-
ask 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 zow — 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— Gri-
selda was not sure which. Any way, it was
very delicious and wonderful. At the door
stood, one on each side, two solemn manda-
rins ; or, to speak more correctly, perhaps I
should say a madarin and his wife, for the
right-hand figure was evidently intended to

be a lady.



14 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 and make them nod. They
wouldn’t like it,” replied Miss Grizzel mysteri-
ously. “Respect to your elders, my dear,
always remember that. The mandarins: are
many years older than you— older than I my-
self, 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,” con-
tinued 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.

“Tt’s lovely,” she said. “May I smell it

whenever I like, Aunt Grizzel ?”



THE OLD HOUSE. 15

“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 oppo-
site to that by which they had entered. She
opened it and passed through, Griselda follow-
ing, into a small anteroom.

“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!” Gri-
selda 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



16 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 zs it a clock? Isn’t he alive?” ex-
claimed Griselda. “He looked at me and nod-
ded his head, before he flapped his wings and
went into his house again—he did indeed,
aunt,” she said earnestly; “just like saying,

‘How do you do?’ to me.”



THE OLD HOUSE, 17

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 dis-
charge of duty,” replied Miss Grizzel.

«May I come to see the cuckoo — to watch
for him coming out, sometimes?” asked Gri-
selda, 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,



18 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 anteroom; 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 break-
fasted.

«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,
anyway, I’m glad I’m to do them in the room
where that dear cuckoo lives.”



IMPATIENT GRISELDA. 19

CHAPTER II.

IMPATIENT GRISELDA.

“... fairies but seldom appear ;
If we do wrong we must expect
That it will cost us dear!”

Ir 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



20 THE+CUCKOO CLOCK.

who wore knee-breeches and took snuff, and
called her aunt “ Madame,” bowing formally
whenever he addressed her. He screwed Gri-
selda 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 remem-
ber the little old gentleman’s name; suppose
we call him Mr. Kneebreeches— Mr. Knee-
breeches, when he found this out, conscien-
tiously 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 vow, 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





“Mr. Kneebreeches.”

— Page 20.



IM PATIENT GRISELDA. 21

mountains of figures to climb wearily to the top
of. And not to climb once up merely. The
terrible thing was Mr. Kneebreeches’ favorite

”

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 — cut-
ting off the top line and adding the long rows
up again without it, and then joining it on
again somewhere else.

“T wouldn’t mind so much,” said poor Gri-
selda 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 it-
self —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 ’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. Im-
prove these golden hours of youth, Griselda ;

they will never return.”



N
N

THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

«JT 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 Gri-
selda 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 disap-
peared with a snap, disappeared without flap-
ing his wings, or, as Griselda always fancied
he did, giving her a friendly nod, and in an

instant all was silent.



IMPATIENT GRISELDA. 23

Griselda felt a little frightend. 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.

“TI 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



24 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 furni-
ture 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.

,

“Tt 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.”

“T 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,



IMPATIENT GRISELDA. 25

and inquire for the health of your dear god-
mother, 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 won-
derful 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



26 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

been invited to be Griselda’s godmother; but
as she had never shown her any proof of affec-
tion beyond giving her a prayer-book, and hop-
ing, 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 be-
lieve 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 Lav-
ander 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 anteroom and see



fM PATIENT GRISELDA. 27

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.

“Tt 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 up-stairs. 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-



28 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 on/y 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 dis-
tance, 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 com-

ing up-stairs reached her ear.



IMPATIENT GRISELDA. 29

“T must go,” said Griselda; and finding her
way across the saloon without, by great good
luck, tumbling against any of the many break-
able 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 oly 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.

“JT am sure you are going to be ill, child,”
she said nervously. ‘Sister Grizzel must give
you some medicine. J 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



30 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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; “zy-
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 watchmaker?”

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,



JM PATIENT GRISELDA. 31

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 weep-
ing silently. The old ladies seemed to have
forgotten the presence of their niece, but Gri-
selda could not bear to see their distress. She
finished her breakfast as quickly as she could,
and left the room.

On her way up-stairs 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 com-
municative 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



32 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 fazry 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 here-
abouts; 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 “er doing that trouble was coming
upon the old house? What a punishment for a
moment’s fit of ill-temper !

“J wish you wouldn’t talk that way, Dorcas,”
she said; “it makes me so unhappy.”

«What a feeling heart the child has!” said



IMPATIENT GRISELDA. 33

the old servant as she went on her way down-
stairs. “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 zs 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 for-
gotten 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 anteroom, 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



34 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

immediately Griselda appeared, that she felt
inclined to run back into the house again.

“Tam 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 bedtime came. It was a
sort of reproach to her to see her aunts so pale
and troubled; and though she tried to per-
suade herself that she thought them very
silly, she could not throw off the uncomfort-
able 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.



1M PATIENT GRISELDA. 35

“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?



36 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 anteroom too; for
though the windows, like those in Griselda’s
bedroom, 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.

“Tt looks prettier with the light coming in
at those holes at the top than even if the

shutters were open,’ she said to herself.



OBEYING ORDERS. 37

“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 police-
men 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 mid-
night expedition of hers. She hurried into the
anteroom.

It looked darker than the great saloon, for
it had but one window. But through the un-
covered 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 overhanging eaves.

Griselda approached it and_ stood below,
looking up.

’

“ Cuckoo,” she said softly — very softly.



38 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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, and then gently flapped his wings,

and uttered — “ Cuckoo,”



OBEYING ORDERS. 39

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?”

“T 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 /ook quite well,” said Griselda.

“Tt was my feelings,” replied the cuckoo ;

.



40 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

“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 under-
stand about obeying your orders; and you see,
when you don’t, things go wrong.”

“Yes,” said Griselda humbly, “they cer-
tainly 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
dryly.

«And so,” continued Griselda, “it is really



OBEYING ORDERS. 4I

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.



42 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

“Dorcas did; and, of course, my own com-
mon-sense did too,” replied Griselda. “You
must be a fairy—you couldn’t be anything
else.”

“J 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.

“J 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



OBEYING ORDERS. 43

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

gray-blue sky.





44 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

“Jt 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 down-stairs 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 anteroom 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 eager-



OBEYING ORDERS. 45

ness 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 ques-

,

tions,” replied Miss Grizzel mysteriously. «It
zs 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, Gri-
selda could see that, at the bottom of their
hearts, they were both so happy that, even
if she had been very naughty indeed, they



46 THE CUCKOO cLock.

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.

«“T wonder when the cuckoo will have con-
sidered 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.



OBEYING ORDERS. 47

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 looked
like Aunt Grizzel’s mandarins; and I’d first of
all, of course, go to fairy-land.”

“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
anteroom 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



48 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 specta-
cles 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.”

“TI 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



OBEYING ORDERS. 49

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 grand-
father 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
goon 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 any-
thing was wrong with her, and folks said some-

thing had caught some of the springs of the



50 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.
3
works; but / didn’t think so, and never shall.

And ” —
But here Dorcas’s reminiscences were ab- °

ruptly 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 anteroom, with the tick-tick of
the clock in her ears, and the feeling that per
haps 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



OBEYING ORDERS. 51

busy. She felt it was better to wait till he
gave her some sign of. being ready to talk to
her again. a

For fairies, you know, children, however

charming, are sometimes vather queer to have

g
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 ave going
to be ill, Miss Grizzel told her to say good-



52 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

night, and to ask Dorcas to give her a wine-
glassful of elder-berry wine, nice and hot, after
she was in bed.

Griselda had no objection to the elder-berry
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 awakened suddenly — just as she had done
the night before, and again with the feeling
that something had awakened 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.

“Ts it you, cuckoo?” she said softly.

There was no answer ; but, listening intently,

the child fancied she heard a faint rustling or



OBEYING ORDERS. 53

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, Gri-
selda 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 anteroom 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



54 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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.”

y

“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, Gri-
selda?” 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.”

“J 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



OBEYING ORDERS. aS

have made up my mind about that, for to-day,
do you know, cuckoo”? —

‘ Yesterday,” corrected the cuckoo. «“Al-
ways 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 ¢ried, but still they were fearful. They
were, indeed.”

“You've a great deal to learn, Griselda,”
repeated the cuckoo.

“TI 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 1? I'm far, far too big.’





56 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

“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, were all made little enough to go into
a walnut, you’d never find out the difference?”

«“ Would’ t 1?” said Griselda, feeling rather
muddled; “but, zo¢ 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.”



COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. § 57

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 antici-
pation of a bump at the end of the journey.
And when she got to the top how wonder-
fully 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



58 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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?” asked 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. ‘JI 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 pur-
pose, 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.”

“TIT don’t just now,” replied Griselda; «but
perhaps I mgd.”



COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. 59

She looked at her little bare feet as she
spoke, and wondered why ¢ey 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 hang-
ing, 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 won-
derful !

It was all feathers — feathers of every shade
and color, but beautifully worked in, somehow,
so as to lie quite smoothly and evenly, one
color 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, wrap-
ping it round her, and feeling even more com-
fortable than before, as she watched the rays of

the little lamp in the roof —I think I was for-







60 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

getting 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 colors of the feather
mantle.

“JTt’s better than lovely,” said the cuckoo,
“as you shall see. Now, Griselda,” he con-
tinued, 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 fave 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

anteroom table. ‘I want to play.”



COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. 61

« Just so,” said the cuckoo; “that’s what I
want to talk about. What do you call ‘play’
— blind-man’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 blind-man’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.



62 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

“Well,” said the cuckoo, “talk.”

«What I call playing,” pursued Griselda, “is
—JI 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 fairy-land.”

Again the cuckoo shook his head.

« That,” said he, “I cannot do.”

“Why not?” said Griselda. “Lots of chil-
dren have been there.”

“J 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 ¢aken, they found their own way.

No one ever was faken to fairy-land— to the



COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. 63

real fairy-land. They may have been taken to
the neighboring countries, but not to fairy-land
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 farther
after a while. Ah, yes, there are many roads
and many doors into fairy-land!”

“ Doors!” cried Griselda. “Are there any
doors into fairy-land 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
fairy-land ?”’ said the cuckoo,

“Oh, yes; there are lots of places I wouldn’t

mind seeing. Not geography sort of places —



64 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

it would be just like lessons to go to India and
Africa and all those places — but gueer places,
like the mines where the goblins make dia-
monds 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 zwou/d 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 Gri-
selda. “How funny! Does it go through the

wall? And where does it lead to?”



COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. 65

“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



66 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 goto 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?”

«“T 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. “Aé/ 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 differ-
ence.”

“Oh, cuckoo, I wish you wouldn’t!” cried
a J



COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. 67

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. “ Mow, 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, nod-
ding 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





68 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 command-
ing, no doubt, a splendid view of the great
saloon; there were ever so many little stair-
cases leading to more little rooms and _bal-
conies, but it all seemed empty and deserted.

“TJ don’t care for it,” said Griselda, stopping
short at last; “it’s all the same, and there’s
nothing to see. J thought my aunts kept ever
so many beautiful things in here, and there’s
nothing.”

“Come along, then,” said the cuckoo.
«IT 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 ;



COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. 69

and the cuckoo, crossing it, lifted one of his
claws, and touched a spring in the wall. In-
stantly 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 color, 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. Palan-
quin !”

He flapped his wings, and instantly a palan-
quin appeared at the foot of the steps. It
was made of carved ivory, and borne by four
Chinese-looking figures with pigtails and bright-
colored jackets. A feeling came over Gri-

selda that she was dreaming, or else that she





7O THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

had seen this palanquin before. She hesitated.
Suddenly she gave a little jump of satisfaction.

“TI know!” she. exclaimed. “It’s exactly
like the one that stands under a glass shade
on Lady Lavander’s drawing-room mantel-piece.
I wonder if it is the very one? Fancy me
being able to get zzzo 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.

“Ves, I’m just going to get in,” she said ;
“but what do ¢#ey 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



COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. 7I

away home to bed. Of course I’ve a great
deal to learn — that’s why I like to ask ques-
tions 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 a pansy
petal.

“What nice silk!” said Griselda. «I'd like

a dress of it. I never noticed that the palan-



72 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

quin was lined so nicely,” she continued, “for
I suppose it zs the one from Lady Lavander’s
mantel-piece? There couldn’t be two so ex-
actly like each other.”

The cuckoo gave a sort of whistle.

“What a goose you.are, my dear!” he ex-
claimed. “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 palan-
quin 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 look-
ing at!”

’

“T 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.



COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. 73

“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



74 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 man-
darins, all something like, but a great deal
grander than, the pair outside her aunt’s
cabinet ; and as the cuckoo hopped and Gri-
selda 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 Gri-
selda.

“Tt’s a royal salute,” said the cuckoo.

«“ A salute!” said Griselda. “I thought that
meant kissing or guns.”

“Hush!” said the cuckoo, fer 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



COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. 75

anteroom, 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 Gri-
selda 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, on/y they were
rather a stumpy shape about the toes, and Gri-
selda’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



76 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

round, she saw the cuckoo waiting for her.
He did not speak either, rather to her annoy-
ance, 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 her-
self, 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.

“Ts 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



COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. 77

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 some-
thing 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 honor
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



78 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 be-
tween 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 man-
dariny boys appeared with trays filled with the

most delicious fruits and sweetmeats. Griselda



COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. 79

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 ate, 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 se 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,
“T 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



80 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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.”





j
9







PICTURES. 8I

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





82 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

all the merry elves and sprites that ever were
heard of had escaped from fairy-land, 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 re-
tired 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 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



PICTURES. 83

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 whis-
per —

“ 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-by 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.”

“T beg your pardon,’

,

said the cuckoo.
“T must take off my shoe; it does so hurt,”
she went on.

“ Take it off, then,” said the cuckoo.



84 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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



PICTURES. 85

away, and drew out — one of the shoes belong-
ing 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 suc-
ceeded, 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 admir-
ing 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



86 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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.”

“T 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.

“JT 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.”



PICTURES. 87

A few days after this poor Griselda caught
cold. It was not a very bad cold, I must con-
fess, 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 anteroom, 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 anteroom 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 mes-
senger to say that she had an attack of in-
fluenza, 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



88 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

Miss Tabitha, shaking her head and wiping
her eyes.

So off they set; and Griselda, in her arm-
chair by the anteroom 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 es-
caped 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 feel-
ing 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.

“JT don’t know even what to wish for,” she
said to herself. “I don’t feel the least in-
clined 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?”













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HE CUCKOO CLOCK

BY

MRS. MOLESWORTH

AUTHOR OF ‘CARROTS’?



New York: 46 East Fourterentnu Strerr
THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY

Boston: 100 PurcHase STREET
CopyRIGHT, 1895,

By Tuomas Y. Crowett & Company.

TYPOGRAPHY BY C. J. PETERS & SON,
BOSTON.
TO

MARY JOSEPHINE,
AND TO THE DEAR MEMORY OF HER BROTHER,
THOMAS GRINDAL,

BOTH FRIENDLY LITTLE CRITICS OF MY
CHILDREN’S STORIES.

Edinburgh, 1877.
“ Now, these little folks, like most girls and boys,
Loved fairy tales even better than toys.
* * * * *
And they knew that in flowers on the spray
Tiny spirits are hidden away,
That frisk at night on the forest green,
When earth is bathed in dewy sheen —
And shining halls of pearl and gem,
The Regions of Fancy — were open to them.”

: just as any little child has been guided towards the true
paradise by its fairy dreams of bliss. — E. A. ABBOTT.
GONEENTES:

CHAPTER
I. THe OLp House

II. JMPATIENT GRISELDA .

III. OBEYING ORDERS ....

IV. THE COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS .

V. PICTURES
VI. RusBBED 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, Goop-sBy!’’

PAGE

19
36
57
81
105
124
146
166
190

208
es



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, how-
ever 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 to-
1 e
ier THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

gether 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 gar-
den. 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 wzzst be so,
no one would have suspected it, for to all ap-
pearance 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 car-
riage drove up to the door of the old house,

came rattling over the stones with a sudden
THE OLD HOUSE. 3

noisy clatter that sounded quite impertinent,
startling the rooks just as they were composing
themselves to rest, and setting them all won-
dering what could be the matter.

A little girl was the matter! in a gray merino frock and gray beaver bonnet,
gray tippet and gray gloves —all gray together,
even to her eyes, all except her round rosy face
and bright brown hair. Her name even was
rather gray, 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 gleam-

ing brass handles one would not have known
4 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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.

“T 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.”

«Tt 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.

“Jt will all seem strange to you, no doubt,”

- she said; “but you'll get to like it, missie.




,

© Little Griselda, so tired and sleepy.’

— Page 4.
THE OLD HOUSE. 5

’*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?”

“T 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 some-
thing 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
6 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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
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 ¢hey 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.

“T 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.
THE OLD HOUSE. 7

“Tf it was summer now, or spring,” she re-
peated 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 say-
ing “it is bit—” and when he woke up again
finished the sentence as if nothing had _ hap-
pened — “terly 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
fairy-land indeed that she had got to, where one
only needs to «sh, for it to de? She rubbed
her eyes, but it was too dark to see; that
was not very fairy-land-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,
8 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

cuckoo, cuckoo!” three, four, ive times, then
perfect silence as before.

«What a funny ‘cuckoo!” said Griselda to
herself. “I could almost fancy it was in the
house. J wonder if my great-aunts have a
tame cuckoo in a cage? I don’t ¢hinzk I ever
heard of such a thing, but this is such a queer
house; everything seems different in it — per-
haps they have a tame cuckoo. Ill ask them
in the morning. It’s very nice to hear, what-
ever it is.”

And, with a pleasant feeling of companion-
ship, 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
THE OLD HOUSE. 9

precision ; she fastened each button of her gray
frock, and tied down her hair as smooth as such
a brown tangle could be tied down; and, ab-
sorbed 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 out-
side.

«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.”
Io THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

The aunts looked at each other with a little
smile. “So like her grandmother,” they whis-
pered. 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.

“Tn a clock!” exclaimed Griselda, opening
her gray 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.

“JT don’t know,” replied Griselda, looking
puzzled.

“TI 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
THE OLD HOUSE. II

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 sev-
eral of the rooms in the house, pointing out
all the curiosities, and telling all the histories

of the rooms and their contents; and Griselda
12 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 for-
gotten 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 even-
ing 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,” ob-
served Miss Grizzel, catching sight of the direc-
tion in which the child’s eyes were wandering.

“JT 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.”
THE OLD HOUSE. 13

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 dam-
ask 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 zow — 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— Gri-
selda was not sure which. Any way, it was
very delicious and wonderful. At the door
stood, one on each side, two solemn manda-
rins ; or, to speak more correctly, perhaps I
should say a madarin and his wife, for the
right-hand figure was evidently intended to

be a lady.
14 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 and make them nod. They
wouldn’t like it,” replied Miss Grizzel mysteri-
ously. “Respect to your elders, my dear,
always remember that. The mandarins: are
many years older than you— older than I my-
self, 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,” con-
tinued 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.

“Tt’s lovely,” she said. “May I smell it

whenever I like, Aunt Grizzel ?”
THE OLD HOUSE. 15

“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 oppo-
site to that by which they had entered. She
opened it and passed through, Griselda follow-
ing, into a small anteroom.

“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!” Gri-
selda 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
16 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 zs it a clock? Isn’t he alive?” ex-
claimed Griselda. “He looked at me and nod-
ded his head, before he flapped his wings and
went into his house again—he did indeed,
aunt,” she said earnestly; “just like saying,

‘How do you do?’ to me.”
THE OLD HOUSE, 17

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 dis-
charge of duty,” replied Miss Grizzel.

«May I come to see the cuckoo — to watch
for him coming out, sometimes?” asked Gri-
selda, 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,
18 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 anteroom; 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 break-
fasted.

«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,
anyway, I’m glad I’m to do them in the room
where that dear cuckoo lives.”
IMPATIENT GRISELDA. 19

CHAPTER II.

IMPATIENT GRISELDA.

“... fairies but seldom appear ;
If we do wrong we must expect
That it will cost us dear!”

Ir 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
20 THE+CUCKOO CLOCK.

who wore knee-breeches and took snuff, and
called her aunt “ Madame,” bowing formally
whenever he addressed her. He screwed Gri-
selda 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 remem-
ber the little old gentleman’s name; suppose
we call him Mr. Kneebreeches— Mr. Knee-
breeches, when he found this out, conscien-
tiously 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 vow, 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


“Mr. Kneebreeches.”

— Page 20.
IM PATIENT GRISELDA. 21

mountains of figures to climb wearily to the top
of. And not to climb once up merely. The
terrible thing was Mr. Kneebreeches’ favorite

”

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 — cut-
ting off the top line and adding the long rows
up again without it, and then joining it on
again somewhere else.

“T wouldn’t mind so much,” said poor Gri-
selda 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 it-
self —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 ’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. Im-
prove these golden hours of youth, Griselda ;

they will never return.”
N
N

THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

«JT 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 Gri-
selda 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 disap-
peared with a snap, disappeared without flap-
ing his wings, or, as Griselda always fancied
he did, giving her a friendly nod, and in an

instant all was silent.
IMPATIENT GRISELDA. 23

Griselda felt a little frightend. 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.

“TI 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
24 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 furni-
ture 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.

,

“Tt 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.”

“T 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,
IMPATIENT GRISELDA. 25

and inquire for the health of your dear god-
mother, 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 won-
derful 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
26 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

been invited to be Griselda’s godmother; but
as she had never shown her any proof of affec-
tion beyond giving her a prayer-book, and hop-
ing, 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 be-
lieve 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 Lav-
ander 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 anteroom and see
fM PATIENT GRISELDA. 27

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.

“Tt 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 up-stairs. 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-
28 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 on/y 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 dis-
tance, 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 com-

ing up-stairs reached her ear.
IMPATIENT GRISELDA. 29

“T must go,” said Griselda; and finding her
way across the saloon without, by great good
luck, tumbling against any of the many break-
able 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 oly 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.

“JT am sure you are going to be ill, child,”
she said nervously. ‘Sister Grizzel must give
you some medicine. J 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
30 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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; “zy-
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 watchmaker?”

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,
JM PATIENT GRISELDA. 31

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 weep-
ing silently. The old ladies seemed to have
forgotten the presence of their niece, but Gri-
selda could not bear to see their distress. She
finished her breakfast as quickly as she could,
and left the room.

On her way up-stairs 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 com-
municative 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
32 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 fazry 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 here-
abouts; 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 “er doing that trouble was coming
upon the old house? What a punishment for a
moment’s fit of ill-temper !

“J wish you wouldn’t talk that way, Dorcas,”
she said; “it makes me so unhappy.”

«What a feeling heart the child has!” said
IMPATIENT GRISELDA. 33

the old servant as she went on her way down-
stairs. “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 zs 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 for-
gotten 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 anteroom, 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
34 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

immediately Griselda appeared, that she felt
inclined to run back into the house again.

“Tam 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 bedtime came. It was a
sort of reproach to her to see her aunts so pale
and troubled; and though she tried to per-
suade herself that she thought them very
silly, she could not throw off the uncomfort-
able 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.
1M PATIENT GRISELDA. 35

“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?
36 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 anteroom too; for
though the windows, like those in Griselda’s
bedroom, 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.

“Tt looks prettier with the light coming in
at those holes at the top than even if the

shutters were open,’ she said to herself.
OBEYING ORDERS. 37

“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 police-
men 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 mid-
night expedition of hers. She hurried into the
anteroom.

It looked darker than the great saloon, for
it had but one window. But through the un-
covered 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 overhanging eaves.

Griselda approached it and_ stood below,
looking up.

’

“ Cuckoo,” she said softly — very softly.
38 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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, and then gently flapped his wings,

and uttered — “ Cuckoo,”
OBEYING ORDERS. 39

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?”

“T 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 /ook quite well,” said Griselda.

“Tt was my feelings,” replied the cuckoo ;

.
40 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

“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 under-
stand about obeying your orders; and you see,
when you don’t, things go wrong.”

“Yes,” said Griselda humbly, “they cer-
tainly 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
dryly.

«And so,” continued Griselda, “it is really
OBEYING ORDERS. 4I

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.
42 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

“Dorcas did; and, of course, my own com-
mon-sense did too,” replied Griselda. “You
must be a fairy—you couldn’t be anything
else.”

“J 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.

“J 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
OBEYING ORDERS. 43

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

gray-blue sky.


44 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

“Jt 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 down-stairs 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 anteroom 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 eager-
OBEYING ORDERS. 45

ness 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 ques-

,

tions,” replied Miss Grizzel mysteriously. «It
zs 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, Gri-
selda could see that, at the bottom of their
hearts, they were both so happy that, even
if she had been very naughty indeed, they
46 THE CUCKOO cLock.

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.

«“T wonder when the cuckoo will have con-
sidered 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.
OBEYING ORDERS. 47

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 looked
like Aunt Grizzel’s mandarins; and I’d first of
all, of course, go to fairy-land.”

“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
anteroom 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
48 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 specta-
cles 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.”

“TI 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
OBEYING ORDERS. 49

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 grand-
father 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
goon 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 any-
thing was wrong with her, and folks said some-

thing had caught some of the springs of the
50 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.
3
works; but / didn’t think so, and never shall.

And ” —
But here Dorcas’s reminiscences were ab- °

ruptly 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 anteroom, with the tick-tick of
the clock in her ears, and the feeling that per
haps 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
OBEYING ORDERS. 51

busy. She felt it was better to wait till he
gave her some sign of. being ready to talk to
her again. a

For fairies, you know, children, however

charming, are sometimes vather queer to have

g
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 ave going
to be ill, Miss Grizzel told her to say good-
52 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

night, and to ask Dorcas to give her a wine-
glassful of elder-berry wine, nice and hot, after
she was in bed.

Griselda had no objection to the elder-berry
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 awakened suddenly — just as she had done
the night before, and again with the feeling
that something had awakened 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.

“Ts it you, cuckoo?” she said softly.

There was no answer ; but, listening intently,

the child fancied she heard a faint rustling or
OBEYING ORDERS. 53

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, Gri-
selda 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 anteroom 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
54 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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.”

y

“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, Gri-
selda?” 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.”

“J 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
OBEYING ORDERS. aS

have made up my mind about that, for to-day,
do you know, cuckoo”? —

‘ Yesterday,” corrected the cuckoo. «“Al-
ways 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 ¢ried, but still they were fearful. They
were, indeed.”

“You've a great deal to learn, Griselda,”
repeated the cuckoo.

“TI 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 1? I'm far, far too big.’


56 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

“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, were all made little enough to go into
a walnut, you’d never find out the difference?”

«“ Would’ t 1?” said Griselda, feeling rather
muddled; “but, zo¢ 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.”
COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. § 57

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 antici-
pation of a bump at the end of the journey.
And when she got to the top how wonder-
fully 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
58 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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?” asked 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. ‘JI 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 pur-
pose, 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.”

“TIT don’t just now,” replied Griselda; «but
perhaps I mgd.”
COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. 59

She looked at her little bare feet as she
spoke, and wondered why ¢ey 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 hang-
ing, 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 won-
derful !

It was all feathers — feathers of every shade
and color, but beautifully worked in, somehow,
so as to lie quite smoothly and evenly, one
color 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, wrap-
ping it round her, and feeling even more com-
fortable than before, as she watched the rays of

the little lamp in the roof —I think I was for-




60 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

getting 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 colors of the feather
mantle.

“JTt’s better than lovely,” said the cuckoo,
“as you shall see. Now, Griselda,” he con-
tinued, 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 fave 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

anteroom table. ‘I want to play.”
COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. 61

« Just so,” said the cuckoo; “that’s what I
want to talk about. What do you call ‘play’
— blind-man’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 blind-man’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.
62 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

“Well,” said the cuckoo, “talk.”

«What I call playing,” pursued Griselda, “is
—JI 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 fairy-land.”

Again the cuckoo shook his head.

« That,” said he, “I cannot do.”

“Why not?” said Griselda. “Lots of chil-
dren have been there.”

“J 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 ¢aken, they found their own way.

No one ever was faken to fairy-land— to the
COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. 63

real fairy-land. They may have been taken to
the neighboring countries, but not to fairy-land
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 farther
after a while. Ah, yes, there are many roads
and many doors into fairy-land!”

“ Doors!” cried Griselda. “Are there any
doors into fairy-land 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
fairy-land ?”’ said the cuckoo,

“Oh, yes; there are lots of places I wouldn’t

mind seeing. Not geography sort of places —
64 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

it would be just like lessons to go to India and
Africa and all those places — but gueer places,
like the mines where the goblins make dia-
monds 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 zwou/d 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 Gri-
selda. “How funny! Does it go through the

wall? And where does it lead to?”
COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. 65

“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
66 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 goto 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?”

«“T 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. “Aé/ 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 differ-
ence.”

“Oh, cuckoo, I wish you wouldn’t!” cried
a J
COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. 67

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. “ Mow, 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, nod-
ding 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


68 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 command-
ing, no doubt, a splendid view of the great
saloon; there were ever so many little stair-
cases leading to more little rooms and _bal-
conies, but it all seemed empty and deserted.

“TJ don’t care for it,” said Griselda, stopping
short at last; “it’s all the same, and there’s
nothing to see. J thought my aunts kept ever
so many beautiful things in here, and there’s
nothing.”

“Come along, then,” said the cuckoo.
«IT 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 ;
COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. 69

and the cuckoo, crossing it, lifted one of his
claws, and touched a spring in the wall. In-
stantly 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 color, 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. Palan-
quin !”

He flapped his wings, and instantly a palan-
quin appeared at the foot of the steps. It
was made of carved ivory, and borne by four
Chinese-looking figures with pigtails and bright-
colored jackets. A feeling came over Gri-

selda that she was dreaming, or else that she


7O THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

had seen this palanquin before. She hesitated.
Suddenly she gave a little jump of satisfaction.

“TI know!” she. exclaimed. “It’s exactly
like the one that stands under a glass shade
on Lady Lavander’s drawing-room mantel-piece.
I wonder if it is the very one? Fancy me
being able to get zzzo 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.

“Ves, I’m just going to get in,” she said ;
“but what do ¢#ey 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
COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. 7I

away home to bed. Of course I’ve a great
deal to learn — that’s why I like to ask ques-
tions 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 a pansy
petal.

“What nice silk!” said Griselda. «I'd like

a dress of it. I never noticed that the palan-
72 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

quin was lined so nicely,” she continued, “for
I suppose it zs the one from Lady Lavander’s
mantel-piece? There couldn’t be two so ex-
actly like each other.”

The cuckoo gave a sort of whistle.

“What a goose you.are, my dear!” he ex-
claimed. “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 palan-
quin 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 look-
ing at!”

’

“T 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.
COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. 73

“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
74 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 man-
darins, all something like, but a great deal
grander than, the pair outside her aunt’s
cabinet ; and as the cuckoo hopped and Gri-
selda 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 Gri-
selda.

“Tt’s a royal salute,” said the cuckoo.

«“ A salute!” said Griselda. “I thought that
meant kissing or guns.”

“Hush!” said the cuckoo, fer 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
COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. 75

anteroom, 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 Gri-
selda 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, on/y they were
rather a stumpy shape about the toes, and Gri-
selda’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
76 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

round, she saw the cuckoo waiting for her.
He did not speak either, rather to her annoy-
ance, 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 her-
self, 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.

“Ts 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
COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. 77

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 some-
thing 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 honor
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
78 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 be-
tween 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 man-
dariny boys appeared with trays filled with the

most delicious fruits and sweetmeats. Griselda
COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. 79

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 ate, 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 se 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,
“T 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
80 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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.”





j
9




PICTURES. 8I

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


82 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

all the merry elves and sprites that ever were
heard of had escaped from fairy-land, 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 re-
tired 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 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
PICTURES. 83

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 whis-
per —

“ 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-by 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.”

“T beg your pardon,’

,

said the cuckoo.
“T must take off my shoe; it does so hurt,”
she went on.

“ Take it off, then,” said the cuckoo.
84 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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
PICTURES. 85

away, and drew out — one of the shoes belong-
ing 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 suc-
ceeded, 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 admir-
ing 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
86 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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.”

“T 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.

“JT 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.”
PICTURES. 87

A few days after this poor Griselda caught
cold. It was not a very bad cold, I must con-
fess, 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 anteroom, 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 anteroom 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 mes-
senger to say that she had an attack of in-
fluenza, 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
88 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

Miss Tabitha, shaking her head and wiping
her eyes.

So off they set; and Griselda, in her arm-
chair by the anteroom 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 es-
caped 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 feel-
ing 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.

“JT don’t know even what to wish for,” she
said to herself. “I don’t feel the least in-
clined 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?”










a eeâ„¢

in 7M ‘







\



’

“ Griselda in her arm-chair by the ante-room fire.’

— Page 88.


PICTURES. 89

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 read-
ing, 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?”
gO THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

“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, Iam going to sing.”

Griselda shut her eyes, and the cuckoo began
his song. It was something lke 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
forever, listening to it.

The first notes were low and murmuring.
Again they made Griselda think of little rip-
pling brooks in summer, and now and then
there came a sort of hum as of insects buzz-
ing in the warm sunshine near. This humming

gradually increased, till at last Griselda was
PICTURES. gI

conscious of nothing more — everything seemed
to be humming, herself too, till at last she
fell asleep.

When she opened her eyes, the anteroom
and everything in it, except the armchair 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
mantel-piece, 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 goldfish



were swimming about—all sorts of queer
figures; and the clocks were even queerer.

There was one intended to represent the sun,
92 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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.
PICTURES. 93

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 féte ?”” he said; and though the language
94 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 Myn-
heer van Huyten.”

The old man shook his head.

“TI have no time for such things, my dar-
ling,” 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 fill-
ing with tears. “I would rather just go on
, living in this little house; and I am sure the
- neighbors 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, grand-
PICTURES. 95

father. 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’wuvre 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 pur-
chase.”

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 grand-
father,” she said. “I shall teach my children

and my grandchildren to be so proud of you —






96 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 Grieselda 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
PICTURES. 97

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 re-
marked 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.

1”

«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?”
98 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 — every-
thing 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.
PICTURES. 99

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.

“Tt is Sybilla singing,” thought Griselda
dreamily, and with that she fell asleep again.
* * * * * * * *

When she woke she was in the armchair
by the anteroom 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


100 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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.”

“T expect he hears me quite well,” she
thought; “and even if he doesn’t, it’s only
civil to ¢vy to thank him.”

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 anteroom door.

«Well, my love,” said Miss Grizzel anx-
iously, “and how are you? Has the time
seemed very long while we were away?”

“Oh, no, thank you, Aunt Grizzel,” replied
PICTURES. IOI

Griselda, “not at all. I’ve been quite happy,
and my cold’s ever so much better, and my
headache’s guzte 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?” pur-
sued 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 genera-
tion of young creatures confided to our care.”

“Yes,” said Griselda. “My grandmother
102 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 be-
wildered.

«“ 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, ow 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 astonish-
ment; 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.
PICTURES. 103

“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 Tabi-

tha.
104 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

«May she grow up as good, if not quite as
beautiful — ¢hat we could scarcely expect ; and
may she be longer spared to those that love

”

her,” added Miss Grizzel, bending over Gri-
selda, 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.
RUBBED THE WRONG WAY. 105

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 any-
thing 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
106 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

that sometimes is rather nice, sometimes “ very

’

extremely” much the reverse! She felt in the
‘humor 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 pet-
ting, 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 Gri-
selda 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
RUBBED THE WRONG WAY. 107

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.”

“JT 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.
“Tt 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 mis-
giving, 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
108 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

drawing-room where her aunts usually sat, look-
ing, it must be confessed, very plump and
rosy for an invalid, Miss Grizzel broached the
subject.

“JT 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 comfort-
ably 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.
RUBBED THE WRONG WAY. 109

“I wisk you wouldn’t make me begin les-
sons again just yet. I Auow 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 favorite “ obeying orders.” Just then,
too, in the distance the anteroom clock struck
twelve. “Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” on it
went. Griselda could have stamped with irri-
tation ; but somehoz, 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 ex-
pected. 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 ex-
pected, 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
IIo THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 anteroom, 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
RUBBED THE WRONG WAY. IIt

the cuckoo clock went on tick-ticking briskly
as usual.

“T hate winter,” said Griselda, pressing her
cold little face against the colder window-pane.
“T hate winter, and I hate lessons. I would
give up being a fersox in a minute if I might be
a— what would I best like to be? Oh, yes,

I know—a butterfly. Butterflies never see



a

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 be-
hind his doors again in an instant, just as usual.
There was nothing for Griselda to feel offended
at, but somehow she got quite angry.

“JT 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 ao
think it would be nicer to be a butterfly than
a little girl.”
II2 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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-humor and idleness are excel-
RUBBED THE WRONG WAY. 113

lent “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 uncom-
fortable,

“T am by no means sure that I have done
right in recalling Mr. Kneebreeches so soon,
Sister Tabitha,” remarked Miss Grizzel un-
easily, 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.”

“T am glad you think so,” said Miss Grizzel,
with again a little sigh of relief. “I was only
distressed to see the child looking so white and
tired.”

Up-stairs 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


II4 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 £xzew things had been going on in
that silly little heart of hers in a most unsatis-
factory 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 shut-
ters were closed.

“TI wonder,” thought Griselda, “I wonder

if it really zs morning. I should like to get
RUBBED THE WRONG WAY. ITS

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 “orbéd maid-
en’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 scurrying 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
116 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

a half-frightened feeling that she could not
have explained.

“T 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 window-sill — a tiny bird crouch-
ing 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, man-
aged 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 anx-
iously.

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.

1?

“Poor little bird, how cold you must be
RUBBED THE WRONG WAY. 117

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 shoul-
der, and sang out in a soft but cheery tone,
“Cuckoo cuckoo, —cold, did you say, Griselda?
Not so very, thank you.”

Griselda stepped back from the window.

“Tt’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 ‘Senet ” like
118 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

that, Griselda was obliged to tell just what she
was thinking.

«No, I wouldn’t have zceded 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, Gri-
selda. 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 chan-

ing his tone, “you are very foolish. Is a kind
ging y y
RUBBED THE WRONG WAY. II9Q

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 be-
sides 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! Of, cuckoo!” she

exclaimed, “how can you think of such a
120 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 learned 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 be-
fore 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 Grizelda; “he can ‘scrooge’
himself up anyway ” — for a faint “Cuckoo”
was to be heard on its other side. In a mo-
ment 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 uncar-

peted old oak, whose hard, polished surface
RUBBED THE WRONG WAY. I2I

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 find-
ing she could go no farther. Where was she?
She could not imagine! It must be a part of
the house she had never explored in the day-
time, she decided. In front of her was a little
stair running downwards, and ending in a door-
way. All this Griselda could see by a bright
light that streamed in by the key-hole 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.

’

“Jt 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?”
122 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

“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 z2// 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
RUBBED THE WRONG WAY. 123

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.

«“T didn’t know daisies had any scent,” she
remarked.

«Perhaps you didn’t. You forget, Griselda,
that you have a great’ —

“Qh, 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.
124 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

CHAPTER VII.

BUTTERFLY—LAND.
“Vd 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 beau-
tiful 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.
BUTTERFLY-LAND. 125

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 colors 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 zs 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.”

“ Butterflyland!” repeated Griselda, with a

little disappointment in her tone.


126 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

« Well,” said the cuckoo, “it’s where you
were wishing to be yesterday, isn’t it?”

Griselda did not particularly like these allu-
sions 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.”


BUTTERFLY-LAND. 127

“ How?” said Griselda.

“ Have the butterflies nothing to do but fly
about ? Watch them.” sf

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 fly-
ing 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 colors, 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
128 THE CUCKOO CLOCK. ,

brilliant cornflower. very 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 color, as she
had never done before.

“How beautifuily the flowers are planned,”
she said to the cuckoo. “Is it just to look
pretty, or why?”

“Tt 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
BUTTERFLY—-LAND. 129

along the flower alleys, she saw that the but-
terflies 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
color 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 dryly.

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.
130 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

“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 mois-
tened 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 ave they painting, cuckoo?” she
inquired eagerly.

«All the flowers in the world,” replied the

cuckoo. “Autumn, winter, and spring, they’re
BUTTERFLY-LAND. 131

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.”

“TZ 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
colors 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
132 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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.
BUTTERFLY-LAND. 133

“Tt’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?” inqujred 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 hand-
some 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
honor of your visit.”

“ What fun!” cried Griselda. “Do let’s go

at once, cuckoo. But, oh, dear me,’ she went
134 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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.”

He flew off, and was back almost imme-
diately, followed by a whole flock of butterflies.
They were of a smaller kind than Griselda had
hitherto seen, and they were of two colors
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 fora 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 “7dche,’ as it were; and then
there came two or three thinner rows of yellow,

and then blue again. Round her waist they
BUTTERFLY—LAND. 135

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 /oofed like butter-
fly 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
136 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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.

“Tt zs lovely,” she said at last. “But,
cuckoo, I’m just thinking — how shall I possi-
bly 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,” mnotwith-
standing 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


“ Along the passage at full speed.”

— Page 35.


BUTTERFLY—LAND. 137

strange-looking plant with large, smooth, spread-
ing-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 overawed. You could
not have said what color they were, for at the
faintest movement they seemed to change into
new colors, 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?”

“T 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-
138 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 colors.”

“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 wel-
coming 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
BUTTERFLY—LAND. 139

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 color came pouring in, in
masses, from all directions. Butterflies small
and butterflies large; butterflies light and but-
terflies dark; butterflies blue, pink, crimson,
green, gold-color — every color, and far, far
more colors than you could possibly imagine.

They all settled down, round the sides of the .

grassy dining-table, and in another minute a
140 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 Gri-
selda; “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 per-
fumes 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,
BUTTERFLY—LAND. . I4!I

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 handker-
chief,” 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 honor 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.

“JT 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.”
142 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

“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 colors.

«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 butter-
flies.

“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?”’
BUTTERFLY-LAND. 143

“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?
144 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

Griselda opened her eyes— garden, butter-
flies, 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 Gri-
selda. “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
BUTTERFLY—LAND. 145

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 Id like to do my lessons well to-
day. I fancy it'll please the dear old cuckoo.”
146 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 plue, and golden flowers.”

Anp 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 dis-
covered 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 ;
MASTER PHIL. 147

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
148 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

of her aunt’s house; and charming as the inside
was, the outside, I must say, was still “ charm-
inger.” There seemed no end to the little up-
and-down paths and alleys, leading to rustic
seats and quaint arbors; 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 anem-
ones, and those bright, starry, white flowers,
whose name no two people agree about.

This wood-path was the place, I think, which
Griselda loved 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 scezt them, my dear,” said Miss

Grizzel, who was of opinion that smell was not
MASTER PHIL. 149

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 ‘“scent-
ing” roses; and even the trying to walk
straight across the bowling-green with her eyes
shut, from the arbor at one side to the arbor
exactly like it at the other, grew stupid, though
no doubt it would have been capital fun with
a companion to applaud or criticise.

So the wood-path became Griselda’s favorite
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
150 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

seemed to come a quite unaccountable increase
of playtime, 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 her-
self a seat of some moss-grown stones, and
where she came so often that she got to know

all the little flowers growing close roundabout,
MASTER PHIL. I5I

and even the particular birds whose nests were
hard by.

She used to sit there and faucy — 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 hillsides.
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 favorite 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
152 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

done them very well, and now she felt as if
she deserved some reward. Suddenly in the dis-
tance she heard a well-known sound, “ Cuckoo,
cuckoo.”

“Can that be the cuckoo?” she said to her-
self; 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 « fiesh
and blood” cuckoos to explain, that bird was
not known in the neighborhood where Gri-
selda’s aunts lived. Some twenty miles or so
farther 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 her-
self. “He must be coming out to speak to me.
How funny! I have never seen him by day-
light.”

She listened. Yes, again there it was,
«Cuckoo, cuckooo,” as plain as possible, and
nearer than before.

«“ Cuckoo,” cried Griselda, “ do come and talk










“ Where are that cuckoo? ”

— Page 154.
MASTER PHIL. 153

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 ex-
pecting 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 be-
low 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
154 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

absorbed Griselda’s attention. She sat watch-
ing 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 knicker-
bockers, not to speak of one boot and half his
hat, had been left behind on the way), and
found breath to say something.

Griselda stared at him for a moment with-
out speaking. She was so astonished. It was
months since she had spoken to a child, almost

since she had seen one, and about children
MASTER PHIL. 155

younger than herself she knew very little at
any time, being 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 prim-
roses 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 zs,’ said Griselda, getting rather

vexed. “If it isn't a garden, it’s grounds, pri-
156 THE CUCKOO CLOCK..

vate 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 per-
haps 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
72 —eeEeEeEeEeEeE—EeEeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOEO ee



MASTER PHIL. 157

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 7
won’t. I won't never leave off having a
mother, any way. I don’t care so much about
nurse and birthdays, not 4zfe so much. Did
you care when you had to leave off, when you
got too big?”

“T 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, uncon-
sciously speaking as Phil would best understand
her. “My mother died.” °

“I’m wery sorry,” said Phil; and the way
he said it quite overcame Griselda’s unfriend-
liness. “But perhaps you’ve a nice nurse.

My nurse is rather nice; but she zw2d/ ’cold
153 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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.” :

“Ts 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.
MASTER PHIL. 159

“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 our-
selves,” 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, set-
tling 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.
160 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

« First,” said Phil gravely, “it was in the
night. J 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 fairy-
land. Do you think we could?”

“JT 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. “J 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
MASTER PHIL. 161

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?”

“T don’t think it was that sort of learning he
meant,” said Griselda. “ But I dare say that
would help. I ¢hzxk,” she went on, lowering
her voice a little, and looking down gravely into
Phil’s earnest eyes, “I c¢hzxk 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.

«7 think you're very good,” observed Phil,
in a parenthesis. Then he went on with his
cross-questioning.

“ Gooder than mother ?”

«JT don’t know your mother, so how can I

tell how good she is?” said Griselda,
162 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

“7 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.”

“T 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, /
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
MASTER PHIL, 163

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 sur-
prised 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?”
164 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

“ T’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. “T'll know when —after I’ve had my din-
ner andraced 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.”
MASTER PHIL. 165

“Very well,” said little Phil as he trotted off.
“T’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.”
166 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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, 1 see. I mean, Sir, J do not see.—A Liliput
Revel.

Nor having “just had her dinner,” and feel-
ing 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,
UP AND DOWN THE CHIMNEY. 167

when she came in. This was a meal she al-
ways had by herself, brought up on a tray to
Dorcas’s little sitting-room, where Dorcas
waited upon her. And sometimes when Gri-
selda was in a particularly good humor 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 humor, and_ besides
this, so very full of her adventures, that she
would have been glad of an even less sympa-
thizing 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
168 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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, Dor-
cas, 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 zs 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.
UP AND DOWN THE CHIMNEY. 169

« But you'll tell your aunt, missie? ”

«Of course,” said Griselda, looking up fear-
lessly into Dorcas’s face with her bright gray
eyes. “Of course; why shouldn’t I? I must
ask her to give the little boy leave to come
into owr 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 Az in her
own way from the beginning.”

« Well, T'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 chink of

Aunt Grizzel, whether I say it or not.”
170 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 elder-berry
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 re-
quest 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
UP AND DOWN THE CHIMNEY. I7I

little Phil, she took a sort of spiteful pleasure in
injuring her own cause.

How foolish illtemper 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 dzsap-
pointed.

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.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 Griz-
zel. “A boy in my grounds, and you, my
niece, to have played with him!”
172 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

“ Yes,” said Griselda coolly, “and I want to
play with him again.”

“ Griselda,” said her aunt, “I am too as-
tonished to say more at present. Go to bed.”

“Why should I go to bed? It is not my
bedtime,” cried Griselda, blazing up. “What
have I done to be sent to bed as if I were in
disgrace 2?”

“Go to bed,” repeated Miss Grizzel. «I
will speak to you to-morrow.”

«You are very unfair and unjust,” said Gri-
selda, 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 up-stairs 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.
UP AND DOWN THE CHIMNEY. 173

’

“Oh, missie, missie,” said Dorcas, “it’s just
what I was afraid of!”

As Griselda rushed out of the room, Miss
Grizzel leaned 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 won-
derfully like an old cat; for she felt cold of an
evening, and usually wore a very fine woolly
shawl of a delicate gray shade, and the borders
of her cap and the ruffles round her throat and
wrists were all of fluffy, downy white — «al-
ready,” 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
174 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

Tabitha with more energy than usual; “no,
certainly not. For once, Sister Grizzel, I dis-
agree with you. Hard upon her! Certainly
not.”

But Miss Grizzel did not feel happy.

When she went up to her own room at nighf,
she was surprised to find Dorcas waiting for
her, instead of the younger maid.

“TI 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, Dor-
cas?” said Miss Grizzel. “ Admitted a doy, a
rude, common, impertinent doy, into my pre-
cincts, and played with him—with a Joy,
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
UP AND DOWN THE CHIMNEY. 175

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 objec-
tionable 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 Merry-
brow Hall. My lady is pretty sure to know
about the child; for she knows all that goes
on among her tenants, and I remember hear-
ing 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
176 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 ex-
plained the matter, all this distress might have
been saved.”

Dorcas did not wait till “to-morrow morn-
ing ;” 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
UP AND DOWN THE CHIMNEY. 177

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 Dor-
cas 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, be-
ginning to cry again. “ Poor little Phil will be
coming up to the wood-path ¢o-morrow, and if

he doesn’t find me, he'll be so unhappy — per-
178 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

haps 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.
«JT 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 Dor-
cas 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
UP AND DOWN THE CHIMNEY. 179

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.

“JT 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 wa/k 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?”


180 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

“TI 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 Gri-
selda. “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
UP AND DOWN THE CHIMNEY. 181

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?”

“Qh, 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 caz 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 di-
rection, as if she expected his neck to be about
the size of a Shetland pony’s, or a large New-
foundland dog’s; and, to her astonishment, so
182 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 comfortable as possible
— it felt so firm as well as soft. Up he flewa
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.
“T 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.”
UP AND DOWN THE CHIMNEY. 183

“Couldn’t you?” said the cuckoo. “ We'll
see. Jf intend to go, anyway, and 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 con-
fused 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 sogether,”
184 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 chim-
ney. Oh, cuckoo, you have put all my think-
ing 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.


“There you are, you can see your way.”

— Page 186.
UP AND DOWN THE CHIMNEY. 185

«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, in-
deed, 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 clam-
ber down off my back, but don’t speak loud,
or you'll waken him, and that wouldn’t do.
186 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 ina 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
UP AND DOWN THE CHIMNEY. 187

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 whis-
pered 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.
188 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

“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 hap-
pened 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 wav-
ing their topmost branches a yard or two
from where the cuckoo was poising himself
and Griselda.

«Where shall we goto 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
UP AND DOWN THE CHIMNEY. 189

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 manda-
rins, or the butterflies, I suppose?” asked
the 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 zeal
fairy-land.”

“7 can’t do that, you know,” said the cuckoo.

Just then a faint “soughing” sound among
the branches suggested another idea to Gri-
selda,

“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.”
190 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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, per-
haps, 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?
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOON. IgI

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.”

“Qh, 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 sans?
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.”

“T like the twinkling ones best,” said Gri-
selda. “They look so good-natured. Are they

all twirling akout always, cuckoo? Mr. Knee-


1gQ2 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

breeches has just begun to teach me astronomy,
and #e 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.

“Qh 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
somebody would 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 be-
fore long? That’s what it would be if they
stood still, you see, because —”

«Thank you, cuckoo,” interrupted Griselda.
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE. MOON. 193

“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 un-
finished work makes quite a heap. I don’t like
that opinion at all, cuckoo. Tell me another.”

“J 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
194 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

cuckoo. ‘But up there they are much worse
than here. When a child has made a great
pet of one down here, [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
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOON. 195

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 ave children whom nothing would cure, I
suppose. What becomes of them I really can’t
say. Very likely they get crushed into pan-
cakes 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 owz opinion of 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, Gri-
selda?’”’ 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
196 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 dryly. «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 in
my asking that?”

“No,” said the cuckoo. “I’m going on im-
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOON. 197

mediately; 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 talk- .
ing, for I must put on steam —a good deal of
steam —and I can’t talk to you. Are you all
right 2?”

« 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 mo-
ment or two she tried to remember where she
was, and where she was going, but it was use-
less. 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
198 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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, coax-
ing way that our sea does when it is in good
humor. There were here and there faint

ripples on the surface, caused by the slight
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOON. 199

breezes which now and then came softly around
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 read-
ing 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 mantel 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
200 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 ’—

“Qh, dear cuckoo, please don’t explain!”
cried Griselda. “I'll promise to ask Mr. Knee-
breeches, 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 ould Mr. Kneebreeches think if I
told him where I had been?” continued Gri-
selda. “Only, you see, cuckoo, I never tell

anybody about what I see when I am with you.”
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOON. 201

“No,” replied the cuckoo; “better not.
(‘Not that you could if you tried,’ he added
to himself.) You’re not frightened now, Gri-
selda, 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 Gri-
selda. “There’s no sense in that ; there either
must be or must not be. There couldn’t be
half mermaids.”

“TI don’t know about that,” replied the

cuckoo, “They might have been here once
202 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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, youre laughing at me,” said
Griselda. “Tell me, are there any mermaids,
or fairies, or water-sprites, or any of those sort
of creatures, here?”

“JT 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.”

“Tt’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
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOON. 203

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. sup-
pose 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
204. THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 love-
liest little boat that ever was seen; and it was
rowed by a little figure that at first sight Gri-

selda felt certain was a fairy. For it was a


“ At last, it came quite near.”

— Page 204.
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOON. 205

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 in-
stant she could not remember where she had
seen him before; then she exclaimed joy-
fully, —

“Tt 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 re
mained. Griselda saw it close to her, in the
shallow water, a few feet from where she
stood.

“ Cuckoo,” she exclaimed in a tone of re-
proach and disappointment, “where is Phil
gone? Why did you send him away?”

“I didn’t send him away,” said the cuckoo.
206 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

“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 be-
ginning 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.
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOON. 207

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,

ginning to count in time—one, two, three,

so regularly that she couldn’t help be-

four—on, on—she thought she had got

nearly to a hundred, when —
208 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

CHAPTER XI.

“CUCKOO, CUCKOO, GOOD—BY!”

“ 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 us 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
“CUCKOO, CUCKOO, GooD-BY !”’ 209

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 humor “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 ami-
ably, 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
210 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 approv-
ingly.

“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 a// ‘obeying orders’
together. There’s the sun now, just getting
up, and the moon just going to bed — ¢hey are .
always obeying, aren’t they? I wonder why
it should be so hard for people —for children,
at least.”
“CUCKOO, CUCKOO, GOOD—BY !” 211

“To be sure, missie, you do put it in a way of
your own,” replied Dorcas, somewhat mysti-
fied; “but I see how you mean, I think, and
it’s quite true. And it zs a hard lesson to
learn.”

“T want to learn it wel, Dorcas,” said
Griselda resolutely. “So will you please tell
Aunt Grizzel that I’m very sorry about last
night, and T’ll do just as she likes about stay-
ing 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 into 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.

«T 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,
212 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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.

“JT am particularly gratified,’ he remarked
to Miss Grizzell, “by the intelligence and in-
terest 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.”

“JT am extremely glad to hear it,” replied
Miss Grizzel graciously; and the kiss with
which she answered Griselda’s request for for-
giveness 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
“CUCKOO, CUCKOO, GooD-By !”’ 213

be introduced to goddaughter Griselda. So,
of course, as Lady Lavander knew all about
_ hin, 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 fairy-land
to show you, and I do believe I’ve found it.
Oh, it zs such a pretty way!”

Griselda smiled.

“T’m afraid the way to fairy-land 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
214 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 fairy-land 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 be-
fore. 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 favorite
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 around by trees; and right
through it the merry brook came rippling
along as if rejoicing at getting out into the
“CUCKOO, CUCKOO, GooD-—BY !”’ 215

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.

“Tsw’¢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 fairy-land is hidden somewhere
here, if only we could find it.”

“Tf only!” said Griselda. “I don’t think
we shall find it, Phil; but, anyway, tlis is a
lovely place you’ve found, and Id 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 drag-
ging 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,
216 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

“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 vather dirty. Suddenly a
thought struck Griselda.

“Phil,” she said, “it must be getting late.”

«Past teatime?” he said coolly.

«1 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.
“CUCKOO, CUCKOO, GOoOoD-By !”’ 217

“Phil,” said Griselda, “this isn’t the way we
came.”

“Tsn’t it?” said Phil, looking about him.
“ Then we must have comed the wrong way.”

“’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?”

“T don’t care if she are,” replied Phil val-
iantly.

“You shouldn’t say that, Phil. You know
we shouldn't have stayed so long playing.”

“ Nebber mind,” said Phil. “Tf 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
218 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

across the road. Right, or left, or straight on,
which should it be? Griselda stood still in per-
plexity. 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,
“CUCKOO, CUCKOO, GOooD—BY !” 219

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 wan-
dered 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, with-
out 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.

“TI know the way now, good cuckoo,” ex-
claimed 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 to-

gether receiving directions from Mr. Crouch

‘
220 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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 into the parlor
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 parlor 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 parlor. But she was for a moment per-
fectly 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
“CUCKOO, CUCKOO, GOOD-By !” 221

the little figure she was watching for so anx-
iously.

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,’
must kiss Griselda too! She’s the little girl

’

he cried again, “you

that is so kind, and plays with me; and she
has no mother,” he added in a lower tone.
The lady put her arm around Griselda,
and kissed her too. She did not seem sur-
prised.
“T think I know about Griselda,” she said
222 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

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.

“TI took Griselda to a place that I thought
was the way to fairy-land; 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 fairy-land?” 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,


© And was it the way to fairy-land ?”

—_ Pace 999
Page 222,


“CUCKOO, CUCKOO, GooD-BY !”’ 223

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 an-
swered ; “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; chil-
dren?”

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-by.”
224 THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

“For you will not need me now,” he said.
“T 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-by.”

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.

THE END.
No

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