[Illustration]

THE CUCKOO CLOCK

SIXTH IMPRESSION

 "Stories All Children Love"

 A SET OF CHILDREN'S CLASSICS THAT SHOULD BE IN EVERY WINTER HOME AND SUMMER COTTAGE

 Cornelli By JOHANNA SPYRI Translated by ELISABETH P. STORK

 A Child's Garden of Verses By ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

 The Little Lame Prince & OTHER STORIES By MISS MULOCK

 Gulliver's Travels By JONATHAN SWIFT

 The Water Babies By CHARLES KINGSLEY

 Pinocchio By C. COLLODI

 Robinson Crusoe By DANIEL DEFOE

 Heidi By JOHANNA SPYRI Translated by ELISABETH P. STORK

 The Cuckoo Clock By MRS. MOLESWORTH

 The Swiss Family Robinson Edited by G. E. MITTON

 The Princess and Curdie By GEORGE MACDONALD

 The Princess and the Goblin By GEORGE MACDONALD

 At the Back of the North Wind By GEORGE MACDONALD

 A Dog of Flanders By "OUIDA"

 Bimbi By "OUIDA"

 Mopsa, the Fairy By JEAN INGELOW

 The Chronicles of Fairyland By FERGUS HUME

 Hans Andersen's Fairy Tales

 _Each Volume Beautifully Illustrated in Color. _

 _Decorated Cloth. Other Books in This Set are in Preparation. _

[Illustration: A LITTLE GIRL DANCED INTO THE ROOM _Page 107_]

 THE CUCKOO CLOCK

 BY MRS. MOLESWORTH

 _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR BY_ MARIA L. KIRK

 [Illustration]

 PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

PRINTED BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANYAT THE WASHINGTON SQUARE PRESSPHILADELPHIA, U. S. A. 

 To

 MARY JOSEPHINE

 AND TO THE DEAR MEMORY OF HER BROTHER

 THOMAS GRINDAL

 BOTH FRIENDLY LITTLE CRITICS OF MY CHILDREN'S STORIES

 _Edinburgh, 1877_

CONTENTS

THE CUCKOO CLOCK

 CHAPTER PAGE

 I. The Old House 11

 II. _Im_patient Griselda 30

 III. Obeying Orders 48

 IV. The Country of the Nodding Mandarins 70

 V. Pictures 95

 VI. Rubbed the Wrong Way 120

 VII. Butterfly-Land 140

 VIII. Master Phil 163

 IX. Up and Down the Chimney 184

 X. The Other Side of the Moon 209

 XI. "Cuckoo, Cuckoo, Good-bye!" 227

 THE CASTLE IN THE LOUGH A Legend of Donegal 247

ILLUSTRATIONS

 A Little Girl Danced Into the Room _Frontispiece_

 "Have You Got a Cuckoo in a Cage?" 19

 She Could Not Help Very Softly Clapping Her Hands 51

 "Are You Comfortable?" Inquired the Cuckoo 71

 He Flapped His Wings, And Instantly a Palanquin Appeared at the Foot of the Steps 88

 She Peered in with Great Satisfaction 153

 "But I May See You Again, " Said Phil 177

 It Was Rowed by a Little Figure 224

 "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. 

I

THE OLD HOUSE

[Illustration]

 "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 veryold house. Such a house as you could hardly find nowadays, however yousearched, for it belonged to a gone-by time--a time now quite passedaway. 

It stood in a street, but yet it was not like a town house, for thoughthe front opened right on to the pavement, the back windows looked outupon a beautiful, quaintly terraced garden, with old trees growing sothick and close together that in summer it was like living on the edgeof a forest to be near them; and even in winter the web of theirinterlaced branches hid all clear view behind. 

There was a colony of rooks in this old garden. Year after year theyheld their parliaments and cawed and chattered and fussed; year afteryear they built their nests and hatched their eggs; year after year, I_suppose_, the old ones gradually died off and the young ones took theirplace, though, but for knowing this _must_ be so, no one would havesuspected it, for to all appearance the rooks were always the same--everand always the same. 

Time indeed seemed to stand still in and all about the old house, as ifit and the people who inhabited it had got _so_ old that they could notget any older, and had outlived the possibility of change. 

But one day at last there did come a change. Late in the dusk of anautumn afternoon a carriage drove up to the door of the old house, camerattling over the stones with a sudden noisy clatter that sounded quiteimpertinent, startling the rooks just as they were composing themselvesto rest, and setting them all wondering what could be the matter. 

A little girl was the matter! A little girl in a grey merino frock, andgrey beaver bonnet, grey tippet and grey gloves--all grey together, evento her eyes, all except her round rosy face and bright brown hair. Hername even was rather grey, for it was Griselda. 

A gentleman lifted her out of the carriage and disappeared with her intothe house, and later that same evening the gentleman came out of thehouse and got into the carriage which had come back for him again, anddrove away. That was all that the rooks saw of the change that had cometo the old house. Shall we go inside to see more?

Up the shallow, wide, old-fashioned staircase, past the wainscotedwalls, dark and shining like a mirror, down a long narrow passage withmany doors, which but for their gleaming brass handles one would nothave known were there, the oldest of the three old servants led littleGriselda, so tired and sleepy that her supper had been left almostuntasted, to the room prepared for her. It was a queer room, foreverything in the house was queer; but in the dancing light of the fireburning brightly in the tiled grate, it looked cheerful enough. 

"I am glad there's a fire, " said the child. "Will it keep alight tillthe 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 wantthe fire. Bed's the warmest place. "

"It isn't for that I want it, " said Griselda; "it's for the light I likeit. This house all looks so dark to me, and yet there seem to be lightshidden in the walls too, they shine so. "

The old servant smiled. 

"It will all seem strange to you, no doubt, " she said; "but you'll getto like it, missie. 'Tis a _good_ old house, and those that know bestlove 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 itwell, 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 courseI've _heard_ of them, but I never saw any. Did you ever?"

"I couldn't say, " answered the old woman. "My mind is not young likeyours, missie, and there are times when strange memories come back to meas of sights and sounds in a dream. I am too old to see and hear as Ionce could. We are all old here, missie. 'Twas time something young cameto the old house again. "

"How strange and queer everything seems!" thought Griselda, as she gotinto bed. "I don't feel as if I belonged to it a bit. And they are all_so_ old; perhaps they won't like having a child among them?"

The very same thought that had occurred to the rooks! They could notdecide as to the fors and againsts at all, so they settled to put it tothe vote the next morning, and in the meantime they and Griselda allwent to sleep. 

I never heard if _they_ slept well that night; after such unusualexcitement it was hardly to be expected they would. But Griselda, beinga little girl and not a rook, was so tired that two minutes after shehad tucked herself up in bed she was quite sound asleep, and did notwake for several hours. 

"I wonder what it will all look like in the morning, " was her lastwaking thought. "If it was summer now, or spring, I shouldn'tmind--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 samesubject. 

"If it was summer now, or spring, " she repeated to herself, just as ifshe had not been asleep at all--like the man who fell into a trance fora hundred years just as he was saying "it is bitt--" and when he woke upagain finished the sentence as if nothing had happened--"erly cold. " "Ifonly it was spring, " thought Griselda. 

Just as she had got so far in her thoughts, she gave a great start. Whatwas it she heard? Could her wish have come true? Was this fairylandindeed that she had got to, where one only needs to _wish_, for it to_be_? She rubbed her eyes, but it was too dark to see; _that_ was notvery fairyland like, but her ears she felt certain had not deceived her:she was quite, quite sure that she had heard the cuckoo!

She listened with all her might, but she did not hear it again. Couldit, after all, have been fancy? She grew sleepy at last, and was justdropping off when--yes, there it was again, as clear and distinct aspossible--"Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!" three, four, _five_ times, thenperfect silence as before. 

"What a funny cuckoo, " said Griselda to herself. "I could almost fancyit was in the house. I wonder if my great-aunts have a tame cuckoo in acage? I don't _think_ I ever heard of such a thing, but this is such aqueer house; everything seems different in it--perhaps they have a tamecuckoo. I'll ask them in the morning. It's very nice to hear, whateverit is. "

[Illustration: "HAVE YOU GOT A CUCKOO IN A CAGE?"]

And, with a pleasant feeling of companionship, a sense that she was notthe only living creature awake in this dark world, Griselda laylistening, contentedly enough, for the sweet, fresh notes of thecuckoo's friendly greeting. But before it sounded again through thesilent house she was once more fast asleep. And this time she slepttill daylight had found its way into all but the _very_ darkest nooksand crannies of the ancient dwelling. 

She dressed herself carefully, for she had been warned that her auntsloved neatness and precision; she fastened each button of her greyfrock, and tied down her hair as smooth as such a brown tangle _could_be tied down; and, absorbed with these weighty cares, she forgot allabout the cuckoo for the time. It was not till she was sitting atbreakfast with her aunts that she remembered it, or rather was remindedof it, by some little remark that was made about the friendly robins onthe terrace walk outside. 

"Oh, aunt, " she exclaimed, stopping short half-way the journey to hermouth of a spoonful of bread and milk, "have you got a cuckoo in acage?"

"A cuckoo in a cage, " repeated her elder aunt, Miss Grizzel; "what isthe 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 itin the night. It couldn't have been out-of-doors, could it? It would betoo cold. "

The aunts looked at each other with a little smile. "So like hergrandmother, " they whispered. Then said Miss Grizzel--

"We have a cuckoo, my dear, though it isn't in a cage, and it isn'texactly 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'sstatement. 

"In a clock!" exclaimed Griselda, opening her grey eyes very wide. 

It sounded something like the three bears, all speaking one after theother, only Griselda's voice was not like Tiny's; it was the loudest ofthe three. 

"In a clock!" she exclaimed; "but it can't be alive, then?"

"Why not?" said Miss Grizzel. 

"I don't know, " replied Griselda, looking puzzled. 

"I knew a little girl once, " pursued Miss Grizzel, "who was quite ofopinion the cuckoo _was_ alive, and nothing would have persuaded her itwas not. Finish your breakfast, my dear, and then if you like you shallcome with me and see the cuckoo for yourself. "

"Thank you, Aunt Grizzel, " said Griselda, going on with her bread andmilk. 

"Yes, " said Miss Tabitha, "you shall see the cuckoo for yourself. "

"Thank you, Aunt Tabitha, " said Griselda. It was rather a bother to havealways to say "thank you, " or "no, thank you, " twice, but Griseldathought it was polite to do so, as Aunt Tabitha always repeatedeverything that Aunt Grizzel said. It wouldn't have mattered so much ifAunt Tabitha had said it _at once_ after Miss Grizzel, but as shegenerally made a little pause between, it was sometimes rather awkward. But of course it was better to say "thank you" or "no, thank you" twiceover than to hurt Aunt Tabitha's feelings. 

After breakfast Aunt Grizzel was as good as her word. She took Griseldathrough several of the rooms in the house, pointing out all thecuriosities, and telling all the histories of the rooms and theircontents; and Griselda liked to listen, only in every room they came to, she wondered _when_ they would get to the room where lived the cuckoo. 

Aunt Tabitha did not come with them, for she was rather rheumatic. Onthe whole, Griselda was not sorry. It would have taken such a _very_long time, you see, to have had all the histories twice over, andpossibly, if Griselda had got tired, she might have forgotten about the"thank you's" or "no, thank you's" twice over. 

The old house looked quite as queer and quaint by daylight as it hadseemed the evening before; almost more so indeed, for the view from thewindows added to the sweet, odd "old-fashionedness" of everything. 

"We have beautiful roses in summer, " observed Miss Grizzel, catchingsight of the direction in which the child's eyes were wandering. 

"I wish it was summer. I do love summer, " said Griselda. "But there is avery rosy scent in the rooms even now, Aunt Grizzel, though it iswinter, or nearly winter. "

Miss Grizzel looked pleased. 

"My pot-pourri, " she explained. 

They were just then standing in what she called the "great saloon, " ahandsome old room, furnished with gold-and-white chairs, that must oncehave been brilliant, and faded yellow damask hangings. A feeling of awehad crept over Griselda as they entered this ancient drawing-room. Whatgrand parties there must have been in it long ago! But as for dancing init _now_--dancing, or laughing, or chattering--such a thing was quiteimpossible to imagine!

Miss Grizzel crossed the room to where stood in one corner a marvellousChinese cabinet, all black and gold and carving. It was made in theshape of a temple, or a palace--Griselda was not sure which. Any way, itwas very delicious and wonderful. At the door stood, one on each side, two solemn mandarins; or, to speak more correctly, perhaps I should say, a mandarin and his wife, for the right-hand figure was evidentlyintended to be a lady. 

Miss Grizzel gently touched their heads. Forthwith, to Griselda'sastonishment, they began solemnly to nod. 

"Oh, how do you make them do that, Aunt Grizzel?" she exclaimed. 

"Never you mind, my dear; it wouldn't do for _you_ to try to make themnod. They wouldn't like it, " replied Miss Grizzel mysteriously. "Respectto your elders, my dear, always remember that. The mandarins are _many_years older than you--older than I myself, in fact. "

Griselda wondered, if this were so, how it was that Miss Grizzel tooksuch liberties with them herself, but she said nothing. 

"Here is my last summer's pot-pourri, " continued Miss Grizzel, touchinga great china jar on a little stand, close beside the cabinet. "You maysmell it, my dear. "

Nothing loth, Griselda buried her round little nose in the fragrantleaves. 

"It's lovely, " she said. "May I smell it whenever I like, Aunt Grizzel?"

"We shall see, " replied her aunt. "It isn't _every_ little girl, youknow, that we could trust to come into the great saloon alone. "

"No, " said Griselda meekly. 

Miss Grizzel led the way to a door opposite to that by which they hadentered. She opened it and passed through, Griselda following, into asmall ante-room. 

"It is on the stroke of ten, " said Miss Grizzel, consulting her watch;"now, my dear, you shall make acquaintance with our cuckoo. "

The cuckoo "that lived in a clock!" Griselda gazed round her eagerly. Where was the clock? She could see nothing in the least like one, onlyup on the wall in one corner was what looked like a miniature house, ofdark brown carved wood. It was not so _very_ like a house, but itcertainly had a roof--a roof with deep projecting eaves; and, lookingcloser, yes, it _was_ a clock, after all, only the figures, which hadonce been gilt, had grown dim with age, like everything else, and thehands at a little distance were hardly to be distinguished from theface. 

Miss Grizzel stood perfectly still, looking up at the clock; Griseldabeside her, in breathless expectation. Presently there came a sort ofdistant rumbling. _Something_ was going to happen. Suddenly two littledoors above the clock face, which Griselda had not known were there, sprang open with a burst and out flew a cuckoo, flapped his wings, anduttered his pretty cry, "Cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo!" Miss Grizzel countedaloud, "Seven, eight, nine, ten. " "Yes, he never makes a mistake, " sheadded triumphantly. "All these long years I have never known him wrong. There are no such clocks made nowadays, I can assure you, my dear. "

"But _is_ it a clock? Isn't he alive?" exclaimed Griselda. "He looked atme and nodded his head, before he flapped his wings and went in to hishouse again--he did indeed, aunt, " she said earnestly; "just likesaying, 'How do you do?' to me. "

Again Miss Grizzel smiled, the same odd yet pleased smile that Griseldahad seen on her face at breakfast. "Just what Sybilla used to say, " shemurmured. "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 yourfather, too, when he was a little boy. You will find him a good friend, and one that can teach you many lessons. "

"What, Aunt Grizzel?" inquired Griselda, looking puzzled. 

"Punctuality, for one thing, and faithful discharge of duty, " repliedMiss Grizzel. 

"May I come to see the cuckoo--to watch for him coming out, sometimes?"asked Griselda, who felt as if she could spend all day looking up at theclock, watching for her little friend's appearance. 

"You will see him several times a day, " said her aunt, "for it is inthis little room I intend you to prepare your tasks. It is nice andquiet, and nothing to disturb you, and close to the room where your AuntTabitha and I usually sit. "

So saying, Miss Grizzel opened a second door in the little ante-room, and, to Griselda's surprise, at the foot of a short flight of stairsthrough another door, half open, she caught sight of her Aunt Tabitha, knitting quietly by the fire, in the room in which they had breakfasted. 

"What a _very_ funny house it is, Aunt Grizzel, " she said, as shefollowed her aunt down the steps. "Every room has so many doors, and youcome 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 mylessons tasks. It makes them sound so dreadfully hard. But, any way, I'mglad I'm to do them in the room where that dear cuckoo lives. "

[Illustration]

II

_IM_PATIENT GRISELDA

[Illustration]

 ". .. Fairies but seldom appear; If we do wrong we must expect That it will cost us dear!"

It was all very well for a few days. Griselda found plenty to amuseherself with while the novelty lasted, enough to prevent her missing_very_ badly the home she had left "over the sea, " and the troop ofnoisy 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 notdislike lessons; in fact, she had always thought she was rather fond ofthem. But the having to do them alone was not lively, and her teacherswere very strict. The worst of all was the writing and arithmeticmaster, a funny little old man who wore knee-breeches and took snuff, and called her aunt "Madame, " bowing formally whenever he addressed her. He screwed Griselda up into such an unnatural attitude to write hercopies, that she really felt as if she would never come straight andloose again; and the arithmetic part of his instructions was even worse. Oh! what sums in addition he gave her! Griselda had never been partialto sums, and her rather easy-going governess at home had not, to tellthe truth, been partial to them either. And Mr. --I can't remember thelittle old gentleman's name. Suppose we call him Mr. Kneebreeches--Mr. Kneebreeches, when he found this out, conscientiously put her back tothe very beginning. 

It was dreadful, really. He came twice a week, and the days he didn'tcome were as bad as those he did, for he left her a whole _row_, I wasgoing 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!--wholeslatefuls of these terrible mountains of figures to climb wearily to thetop of. And not to climb _once_ up merely. _The_ terrible thing was Mr. Kneebreeches' favourite method of what he called "proving. " I can'texplain it--it is far beyond my poor powers--but it had something to dowith cutting off the top line, after you had added it all up and hadactually done the sum, you understand--cutting off the top line andadding the long rows up again without it, and then joining it on againsomewhere else. 

"I wouldn't mind so much, " said poor Griselda, one day, "if it was anygood. But you see, Aunt Grizzel, it isn't. For I'm just as likely to dothe _proving_ wrong as the sum itself--more likely, for I'm always sotired when I get to the proving--and so all that's proved is that_something's_ wrong, and I'm sure that isn't any good, except to make mecross. "

"Hush!" said her aunt gravely. "That is not the way for a little girl tospeak. Improve these golden hours of youth, Griselda; they will neverreturn. "

"I hope not, " muttered Griselda, "if it means doing sums. "

Miss Grizzel fortunately was a little deaf; she did not hear thisremark. 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 sheleft the room. 

The cuckoo was still telling the hour--eleven took a good while. Itseemed to Griselda that the bird repeated her aunt's last words. "Faith--ful, dis--charge, of--your, du--ty, " he said, "faith--ful. "

"You horrid little creature!" exclaimed Griselda in a passion; "whatbusiness have you to mock me?"

She seized a book, the first that came to hand, and flung it at the birdwho was just beginning his eleventh cuckoo. He disappeared with a snap, disappeared without flapping his wings, or, as Griselda always fanciedhe did, giving her a friendly nod, and in an instant all was silent. 

Griselda felt a little frightened. What had she done? She looked up atthe clock. It seemed just the same as usual, the cuckoo's doors closelyshut, no sign of any disturbance. Could it have been her fancy only thathe had sprung back more hastily than he would have done but for herthrowing the book at him? She began to hope so, and tried to go on withher lessons. But it was no use. Though she really gave her bestattention to the long addition sums, and found that by so doing shemanaged them much better than before, she could not feel happy or atease. Every few minutes she glanced up at the clock, as if expectingthe cuckoo to come out, though she knew quite well there was no chanceof his doing so till twelve o'clock, as it was only the hours, not thehalf hours and quarters, that he told. 

"I wish it was twelve o'clock, " she said to herself anxiously more thanonce. 

If only the clock had not been so very high up on the wall, she wouldhave been tempted to climb up and open the little doors, and peep in tosatisfy herself as to the cuckoo's condition. But there was nopossibility of this. The clock was far, very far above her reach, andthere was no high piece of furniture standing near, upon which she couldhave climbed to get to it. There was nothing to be done but to wait fortwelve o'clock. 

And, after all, she did not wait for twelve o'clock, for just abouthalf-past eleven, Miss Grizzel's voice was heard calling to her to puton her hat and cloak quickly, and come out to walk up and down theterrace with her. 

"It is fine just now, " said Miss Grizzel, "but there is a prospect ofrain before long. You must leave your lessons for the present, andfinish them in the afternoon. "

"I have finished them, " said Griselda, meekly. 

"_All?_" inquired her aunt. 

"Yes, all, " replied Griselda. 

"Ah, well, then, this afternoon, if the rain holds off, we shall driveto Merrybrow Hall, and inquire for the health of your dear godmother, Lady Lavander, " said Miss Grizzel. 

Poor Griselda! There were few things she disliked more than a drive withher 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, whichmade her very uncomfortable when she had no air, and had to sit stillfor so long. 

Merrybrow Hall was a large house, quite as old and much grander, but notnearly so wonderful as the home of Griselda's aunts. It was six milesoff, and it took a very long time indeed to drive there in the rumblingold chariot, for the old horses were fat and wheezy, and the oldcoachman fat and wheezy too. Lady Lavander was, of course, old too--veryold indeed, and rather grumpy and very deaf. Miss Grizzel and MissTabitha had the greatest respect for her; she always called them "Mydear, " as if they were quite girls, and they listened to all she said asif her words were of gold. For some mysterious reason she had beeninvited to be Griselda's godmother; but, as she had never shown her anyproof of affection beyond giving her a prayer-book, and hoping, whenevershe saw her, that she was "a good little miss, " Griselda did not feelany particular cause for gratitude to her. 

The drive seemed longer and duller than ever this afternoon, butGriselda bore it meekly; and when Lady Lavander, as usual, expressed herhopes about her, the little girl looked down modestly, feeling hercheeks grow scarlet. "I am not a good little girl at all, " she feltinclined to call out. "I'm very bad and cruel. I believe I've killed thedear little cuckoo. "

What _would_ the three old ladies have thought if she had called it out?As it was, Lady Lavander patted her approvingly, said she loved to seeyoung people modest and humble-minded, and gave her a slice of veryhighly-spiced, rather musty gingerbread, which Griselda couldn't bear. 

All the way home Griselda felt in a fever of impatience to rush up tothe ante-room and see if the cuckoo was all right again. It was late anddark when the chariot at last stopped at the door of the old house. MissGrizzel got out slowly, and still more slowly Miss Tabitha followed her. Griselda was obliged to restrain herself and move demurely. 

"It is past your supper-time, my dear, " said Miss Grizzel. "Go up atonce to your room, and Dorcas shall bring some supper to you. Late hoursare bad for young people. "

Griselda obediently wished her aunts good-night, and went quietlyupstairs. But once out of sight, at the first landing, she changed herpace. She turned to the left instead of to the right, which led to herown room, and flew rather than ran along the dimly-lighted passage, atthe 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 greatsaloon! Even in daylight this would have been a difficult matter. Griselda _felt_ her way as best she could, past the Chinese cabinet andthe pot-pourri jar till she got to the ante-room door. It was open, andnow, knowing her way better, she hurried in. But what was the use? Allwas silent, save the tick-tick of the cuckoo clock in the corner. Oh, if_only_ the cuckoo would come out and call the hour as usual, what aweight would be lifted off Griselda's heart!

She had no idea what o'clock it was. It might be close to the hour, orit might be just past it. She stood listening for a few minutes, thenhearing Miss Grizzel's voice in the distance, she felt that she darednot 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 softlybrushed her cheek, and a very, very faint "cuckoo" sounded, as it were, in the air close to her. 

Startled, but not frightened, Griselda stood perfectly still. 

"Cuckoo, " she said, softly. But there was no answer. 

Again the tones of Miss Grizzel's voice coming upstairs reached her ear. 

"I _must_ go, " said Griselda; and finding her way across the saloonwithout, by great good luck, tumbling against any of the many breakabletreasures with which it was filled, she flew down the long passageagain, reaching her own room just before Dorcas appeared with hersupper. 

Griselda slept badly that night. She was constantly dreaming of thecuckoo, fancying she heard his voice, and then waking with a start tofind it was _only_ fancy. She looked pale and heavy-eyed when she camedown to breakfast the next morning; and her Aunt Tabitha, who was alonein the room when she entered, began immediately asking her what was thematter. 

"I am sure you are going to be ill, child, " she said, nervously. "SisterGrizzel must give you some medicine. I wonder what would be the best. Tansy tea is an excellent thing when one has taken cold, or----"

But the rest of Miss Tabitha's sentence was never heard, for at thismoment Miss Grizzel came hurriedly into the room--her cap awry, hershawl disarranged, her face very pale. I hardly think any one had everseen her so discomposed before. 

"Sister Tabitha!" she exclaimed, "what can be going to happen? Thecuckoo clock has stopped. "

"The cuckoo clock has stopped!" repeated Miss Tabitha, holding up herhands; "_im_possible!"

"But it has, or rather I should say--dear me, I am so upset I cannotexplain myself--the _cuckoo_ has stopped. The clock is going on, but thecuckoo has not told the hours, and Dorcas is of opinion that he left offdoing so yesterday. What can be going to happen? What shall we do?"

"What can we do?" said Miss Tabitha. "Should we send for thewatch-maker?"

Miss Grizzel shook her head. 

"'Twould be worse than useless. Were we to search the world over, wecould find no one to put it right. Fifty years and more, Tabitha, fiftyyears and more, it has never missed an hour! We are getting old, Tabitha, our day is nearly over; perhaps 'tis to remind us of this. "

Miss Tabitha did not reply. She was weeping silently. The old ladiesseemed to have forgotten the presence of their niece, but Griselda couldnot bear to see their distress. She finished her breakfast as quickly asshe could, and left the room. 

On her way upstairs she met Dorcas. 

"Have you heard what has happened, little missie?" said the old servant. 

"Yes, " replied Griselda. 

"My ladies are in great trouble, " continued Dorcas, who seemed inclinedto be more communicative than usual, "and no wonder. For fifty yearsthat clock has never gone wrong. "

"Can't it be put right?" asked the child. 

Dorcas shook her head. 

"No good would come of interfering, " she said. "What must be, must be. The luck of the house hangs on that clock. Its maker spent a good partof his life over it, and his last words were that it would bring goodluck to the house that owned it, but that trouble would follow itssilence. It's my belief, " she added solemnly, "that it's a _fairy_clock, neither more nor less, for good luck it has brought there's nodenying. There are no cows like ours, missie--their milk is a proverbhereabouts; 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 inthis house, and always has been. 'Tis not a house for wrangling andjangling, and sharp words. The 'good people' can't stand that. Nothingdrives them away like ill-temper or anger. "

Griselda's conscience gave her a sharp prick. Could it be _her_ doingthat trouble was coming upon the old house? What a punishment for amoment's fit of ill-temper. 

"I wish you wouldn't talk that way, Dorcas, " she said; "it makes me sounhappy. "

"What a feeling heart the child has!" said the old servant as she wenton her way downstairs. "It's true--she is very like Miss Sybilla. "

That day was a very weary and sad one for Griselda. She was oppressed bya feeling she did not understand. She knew she had done wrong, but shehad sorely repented it, and "I do think the cuckoo might have come backagain, " she said to herself, "if he _is_ a fairy; and if he isn't, itcan't be true what Dorcas says. "

Her aunts made no allusion to the subject in her presence, and almostseemed to have forgotten that she had known of their distress. They weremore grave and silent than usual, but otherwise things went on in theirordinary way. Griselda spent the morning "at her tasks, " in theante-room, but was thankful to get away from the tick-tick of the clockin the corner and out into the garden. 

But there, alas! it was just as bad. The rooks seemed to know thatsomething was the matter; they set to work making such a chatterimmediately Griselda appeared that she felt inclined to run back intothe house again. 

"I am sure they are talking about me, " she said to herself. "Perhapsthey are fairies too. I am beginning to think I don't like fairies. "

She was glad when bed-time came. It was a sort of reproach to her to seeher aunts so pale and troubled; and though she tried to persuade herselfthat she thought them very silly, she could not throw off theuncomfortable feeling. 

She was so tired when she went to bed--tired in the disagreeable waythat comes from a listless, uneasy day--that she fell asleep at once andslept heavily. When she woke, which she did suddenly, and with a start, it was still perfectly dark, like the first morning that she had wakenedin the old house. It seemed to her that she had not wakened ofherself--something had roused her. Yes! there it was again, a very, _very_ soft distant "cuckoo. " _Was_ it distant? She could not tell. Almost she could have fancied it was close to her. 

"If it's that cuckoo come back again, I'll catch him!" exclaimedGriselda. 

She darted out of bed, felt her way to the door, which was closed, andopening it let in a rush of moonlight from the unshuttered passagewindow. In another moment her little bare feet were pattering along thepassage at full speed, in the direction of the great saloon. 

For Griselda's childhood among the troop of noisy brothers had taughther one lesson--she was afraid of nothing. Or rather perhaps I shouldsay she had never learnt that there was anything to be afraid of! And isthere?

[Illustration]

III

OBEYING ORDERS

[Illustration]

 "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 theante-room, too; for though the windows, like those in Griselda'sbed-room, had the shutters closed, there was a round part at the top, high up, which the shutters did not reach to, and in crept, throughthese 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 momentto admire the effect. 

"It looks prettier with the light coming in at those holes at the topthan even if the shutters were open, " she said to herself. "Howgoldy-silvery the cabinet looks; and, yes, I do declare, the mandarinsare nodding! I wonder if it is out of politeness to me, or does AuntGrizzel come in last thing at night and touch them to make them keepnodding till morning? I _suppose_ they're a sort of policemen to thepalace; 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 nextroom, reaching her ear, reminded her of the object of this midnightexpedition of hers. She hurried into the ante-room. 

It looked darker than the great saloon, for it had but one window. Butthrough the uncovered space at the top of this window there penetratedsome brilliant moonbeams, one of which lighted up brightly the face ofthe clock with its queer over-hanging eaves. 

Griselda approached it and stood below, looking up. 

"Cuckoo, " she said softly--very softly. 

But there was no reply. 

"Cuckoo, " she repeated rather more loudly. "Why won't you speak to me? Iknow you are there, and you're not asleep, for I heard your voice in myown 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 sohard-hearted. I have been _so_ unhappy about you, and I was so pleasedto hear your voice again, for I thought I had killed you, or hurt youvery badly; and I didn't _mean_ to hurt you, cuckoo. I was sorry themoment I had done it, _dreadfully_ sorry. Dear cuckoo, won't you forgiveme?"

[Illustration: SHE COULD NOT HELP VERY SOFTLY CLAPPING HER HANDS]

There was a little sound at last--a faint _coming_ sound, and by themoonlight Griselda saw the doors open, and out flew the cuckoo. He stoodstill for a moment, looked round him as it were, then gently flapped hiswings, and uttered his usual note--"Cuckoo. "

Griselda stood in breathless expectation, but in her delight she couldnot help very softly clapping her hands. 

The cuckoo cleared his throat. You never heard such a funny little noiseas he made; and then, in a very clear, distinct, but yet "cuckoo-y"voice, he spoke. 

"Griselda, " he said, "are you truly sorry?"

"I told you I was, " she replied. "But I didn't _feel_ so very naughty, cuckoo. I didn't, really. I was only vexed for one minute, and when Ithrew the book I seemed to be a very little in fun, too. And it made meso unhappy when you went away, and my poor aunts have been dreadfullyunhappy too. If you hadn't come back I should have told them tomorrowwhat I had done. I would have told them before, but I was afraid itwould have made them more unhappy. I thought I had hurt you dreadfully. "

"So you did, " said the cuckoo. 

"But you _look_ quite well, " said Griselda. 

"It was my _feelings_, " replied the cuckoo; "and I couldn't help goingaway. 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 canunderstand about obeying _your_ orders, and you see, when you don't, things go wrong. "

"Yes, " said Griselda humbly, "they certainly do. But, cuckoo, " shecontinued, "I never used to get into tempers at home--_hardly_ never, atleast; 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 thingsgo wrong in this house. "

"That's what Dorcas says, " said Griselda. "It must be with my being achild--my aunts and the house and everything have got out of children'sways. "

"About time they did, " remarked the cuckoo drily. 

"And so, " continued Griselda, "it is really very dull. I have lots oflessons, but it isn't so much that I mind. It is that I've no one toplay with. "

"There's something in that, " said the cuckoo. He flapped his wings andwas silent for a minute or two. "I'll consider about it, " he observed atlast. 

"Thank you, " said Griselda, not exactly knowing what else to say. 

"And in the meantime, " continued the cuckoo, "you'd better obey presentorders 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'tyou?"

"You see I wasn't sure if you would like it, " returned Griselda, "forof course you're not like a person, and--and--I've been told all sortsof queer things about what fairies like and don't like. "

"Who said I was a fairy?" inquired the cuckoo. 

"Dorcas did, and, _of course_, my own common sense did too, " repliedGriselda. "You must be a fairy--you couldn't be anything else. "

"I might be a fairyfied cuckoo, " suggested the bird. 

Griselda looked puzzled. 

"I don't understand, " she said, "and I don't think it could make muchdifference. But whatever you are, I wish you would tell me one thing. "

"What?" said the cuckoo. 

"I want to know, now that you've forgiven me for throwing the book atyou, have you come back for good?"

"Certainly not for evil, " replied the cuckoo. 

Griselda gave a little wriggle. "Cuckoo, you're laughing at me, " shesaid. "I mean, have you come back to stay and cuckoo as usual and makemy aunts happy again?"

"You'll see in the morning, " said the cuckoo. "Now go off to bed. "

"Good night, " said Griselda, "and thank you, and please don't forget tolet me know when you've considered. "

"Cuckoo, cuckoo, " was her little friend's reply. Griselda thought it wasmeant for good night, but the fact of the matter was that at that exactsecond of time it was two o'clock in the morning. 

She made her way back to bed. She had been standing some time talking tothe cuckoo, but, though it was now well on in November, she did not feelthe least cold, nor sleepy! She felt as happy and light-hearted aspossible, and she wished it was morning, that she might get up. Yet themoment she laid her little brown curly head on the pillow, she fellasleep; and it seemed to her that just as she dropped off a softfeathery wing brushed her cheek gently and a tiny "Cuckoo" sounded inher ear. 

When she woke it was bright morning, really bright morning, for thewintry sun was already sending some clear yellow rays out into the palegrey-blue sky. 

"It must be late, " thought Griselda, when she had opened the shuttersand seen how light it was. "I must have slept a long time. I feel sobeautifully unsleepy now. I must dress quickly--how nice it will be tosee my aunts look happy again! I don't even care if they scold me forbeing late. "

But, after all, it was not so much later than usual; it was only a muchbrighter morning than they had had for some time. Griselda did dressherself very quickly, however. As she went downstairs two or three ofthe clocks in the house, for there were several, were striking eight. These clocks must have been a little before the right time, for it wasnot till they had again relapsed into silence that there rang out fromthe ante-room the clear sweet tones, eight times repeated, of "Cuckoo. "

Miss Grizzel and Miss Tabitha were already at the breakfast-table, butthey received their little niece most graciously. Nothing was said aboutthe clock, however, till about half-way through the meal, when Griselda, full of eagerness to know if her aunts were aware of the cuckoo'sreturn, could restrain herself no longer. 

"Aunt Grizzel, " she said, "isn't the cuckoo all right again?"

"Yes, my dear. I am delighted to say it is, " replied Miss Grizzel. 

"Did you get it put right, Aunt Grizzel?" inquired Griselda, slyly. 

"Little girls should not ask so many questions, " replied Miss Grizzel, mysteriously. "It _is_ all right again, and that is enough. During fiftyyears that cuckoo has never, till yesterday, missed an hour. If you, inyour sphere, my dear, do as well during fifty years, you won't have donebadly. "

"No, indeed, you won't have done badly, " repeated Miss Tabitha. 

But though the two old ladies thus tried to improve the occasion by alittle lecturing, Griselda could see that at the bottom of their heartsthey were both so happy that, even if she had been very naughty indeed, they could hardly have made up their minds to scold her. 

She was not at all inclined to be naughty this day. She had something tothink about and look forward to, which made her quite a different littlegirl, and made her take heart in doing her lessons as well as shepossibly could. 

"I wonder when the cuckoo will have considered enough about my having noone to play with?" she said to herself, as she was walking up and downthe terrace at the back of the house. 

"Caw, caw!" screamed a rook just over her head, as if in answer to herthought. 

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 Iunderstood what you meant. How funny it would be to know all thelanguages of the birds and the beasts, like the prince in the fairytale! I wonder if I should wish for that, if a fairy gave me a wish? No, I don't think I would. I'd _far_ rather have the fairy carpet that wouldtake you anywhere you liked in a minute. I'd go to China to see if allthe people there look like Aunt Grizzel's mandarins; and I'd first ofall, of course, go to fairyland. "

"You must come in now, little missie, " said Dorcas's voice. "MissGrizzel says you have had play enough, and there's a nice fire in theante-room for you to do your lessons by. "

"Play!" repeated Griselda indignantly, as she turned to follow the oldservant. "Do you call walking up and down the terrace 'play, ' Dorcas? Imustn't loiter even to pick a flower, if there were any, for fear ofcatching cold, and I mustn't run for fear of overheating myself. Ideclare, Dorcas, if I don't have some play soon, or something to amuseme, I think I'll run away. "

"Nay, nay, missie, don't talk like that. You'd never do anything sonaughty, and you so like Miss Sybilla, who was so good. "

"Dorcas, I'm tired of being told I'm like Miss Sybilla, " said Griselda, impatiently. "She was my grandmother; no one would like to be told theywere like their grandmother. It makes me feel as if my face must be allscrewy up and wrinkly, and as if I should have spectacles on and a wig. "

"_That_ is not like what Miss Sybilla was when I first saw her, " saidDorcas. "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 andgentle--and yet so merry. Every creature loved her; even the animalsabout seemed to know her, as if she was one of themselves. She broughtgood luck to the house, and it was a sad day when she left it. "

"I thought you said it was the cuckoo that brought good luck?" saidGriselda. 

"Well, so it was. The cuckoo and Miss Sybilla came here the same day. Itwas left to her by her mother's father, with whom she had lived sinceshe was a baby, and when he died she came here to her sisters. Shewasn't _own_ sister to my ladies, you see, missie. Her mother had comefrom Germany, and it was in some strange place there, where hergrandfather lived, that the cuckoo clock was made. They make wonderfulclocks 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 Sybillatake 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 herleft behind for them. It was like a part of her. And do you know, missie, the night she died--she died soon after your father was born, ayear after she was married--for a whole hour, from twelve to one, thatcuckoo went on cuckooing in a soft, sad way, like some living creaturein trouble. Of course, we did not know anything was wrong with her, andfolks said something had caught some of the springs of the works; but_I_ didn't think so, and never shall. And----"

But here Dorcas's reminiscences were abruptly brought to a close by MissGrizzel's appearance at the other end of the terrace. 

"Griselda, what are you loitering so for? Dorcas, you should havehastened, 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 wonderabout, and she liked to do her lessons in the ante-room, with thetick-tick of the clock in her ears, and the feeling that _perhaps_ thecuckoo was watching her through some invisible peep-hole in his closeddoors. 

"And if he sees, " thought Griselda, "if he sees how hard I am trying todo 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 hecame out to say it was four o'clock. She was busy, and he was busy. Shefelt it was better to wait till he gave her some sign of being ready totalk to her again. 

For fairies, you know, children, however charming, are sometimes_rather_ queer to have to do with. They don't like to be interferedwith, or treated except with very great respect, and they have their ownideas 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 sayit was with having been up the night before, running about the house inthe moonlight; but as she had never felt so "fresh" in her life as whenshe got up that morning, it could hardly have been that--that Griseldafelt so tired and sleepy that evening, she could hardly keep her eyesopen. 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. Butas there is nothing better for children than to go to bed early, even ifthey _are_ going to be ill, Miss Grizzel told her to say good-night, andto ask Dorcas to give her a wine-glassful of elderberry wine, nice andhot, after she was in bed. 

Griselda had no objection to the elderberry wine, though she felt shewas having it on false pretences. She certainly did not need it to sendher to sleep, for almost before her head touched the pillow she was assound as a top. She had slept a good long while, when again she wakenedsuddenly--just as she had done the night before, and again with thefeeling that something had wakened her. And the queer thing was that themoment she was awake she felt so _very_ awake--she had no inclination tostretch and yawn and hope it wasn't quite time to get up, and think hownice and warm bed was, and how cold it was outside! She sat straight up, and peered out into the darkness, feeling quite ready for an adventure. 

"Is it you, cuckoo?" she said softly. 

There was no answer, but listening intently, the child fancied she hearda faint rustling or fluttering in the corner of the room by the door. She got up and, feeling her way, opened it, and the instant she had doneso she heard, a few steps only in front of her it seemed, the familiarnotes, very, _very_ soft and whispered, "Cuckoo, cuckoo. "

It went on and on, down the passage, Griselda trotting after. There wasno moon to-night, heavy clouds had quite hidden it, and outside therain was falling heavily. Griselda could hear it on the window-panes, through the closed shutters and all. But dark as it was, she made herway along without any difficulty, down the passage, across the greatsaloon, in through the ante-room door, guided only by the little voicenow and then to be heard in front of her. She came to a standstill rightbefore 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 wasfar too dark to see--and in his ordinary voice, clear and distinct (itwas just two o'clock, so the cuckoo was killing two birds with onestone, telling the hour and greeting Griselda at once), the bird sangout, "Cuckoo, cuckoo. "

"Good evening, cuckoo, " said Griselda, when he had finished. 

"Good morning, you mean, " said the cuckoo. 

"Good morning, then, cuckoo, " said Griselda. "Have you considered aboutme, cuckoo?"

The cuckoo cleared his throat. 

"Have you learnt to obey orders yet, Griselda?" he inquired. 

"I'm trying, " replied Griselda. "But you see, cuckoo, I've not had verylong to learn in--it was only last night you told me, you know. "

The cuckoo sighed. 

"You've a great deal to learn, Griselda. "

"I dare say I have, " she said. "But I can tell you one thing, cuckoo--whatever lessons I have, I _couldn't_ ever have any worse thanthose addition sums of Mr. Kneebreeches'. I have made up my mind aboutthat, for to-day, do you know, cuckoo----"

"Yesterday, " corrected the cuckoo. "Always be exact in your statements, Griselda. "

"Well, yesterday, then, " said Griselda, rather tartly; "though when youknow quite well what I mean, I don't see that you need be so _very_particular. Well, as I was saying, I tried and _tried_, but still theywere fearful. They were, indeed. "

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

"I wish you wouldn't say that so often, " said Griselda. "I thought youwere going to _play_ with me. "

"There's something in that, " said the cuckoo, "there's something inthat. I should like to talk about it. But we could talk more comfortablyif you would come up here and sit beside me. "

Griselda thought her friend must be going out of his mind. 

"Sit beside you up there!" she exclaimed. "Cuckoo, how _could_ I? I'mfar, far too big. "

"Big!" returned the cuckoo. "What do you mean by big? It's all a matterof fancy. Don't you know that if the world and everything in it, counting yourself of course, was all made little enough to go into awalnut, you'd never find out the difference. "

"_Wouldn't_ I?" said Griselda, feeling rather muddled; "but, _not_counting myself, cuckoo, I would then, wouldn't I?"

"Nonsense, " said the cuckoo hastily; "you've a great deal to learn, andone thing is, not to _argue_. Nobody should argue; it's a shocking badhabit, and ruins the digestion. Come up here and sit beside mecomfortably. Catch hold of the chain; you'll find you can manage if youtry. "

"But it'll stop the clock, " said Griselda. "Aunt Grizzel said I wasnever to touch the weights or the chains. "

"Stuff, " said the cuckoo; "it won't stop the clock. Catch hold of thechains and swing yourself up. There now--I told you you could manageit. "

IV

THE COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS

[Illustration]

 "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 generalway she would have slidden down, only without any disagreeableanticipation of a bump at the end of the journey. And when she got tothe top how wonderfully different it looked from anything she could haveexpected! The doors stood open, and Griselda found them quite bigenough, 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 toinquire--to pass through quite comfortably. 

[Illustration: "ARE YOU COMFORTABLE?" INQUIRED THE CUCKOO]

And inside there was the most charming little snuggery imaginable. Itwas something like a saloon railway carriage--it seemed to be all linedand carpeted and everything, with rich mossy red velvet; there was alittle round table in the middle and two arm-chairs, on one of which satthe cuckoo--"quite like other people, " thought Griselda toherself--while the other, as he pointed out to Griselda by a little nod, was evidently intended for her. 

"Thank you, " said she, sitting down on the chair as she spoke. 

"Are you comfortable?" inquired the cuckoo. 

"Quite, " replied Griselda, looking about her with great satisfaction. "Are all cuckoo clocks like this when you get up inside them?" sheinquired. "I can't think how there's room for this dear little placebetween the clock and the wall. Is it a hole cut out of the wall onpurpose, cuckoo?"

"Hush!" said the cuckoo, "we've got other things to talk about. First, shall I lend you one of my mantles? You may feel cold. "

"I don't just now, " replied Griselda; "but perhaps I _might_. "

She looked at her little bare feet as she spoke, and wondered why _they_weren't cold, for it was very chilblainy weather. 

The cuckoo stood up, and with one of his claws reached from a cornerwhere it was hanging a cloak which Griselda had not before noticed. Forit was hanging wrong side out, and the lining was red velvet, very likewhat the sides of the little room were covered with, so it was no wondershe had not noticed it. 

Had it been hanging the _right_ side out she must have done so; thisside was so very wonderful!

It was all feathers--feathers of every shade and colour, but beautifullyworked in, somehow, so as to lie quite smoothly and evenly, one colourmelting away into another like those in a prism, so that you couldhardly tell where one began and another ended. 

"What a _lovely_ cloak!" said Griselda, wrapping it round her andfeeling even more comfortable than before, as she watched the rays ofthe little lamp in the roof--I think I was forgetting to tell you thatthe cuckoo's boudoir was lighted by a dear little lamp set into the redvelvet roof like a pearl in a ring--playing softly on the brilliantcolours of the feather mantle. 

"It's better than lovely, " said the cuckoo, "as you shall see. Now, Griselda, " he continued, in the tone of one coming to business--"now, Griselda, let us talk. "

"We have been talking, " said Griselda, "ever so long. I am verycomfortable. When you say 'let us talk' like that, it makes me forgetall I wanted to say. Just let me sit still and say whatever comes intomy head. "

"That won't do, " said the cuckoo; "we must have a plan of action. "

"A what?" said Griselda. 

"You see you _have_ a great deal to learn, " said the cuckootriumphantly. "You don't understand what I say. "

"But I didn't come up here to learn, " said Griselda; "I can do that downthere;" and she nodded her head in the direction of the ante-room table. "I want to play. "

"Just so, " said the cuckoo; "that's what I want to talk about. What doyou call 'play'--blindman's-buff and that sort of thing?"

"No, " said Griselda, considering. "I'm getting rather too big for thatkind of play. Besides, cuckoo, you and I alone couldn't have much fun atblindman'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 bepleased to join. "

"The mandarins!" repeated Griselda. "Why, cuckoo, they're not alive! Howcould 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 knowthat _everything's_ alive?"

"No, " said Griselda, "I don't; and I don't know what you mean, and Idon't think I want to know what you mean. I want to talk about playing. "

"Well, " said the cuckoo, "talk. "

"What I call playing, " pursued Griselda, "is--I have thought about itnow, you see--is being amused. If you will amuse me, cuckoo, I willcount 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 mefairy stories, you know: if you're a fairy you should know lots; or--ohyes, of course that would be far nicer--if you are a fairy you mighttake me with you to fairyland. "

Again the cuckoo shook his head. 

"That, " said he, "I cannot do. "

"Why not?" said Griselda. "Lots of children have been there. "

"I doubt it, " said the cuckoo. "_Some_ may have been, but not lots. Andsome may have thought they had been there who hadn't really been thereat all. And as to those who have been there, you may be sure of onething--they were not _taken_, they found their own way. No one ever was_taken_ to fairyland--to the real fairyland. They may have been taken tothe neighbouring countries, but not to fairyland itself. "

"And how is one ever to find one's own way there?" asked Griselda. 

"That I cannot tell you either, " replied the cuckoo. "There are manyroads there; you may find yours some day. And if ever you do find it, besure you keep what you see of it well swept and clean, and then you maysee further after a while. Ah, yes, there are many roads and many doorsinto fairyland!"

"Doors!" cried Griselda. "Are there any doors into fairyland in thishouse?"

"Several, " said the cuckoo; "but don't waste your time looking for themat present. It would be no use. "

"Then how will you amuse me?" inquired Griselda, in a ratherdisappointed tone. 

"Don't you care to go anywhere except to fairyland?" said the cuckoo. 

"Oh yes, there are lots of places I wouldn't mind seeing. Not geographysort of places--it would be just like lessons to go to India and Africaand all those places--but _queer_ places, like the mines where thegoblins make diamonds and precious stones, and the caves down under thesea where the mermaids live. And--oh, I've just thought--now I'm so niceand little, I _would_ like to go all over the mandarins' palace in thegreat saloon. "

"That can be easily managed, " said the cuckoo; "but--excuse me for aninstant, " he exclaimed suddenly. He gave a spring forward anddisappeared. 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 onhis chair. "As I was saying, " he went on, "nothing could be easier. Butthat palace, as you call it, has an entrance on the other side, as wellas the one you know. "

"Another door, do you mean?" said Griselda. "How funny! Does it gothrough the wall? And where does it lead to?"

"It leads, " replied the cuckoo, "it leads to the country of the NoddingMandarins. "

"_What_ fun!" exclaimed Griselda, clapping her hands. "Cuckoo, do let usgo there. How can we get down? You can fly, but must I slide down thechain again?"

"Oh dear, no, " said the cuckoo, "by no means. You have only to stretchout your feather mantle, flap it as if it was wings--so"--he flappedhis 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? Yousaid you wanted to visit the country of the Nodding Mandarins. "

"Yes; but am I to wish first to be in the palace in the great saloon?"

"Certainly, " replied the cuckoo. "That is the entrance to Mandarin Land, and you said you would like to see through it. So--you're surely readynow?"

"A thought has just struck me, " said Griselda. "How will you know whato'clock it is, so as to come back in time to tell the next hour? Myaunts will get into such a fright if you go wrong again! Are you surewe shall have time to go to the mandarins' country to-night?"

"Time!" repeated the cuckoo; "what is time? Ah, Griselda, you have a_very_ great deal to learn! What do you mean by time?"

"I don't know, " replied Griselda, feeling rather snubbed. "Being slow orquick--I suppose that's what I mean. "

"And what is slow, and what is quick?" said the cuckoo. "_All_ a matterof fancy! If everything that's been done since the world was made tillnow, was done over again in five minutes, you'd never know thedifference. "

"Oh, cuckoo, I wish you wouldn't!" cried poor Griselda; "you're worsethan sums, you do so puzzle me. It's like what you said about nothingbeing big or little, only it's worse. Where would all the days and hoursbe if there was nothing but minutes? Oh, cuckoo, you said you'd amuseme, and you do nothing but puzzle me. "

"It was your own fault. You wouldn't get ready, " said the cuckoo, "_Now_, here goes! Flap and wish. "

Griselda flapped and wished. She felt a sort of rustle in the air, thatwas all--then she found herself standing with the cuckoo in front of theChinese cabinet, the door of which stood open, while the mandarins oneach side, nodding politely, seemed to invite them to enter. Griseldahesitated. 

"Go on, " said the cuckoo, patronizingly; "ladies first. "

Griselda went on. To her surprise, inside the cabinet it was quitelight, though where the light came from that illuminated all the queercorners and recesses and streamed out to the front, where stood themandarins, she could not discover. 

The "palace" was not quite as interesting as she had expected. Therewere lots of little rooms in it opening on to balconies commanding, nodoubt, a splendid view of the great saloon; there were ever so manylittle stair-cases leading to more little rooms and balconies; but itall seemed empty and deserted. 

"I don't care for it, " said Griselda, stopping short at last; "it's allthe same, and there's nothing to see. I thought my aunts kept ever somany beautiful things in here, and there's nothing. "

"Come along, then, " said the cuckoo. "I didn't expect you'd care for thepalace, 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 foundthemselves in a vestibule, much handsomer than the entrance at the otherside, and the cuckoo, crossing it, lifted one of his claws and touched aspring in the wall. Instantly a pair of large doors flew open in themiddle, revealing to Griselda the prettiest and most curious sight shehad ever seen. 

[Illustration: HE FLAPPED HIS WINGS, AND A PALANQUIN APPEARED AT THEFOOT OF THE STEPS]

A flight of wide, shallow steps led down from this doorway into along, long avenue bordered by stiffly growing trees, from the branchesof which hung innumerable lamps of every colour, making a perfectnetwork of brilliance as far as the eye could reach. 

"Oh, how lovely!" cried Griselda, clapping her hands. "It'll be likewalking along a rainbow. Cuckoo, come quick. "

"Stop, " said the cuckoo; "we've a good way to go. There's no need towalk. Palanquin!"

He flapped his wings, and instantly a palanquin appeared at the foot ofthe steps. It was made of carved ivory, and borne by fourChinese-looking figures with pigtails and bright-coloured jackets. Afeeling came over Griselda that she was dreaming, or else that she hadseen this palanquin before. She hesitated. Suddenly she gave a littlejump of satisfaction. 

"I know, " she exclaimed. "It's exactly like the one that stands under aglass shade on Lady Lavander's drawing-room mantelpiece. I wonder if itis the very one? Fancy me being able to get _into_ it!"

She looked at the four bearers. Instantly they all nodded. 

"What do they mean?" asked Griselda, turning to the cuckoo. 

"Get in, " he replied. 

"Yes, I'm just going to get in, " she said; "but what do _they_ mean whenthey 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 Griseldainterrupted him. 

"Cuckoo, " she exclaimed, "if you say that again, I'll jump out of thepalanquin and run away home to bed. Of course I've a great deal tolearn--that's why I like to ask questions about everything I see. Now, tell me where we are going. "

"In the first place, " said the cuckoo, "are you comfortable?"

"Very, " said Griselda, settling herself down among the cushions. 

It was a change from the cuckoo's boudoir. There were no chairs orseats, only a number of very, _very_ soft cushions covered with greensilk. There were green silk curtains all round, too, which you coulddraw or not as you pleased, just by touching a spring. Griselda strokedthe silk gently. It was not "fruzzley" silk, if you know what thatmeans; it did not make you feel as if your nails wanted cutting, or asif all the rough places on your skin were being rubbed up the wrong way;its softness was like that of a rose or pansy petal. 

"What nice silk!" said Griselda. "I'd like a dress of it. I nevernoticed that the palanquin was lined so nicely, " she continued, "for Isuppose it _is_ the one from Lady Lavander's mantelpiece? There couldn'tbe two so exactly like each other. "

The cuckoo gave a sort of whistle. 

"What a goose you are, my dear!" he exclaimed. "Excuse me, " hecontinued, seeing that Griselda looked rather offended; "I didn't meanto hurt your feelings, but you won't let me say the other thing, youknow. The palanquin from Lady Lavander's! I should think not. You mightas well mistake one of those horrible paper roses that Dorcas sticks inher vases for one of your aunt's Gloires de Dijon! The palanquin fromLady Lavander's--a clumsy human imitation not worth looking at!"

"I didn't know, " said Griselda humbly. "Do they make such beautifulthings in Mandarin Land?"

"Of course, " said the cuckoo. 

Griselda sat silent for a minute or two, but very soon she recovered herspirits. 

"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. Ithought you'd like to assist at it. It'll give you some idea of what apalace 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 foryou. 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, andGriselda followed him. 

She found that they were at the entrance to a _very_ much grander palacethan the one in her aunt's saloon. The steps leading up to the door werevery 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 thecontrary, when she trod upon it, felt softer than the softest moss. Shecould see very little besides the carpet, for at each side of the stepsstood rows and rows of mandarins, all something like, but a great dealgrander than, the pair outside her aunt's cabinet; and as the cuckoohopped and Griselda walked up the staircase, they all, in turn, row byrow, began solemnly to nod. It gave them the look of a field of veryhigh grass, through which, any one passing, leaves for the moment atrail, till all the heads bob up again into their places. 

"What do they mean?" whispered Griselda. 

"It's a royal salute, " said the cuckoo. 

"A salute!" said Griselda. "I thought that meant kissing or guns. "

"Hush!" said the cuckoo, for by this time they had arrived at the top ofthe staircase; "you must be dressed now. "

Two mandariny-looking young ladies, with porcelain faces andthree-cornered head-dresses, stepped forward and led Griselda into asmall ante-room, where lay waiting for her the most magnificent dressyou ever saw. But how _do_ you think they dressed her? It was all bynodding. They nodded to the blue and silver embroidered jacket, and in amoment it had fitted itself on to her. They nodded to the splendidscarlet satin skirt, made very short in front and very long behind, andbefore Griselda knew where she was, it was adjusted quite correctly. They nodded to the head-dress, and the sashes, and the necklaces andbracelets, and forthwith they all arranged themselves. Last of all, theynodded to the dearest, sweetest little pair of high-heeled shoesimaginable--all silver, and blue, and gold, and scarlet, and everythingmixed up together, _only_ they were rather a stumpy shape about the toesand Griselda's bare feet were encased in them, and, to her surprise, quite comfortably so. 

"They don't hurt me a bit, " she said aloud; "yet they didn't look theleast the shape of my foot. "

But her attendants only nodded; and turning round, she saw the cuckoowaiting for her. He did not speak either, rather to her annoyance, butgravely led the way through one grand room after another to thegrandest of all, where the entertainment was evidently just about tobegin. And everywhere there were mandarins, rows and rows, who all setto work nodding as fast as Griselda appeared. She began to be rathertired of royal salutes, and was glad when, at last, in profound silence, the procession, consisting of the cuckoo and herself, and about half adozen "mandarins, " came to a halt before a kind of daïs, or raised seat, at the end of the hall. 

Upon this daïs stood a chair--a throne of some kind, Griselda supposedit to be--and upon this was seated the grandest and gravest personageshe had yet seen. 

"Is he the king of the mandarins?" she whispered. But the cuckoo did notreply; and before she had time to repeat the question, the very grandand grave person got down from his seat, and coming towards her offeredher his hand, at the same time nodding--first once, then two or threetimes 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'tmind. "

The king, if that was his title, took not the slightest notice of herreply, but nodded again--once, then two or three times together, thenonce alone, just as before. Griselda did not know what to do, whensuddenly she felt something poking her head. It was the cuckoo--he hadlifted his claw, and was tapping her head to make her nod. So shenodded--once, twice together, then once--that appeared to be enough. Theking nodded once again; an invisible band suddenly struck up theloveliest music, and off they set to the places of honour reserved forthem 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 likethe haymakers. Griselda had not the least idea what the figures or stepswere, but it did not matter. If she did not know, her shoes orsomething about her did; for she got on famously. The music waslovely--"so the mandarins can't be deaf, though they are dumb, " thoughtGriselda, "which is one good thing about them. " The king seemed to enjoyit as much as she did, though he never smiled or laughed; any one couldhave seen he liked it by the way he whirled and twirled himself about. And between the figures, when they stopped to rest for a little, Griselda got on very well too. There was no conversation, or rather, ifthere 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 hadnodded enough, the music struck up again, and off they set, harder thanbefore. 

And every now and then tiny little mandariny boys appeared with traysfilled with the most delicious fruits and sweetmeats. Griselda was nota greedy child, but for once in her life she really _did_ feel ratherso. I cannot possibly describe these delicious things; just think ofwhatever in all your life was the most "lovely" thing you ever eat, andyou may be sure they tasted like that. Only the cuckoo would not eatany, which rather distressed Griselda. He walked about among thedancers, apparently quite at home; and the mandarins did not seem at allsurprised to see him, though he did look rather odd, being nearly, ifnot quite, as big as any of them. Griselda hoped he was enjoyinghimself, considering that she had to thank him for all the fun _she_ washaving, but she felt a little conscience-stricken when she saw that hewouldn't eat anything. 

"Cuckoo, " she whispered; she dared not talk out loud--it would haveseemed so remarkable, you see. "Cuckoo, " she said, very, very softly, "Iwish you would eat something. You'll be so tired and hungry. "

"No, thank you, " said the cuckoo; and you can't think how pleasedGriselda was at having succeeded in making him speak. "It isn't my way. I hope you are enjoying yourself?"

"Oh, _very_ much, " said Griselda. "I----"

"Hush!" said the cuckoo; and looking up, Griselda saw a number ofmandarins, in a sort of procession, coming their way. 

When they got up to the cuckoo they set to work nodding, two or three ata time, more energetically than usual. When they stopped, the cuckoonodded 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 passedGriselda; "and they don't often get it. "

V

PICTURES

[Illustration]

 "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. Shehad had no idea that her friend was so accomplished. It wasn't"cuckooing" at all; it was real singing, like that of the nightingale orthe thrush, or like something prettier than either. It made Griseldathink of woods in summer, and of tinkling brooks flowing through them, with the pretty brown pebbles sparkling up through the water; and thenit made her think of something sad--she didn't know what; perhaps it wasof the babes in the wood and the robins covering them up withleaves--and then again, in a moment, it sounded as if all the merryelves and sprites that ever were heard of had escaped from fairyland, and were rolling over and over with peals of rollicking laughter. And atlast, all of a sudden, the song came to an end. 

"Cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo!" rang out three times, clear and shrill. Thecuckoo flapped his wings, made a bow to the mandarins, and retired tohis old corner. 

There was no buzz of talk, as is usual after a performance has come to aclose, but there was a great buzz of nodding, and Griselda, wishing togive the cuckoo as much praise as she could, nodded as hard as any ofthem. The cuckoo really looked quite shy at receiving so much applause. But in a minute or two the music struck up and the dancing beganagain--one, two, three: it seemed a sort of mazurka this time, whichsuited the mandarins very well, as it gave them a chance of nodding tomark the time. 

Griselda had once learnt the mazurka, so she got on even better thanbefore--only she would have liked it more if her shoes had had sharpertoes; 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 suddenlyfelt the little sharp tap of the cuckoo on her head, and heard himwhisper--

"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 notsay another word. It was very nearly as bad as being told she had agreat deal to learn. 

"Must I say good-bye to the king and all the people?" she inquired; butbefore the cuckoo had time to answer, she gave a little squeal. "Oh, cuckoo, " she cried, "you've trod on my foot. "

"I beg your pardon, " said the cuckoo. 

"I must take off my shoe; it does so hurt, " she went on. 

"Take it off, then, " said the cuckoo. 

Griselda stooped to take off her shoe. "Are we going home in thepal----?" she began to say; but she never finished the sentence, forjust as she had got her shoe off she felt the cuckoo throw somethinground her. It was the feather mantle. 

And Griselda knew nothing more till she opened her eyes the nextmorning, and saw the first early rays of sunshine peeping in through thechinks of the closed shutters of her little bed-room. 

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! Ibelieve that cuckoo made me fall asleep on purpose to make me fancy itwas a dream. _Was_ it a dream?"

She began to feel confused and doubtful, when suddenly she feltsomething hurting her arm, like a little lump in the bed. She felt withher hand to see if she could smooth it away, and drew out--one of theshoes belonging to her court dress! The very one she had held in herhand at the moment the cuckoo spirited her home again to bed. 

"Ah, Mr. Cuckoo!" she exclaimed, "you meant to play me a trick, but youhaven't succeeded, you see. "

She jumped out of bed and unfastened one of the window-shutters, thenjumped in again to admire the little shoe in comfort. It was evenprettier than she had thought it at the ball. She held it up and lookedat 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!" shesaid to the shoe. "And yet the cuckoo says being big or little is all amatter of fancy. I wonder what he'll think of to amuse me next?"

She was still holding up the shoe and admiring it when Dorcas came withthe hot water. 

"Look, Dorcas, " she said. 

"Bless me, it's one of the shoes off the Chinese dolls in the saloon, "exclaimed the old servant. "How ever did you get that, missie? Youraunts wouldn't be pleased. "

"It just isn't one of the Chinese dolls' shoes, and if you don't believeme, you can go and look for yourself, " said Griselda. "It's my very ownshoe, and it was given me to my own self. "

Dorcas looked at her curiously, but said no more, only as she was goingout of the room Griselda heard her saying something about "so very likeMiss Sybilla. "

"I wonder what 'Miss Sybilla' _was_ like?" thought Griselda. "I have agood 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 cuckooanything. She saw and heard nothing of him--nothing, that is to say, buthis regular appearance to tell the hours as usual. 

"I suppose, " thought Griselda, "he thinks the mandarins' ball was funenough to last me a good while. It really was very good-natured of himto take me to it, so I mustn't grumble. "

A few days after this poor Griselda caught cold. It was not a very badcold, I must confess, but her aunts made rather a fuss about it. Theywanted her to stay in bed, but to this Griselda so much objected thatthey did not insist upon it. 

"It would be so dull, " she said piteously. "Please let me stay in theante-room, for all my things are there; and, then, there's the cuckoo. "

Aunt Grizzel smiled at this, and Griselda got her way. But even in theante-room it was rather dull. Miss Grizzel and Miss Tabitha wereobliged to go out, to drive all the way to Merrybrow Hall, as LadyLavander sent a messenger to say that she had an attack of influenza, and wished to see her friends at once. 

Miss Tabitha began to cry--she was so tender-hearted. 

"Troubles never come singly, " said Miss Grizzel, by way of consolation. 

"No, indeed, they never come singly, " said Miss Tabitha, shaking herhead and wiping her eyes. 

So off they set; and Griselda, in her arm-chair by the ante-room fire, with some queer little old-fashioned books of her aunts', which she hadalready read more than a dozen times, beside her by way of amusement, felt that there was one comfort in her troubles--she had escaped thelong weary drive to her godmother's. 

But it was very dull. It got duller and duller. Griselda curled herselfup in her chair, and wished she could go to sleep, though feeling quitesure she couldn't, for she had stayed in bed much later than usual thismorning, and had been obliged to spend the time in sleeping, for want ofanything better to do. 

She looked up at the clock. 

"I don't know even what to wish for, " she said to herself. "I don't feelthe least inclined to play at anything, and I shouldn't care to go tothe mandarins again. Oh, cuckoo, cuckoo, I am so dull; couldn't youthink of anything to amuse me?"

It was not near "any o'clock. " But after waiting a minute or two, itseemed to Griselda that she heard the soft sound of "coming" that alwayspreceded the cuckoo's appearance. She was right. In another moment sheheard 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'vegot such a bad cold, and my head's aching, and I'm so tired of reading, all by myself. "

"What would you like to do?" said the cuckoo. "You don't want to go tosee 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 fartoo cold. I would just like to stay where I am, if some one would tellme stories. I'm not even sure that I could listen to stories. What couldyou do to amuse me, cuckoo?"

"Would you like to see some pictures?" said the cuckoo. "I could showyou pictures without your taking any trouble. "

"Oh yes, that would be beautiful, " cried Griselda. "What pictures willyou show me? Oh, I know. I would like to see the place where you wereborn--where that very, very clever man made you and the clock, I mean. "

"Your great-great-grandfather, " said the cuckoo. "Very well. Now, Griselda, shut your eyes. First of all, I am going to sing. "

Griselda shut her eyes, and the cuckoo began his song. It was somethinglike what he had sung at the mandarins' palace, only even morebeautiful. It was so soft and dreamy, Griselda felt as if she could havesat there for ever, listening to it. 

The first notes were low and murmuring. Again they made Griselda thinkof little rippling brooks in summer, and now and then there came a sortof hum as of insects buzzing in the warm sunshine near. This humminggradually increased, till at last Griselda was conscious of nothingmore--_everything_ seemed to be humming, herself too, till at last shefell asleep. 

When she opened her eyes, the ante-room and everything in it, except thearm-chair on which she was still curled up, had disappeared--melted awayinto a misty cloud all round her, which in turn gradually faded, tillbefore her she saw a scene quite new and strange. It was the first ofthe cuckoo's "pictures. "

An old, quaint room, with a high, carved mantelpiece, and a bright firesparkling in the grate. It was not a pretty room--it had more the lookof a workshop of some kind; but it was curious and interesting. Allround, the walls were hung with clocks and strange mechanical toys. There was a fiddler slowly fiddling, a gentleman and lady gravelydancing a minuet, a little man drawing up water in a bucket out of aglass vase in which gold fish were swimming about--all sorts of queerfigures; and the clocks were even queerer. There was one intended torepresent the sun, moon, and planets, with one face for the sun andanother for the moon, and gold and silver stars slowly circling roundthem; there was another clock with a tiny trumpeter perched on a ledgeabove the face, who blew a horn for the hours. I cannot tell you halfthe strange and wonderful things there were. 

Griselda was so interested in looking at all these queer machines, thatshe did not for some time observe the occupant of the room. And nowonder; 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, soclosely and intently that Griselda, forgetting she was only looking at a"picture, " almost held her breath for fear she should disturb him. Hewas 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 hedid not look _poor_, and his face, when at last he lifted it, was mildand intelligent and very earnest. 

While Griselda was watching him closely there came a soft tap at thedoor, and a little girl danced into the room. The dearest little girlyou ever saw, and _so_ funnily dressed! Her thick brown hair, ratherlighter than Griselda's, was tied in two long plaits down her back. Shehad a short red skirt with silver braid round the bottom, and a whitechemisette with beautiful lace at the throat and wrists, and over thatagain a black velvet bodice, also trimmed with silver. And she had agreat many trinkets, necklaces, and bracelets, and ear-rings, and a sortof little silver coronet; no, it was not like a coronet, it was a bandwith a square piece of silver fastened so as to stand up at each side ofher head something like a horse's blinkers, only they were not placedover her eyes. 

She made quite a jingle as she came into the room, and the old manlooked up with a smile of pleasure. 

"Well, my darling, and are you all ready for your _fête_?" he said; andthough the language in which he spoke was quite strange to Griselda, sheunderstood his meaning perfectly well. 

"Yes, dear grandfather; and isn't my dress lovely?" said the child. "Ishould be _so_ happy if only you were coming too, and would getyourself a beautiful velvet coat like Mynheer van Huyten. "

The old man shook his head. 

"I have no time for such things, my darling, " he replied; "and besides, I am too old. I must work--work hard to make money for my pet when I amgone, that she may not be dependent on the bounty of those Englishsisters. "

"But I won't care for money when you are gone, grandfather, " said thechild, her eyes filling with tears. "I would rather just go on living inthis little house, and I am sure the neighbours would give me somethingto eat, and then I could hear all your clocks ticking, and think of you. I don't want you to sell all your wonderful things for money for me, grandfather. They would remind me of you, and money wouldn't. "

"Not all, Sybilla, not all, " said the old man. "The best of all, the_chef-d'oeuvre_ of my life, shall not be sold. It shall be yours, and you will have in your possession a clock that crowned heads mightseek in vain to purchase. "

His dim old eyes brightened, and for a moment he sat erect and strong. 

"Do you mean the cuckoo clock?" said Sybilla, in a low voice. 

"Yes, my darling, the cuckoo clock, the crowning work of my life--aclock that shall last long after I, and perhaps thou, my pretty child, are crumbling into dust; a clock that shall last to tell mygreat-grandchildren to many generations that the old Dutch mechanic wasnot altogether to be despised. "

Sybilla sprang into his arms. 

"You are not to talk like that, little grandfather, " she said. "I shallteach my children and my grandchildren to be so proud of you--oh, soproud!--as proud as I am of you, little grandfather. "

"Gently, my darling, " said the old man, as he placed carefully on thetable the delicate piece of mechanism he held in his hand, and tenderlyembraced 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'seyes--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 astrange one, though Griselda had gazed at it for some moments before sherecognized it. It was the great saloon, but it looked very differentfrom what she had ever seen it. Forty years or so make a difference inrooms as well as in people!

The faded yellow damask hangings were rich and brilliant. There werebouquets of lovely flowers arranged about the tables; wax lights weresending out their brightness in every direction, and the room wasfilled with ladies and gentlemen in gay attire. 

Among them, after a time, Griselda remarked two ladies, no longer veryyoung, but still handsome and stately, and something whispered to herthat they were her two aunts, Miss Grizzel and Miss Tabitha. 

"Poor aunts!" she said softly to herself; "how old they have grown sincethen. "

But she did not long look at them; her attention was attracted by a muchyounger lady--a mere girl she seemed, but oh, so sweet and pretty! Shewas dancing with a gentleman whose eyes looked as if they saw no oneelse, and she herself seemed brimming over with youth and happiness. Hervery steps had joy in them. 

"Well, Griselda, " whispered a voice, which she knew was the cuckoo's;"so you don't like to be told you are like your grandmother, eh?"

Griselda turned round sharply to look for the speaker, but he was not tobe seen. And when she turned again, the picture of the great saloon hadfaded away. 

 * * * * *

One more picture. 

Griselda looked again. She saw before her a country road in full summertime; the sun was shining, the birds were singing, the trees coveredwith their bright green leaves--everything appeared happy and joyful. But at last in the distance she saw, slowly approaching, a group of afew people, all walking together, carrying in their centre somethinglong and narrow, which, though the black cloth covering it was almosthidden by the white flowers with which it was thickly strewn, Griseldaknew to be a coffin. 

It was a funeral procession, and in the place of chief mourner, withpale, set face, walked the same young man whom Griselda had last seendancing with the girl Sybilla in the great saloon. 

The sad group passed slowly out of sight; but as it disappeared therefell upon the ear the sounds of sweet music, lovelier far than she hadheard before--lovelier than the magic cuckoo's most lovely songs--andsomehow, in the music, it seemed to the child's fancy there were mingledthe soft strains of a woman's voice. 

"It is Sybilla singing, " thought Griselda dreamily, and with that shefell asleep again. 

 * * * * *

When she woke she was in the arm-chair by the ante-room fire, everythingaround her looking just as usual, the cuckoo clock ticking away calmlyand regularly. Had it been a dream only? Griselda could not make up hermind. 

"But I don't see that it matters if it was, " she said to herself. "If itwas a dream, the cuckoo sent it to me all the same, and I thank you verymuch indeed, cuckoo, " she went on, looking up at the clock. "The lastpicture was rather sad, but still it was very nice to see it, and Ithank you very much, and I'll never say again that I don't like to betold I'm like my dear pretty grandmother. "

The cuckoo took no notice of what she said, but Griselda did not mind. She was getting used to his "ways. "

"I expect he hears me quite well, " she thought; "and even if he doesn't, it's only civil to _try_ to thank him. "

She sat still contentedly enough, thinking over what she had seen, andtrying to make more "pictures" for herself in the fire. Then there camefaintly to her ears the sound of carriage wheels, opening and shuttingof doors, a little bustle of arrival. 

"My aunts must have come back, " thought Griselda; and so it was. In afew minutes Miss Grizzel, closely followed by Miss Tabitha, appeared atthe ante-room door. 

"Well, my love, " said Miss Grizzel anxiously, "and how are you? Has thetime seemed very long while we were away?"

"Oh no, thank you, Aunt Grizzel, " replied Griselda, "not at all. I'vebeen quite happy, and my cold's ever so much better, and my headache's_quite_ gone. "

"Come, that is good news, " said Miss Grizzel. "Not that I'm exactly_surprised_, " she continued, turning to Miss Tabitha, "for there reallyis 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 mygrandmother quite young when she died?"

"Yes, my love, very young, " replied Miss Grizzel with a change in hervoice. 

"And was her husband _very_ sorry?" pursued Griselda. 

"Heart-broken, " said Miss Grizzel. "He did not live long after, and thenyou know, my dear, your father was sent to us to take care of. And nowhe has sent _you_--the third generation of young creatures confided toour care. "

"Yes, " said Griselda. "My grandmother died in the summer, when all theflowers were out; and she was buried in a pretty country place, wasn'tshe?"

"Yes, " said Miss Grizzel, looking rather bewildered. 

"And when she was a little girl she lived with her grandfather, the oldDutch mechanic, " continued Griselda, unconsciously using the very wordsshe had heard in her vision. "He was a nice old man; and how clever ofhim to have made the cuckoo clock, and such lots of other pretty, wonderful things. I don't wonder little Sybilla loved him; he was sogood to her. But, oh, Aunt Grizzel, _how_ pretty she was when she was ayoung lady! That time that she danced with my grandfather in the greatsaloon. And how very nice you and Aunt Tabitha looked then, too. "

Miss Grizzel held her very breath in astonishment; and no doubt if MissTabitha had known she was doing so, she would have held hers too. ButGriselda lay still, gazing at the fire, quite unconscious of her aunt'ssurprise. 

"Your papa told you all these old stories, I suppose, my dear, " saidMiss 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 toknow, and I asked the cuckoo, and then, you see, he showed me it all. Itwas 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 tohear, nodded in awe-struck 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 heavenand earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy'" (for Miss Grizzel was awell-read old lady, you see); "and from the very first, Tabitha, wealways had a feeling that the child was strangely like Sybilla. "

"Strangely like Sybilla, " echoed Miss Tabitha. 

"May she grow up as good, if not quite as beautiful--_that_ we couldscarcely expect; and may she be longer spared to those that love her, "added Miss Grizzel, bending over Griselda, while two or three tearsslowly trickled down her aged cheeks. "See, Tabitha, the dear child isfast asleep. How sweet she looks! I trust by to-morrow morning she willbe quite herself again; her cold is so much better. "

[Illustration]

VI

RUBBED THE WRONG WAY

[Illustration]

 "For now and then there comes a day When everything goes wrong. "

Griselda's cold _was_ much better by "to-morrow morning. " In fact, Imight almost say it was quite well. 

But Griselda herself did not feel quite well, and saying this reminds methat it is hardly sense to speak of a _cold_ being better or well--for acold'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 anythingabout it? Children, I feel quite in a hobble--I cannot get my mindstraight about it--please think it over and give me your opinion. In themeantime, I will go on about Griselda. 

She felt just a little ill--a sort of feeling that sometimes is rathernice, sometimes "very extremely" much the reverse! She felt in thehumour for being petted, and having beef-tea, and jelly, and sponge cakewith 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 spongecakes, and everything nice, for her aunts, as you must have seen by thistime, were really very, very kind to her in every way in which theyunderstood how to be so. 

But after a few days of the continued petting, and the beef-tea and thejelly and all the rest of it, it occurred to Miss Grizzel, who had agood large bump of "common sense, " that it might be possible to overdothis sort of thing. 

"Tabitha, " she said to her sister, when they were sitting together inthe evening after Griselda had gone to bed, "Tabitha, my dear, I thinkthe child is quite well again now. It seems to me it would be well tosend a note to good Mr. Kneebreeches, to say that she will be able toresume her studies the day after to-morrow. "

"The day after to-morrow, " repeated Miss Tabitha. "The day afterto-morrow--to say that she will be able to resume her studies the dayafter to-morrow--oh yes, certainly. It would be very well to send a noteto good Mr. Kneebreeches, my dear Grizzel. "

"I thought you would agree with me, " said Miss Grizzel, with a sigh ofrelief (as if poor Miss Tabitha during all the last half-century hadever ventured to do anything else), getting up to fetch her writingmaterials as she spoke. "It is such a satisfaction to consult togetherabout what we do. I was only a little afraid of being hard upon thechild, but as you agree with me, I have no longer any misgiving. "

"Any misgiving, oh dear, no!" said Miss Tabitha. "You have no reasonfor any misgiving, I am sure, my dear Grizzel. "

So the note was written and despatched, and the next morning when, abouttwelve o'clock, Griselda made her appearance in the little drawing-roomwhere her aunts usually sat, looking, it must be confessed, very plumpand rosy for an invalid, Miss Grizzel broached the subject. 

"I have written to request Mr. Kneebreeches to resume his instructionsto-morrow, " she said quietly. "I think you are quite well again now, soDorcas must wake you at your usual hour. "

Griselda had been settling herself comfortably on a corner of the sofa. She had got a nice book to read, which her father, hearing of herillness, had sent her by post, and she was looking forward to thetempting plateful of jelly which Dorcas had brought her for luncheonevery day since she had been ill. Altogether, she was feeling very"lazy-easy" and contented. Her aunt's announcement felt like a suddendownpour of cold water, or rush of east wind. She sat straight up in hersofa, and exclaimed in a tone of great annoyance--

"_Oh_, Aunt Grizzel!"

"Well, my dear?" said Miss Grizzel, placidly. 

"I _wish_ you wouldn't make me begin lessons again just yet. I _know_they'll make my head ache again, and Mr. Kneebreeches will be _so_cross. I know he will, and he is so horrid when he is cross. "

"Hush!" said Miss Grizzel, holding up her hand in a way that remindedGriselda of the cuckoo's favourite "obeying orders. " Just then, too, inthe distance the ante-room clock struck twelve. "Cuckoo! cuckoo!cuckoo!" on it went. Griselda could have stamped with irritation, but_somehow_, in spite of herself, she felt compelled to say nothing. Shemuttered some not very pretty words, coiled herself round on the sofa, opened her book, and began to read. 

But it was not as interesting as she had expected. She had not read manypages before she began to yawn, and she was delighted to be interruptedby Dorcas and the jelly. 

But the jelly was not as nice as she had expected, either. She tastedit, and thought it was too sweet; and when she tasted it again, itseemed too strong of cinnamon; and the third taste seemed too strong ofeverything. She laid down her spoon, and looked about herdiscontentedly. 

"What is the matter, my dear?" said Miss Grizzel. "Is the jelly not toyour liking?"

"I don't know, " said Griselda shortly. She ate a few spoonfuls, and thentook up her book again. Miss Grizzel said nothing more, but to herselfshe thought that Mr. Kneebreeches had not been recalled any too soon. 

All day long it was much the same. Nothing seemed to come right toGriselda. It was a dull, cold day, what is called "a black frost"; not abright, clear, _pretty_, cold day, but the sort of frost that reallymakes the world seem dead--makes it almost impossible to believe thatthere will ever be warmth and sound and "growing-ness" again. 

Late in the afternoon Griselda crept up to the ante-room, and sat downby the window. Outside it was nearly dark, and inside it was not muchmore cheerful--for the fire was nearly out, and no lamps were lighted;only the cuckoo clock went on tick-ticking briskly as usual. 

"I hate winter, " said Griselda, pressing her cold little face againstthe colder window-pane, "I hate winter, and I hate lessons. I would giveup being a _person_ in a minute if I might be a--a--what would I bestlike to be? Oh yes, I know--a butterfly. Butterflies never see winter, and they _certainly_ never have any lessons or any kind of work to do. Ihate _must_-ing to do anything. "

"Cuckoo, " rang out suddenly above her head. It was only four o'clockstriking, and as soon as he had told it the cuckoo was back behind hisdoors again in an instant, just as usual. There was nothing forGriselda to feel offended at, but somehow she got quite angry. 

"I don't care what you think, cuckoo!" she exclaimed defiantly. "I knowyou came out on purpose just now, but I don't care. I _do_ hate winter, and I _do_ hate lessons, and I _do_ think it would be nicer to be abutterfly than a little girl. "

In her secret heart I fancy she was half in hopes that the cuckoo wouldcome out again, and talk things over with her. Even if he were to scoldher, she felt that it would be better than sitting there alone withnobody to speak to, which was very dull work indeed. At the bottom ofher conscience there lurked the knowledge that what she _should_ bedoing was to be looking over her last lessons with Mr. Kneebreeches, andrefreshing her memory for the next day; but, alas! knowing one's duty isby no means the same thing as doing it, and Griselda sat on by thewindow doing nothing but grumble and work herself up into a belief thatshe was one of the most-to-be-pitied little girls in all the world. Sothat by the time Dorcas came to call her to tea, I doubt if she had asingle pleasant thought or feeling left in her heart. 

Things grew no better after tea, and before long Griselda asked if shemight go to bed. She was "so tired, " she said; and she certainly lookedso, for ill-humour and idleness are excellent "tirers, " and will soontake the roses out of a child's cheeks, and the brightness out of hereyes. She held up her face to be kissed by her aunts in a meeklyreproachful way, which made the old ladies feel quite uncomfortable. 

"I am by no means sure that I have done right in recalling Mr. Kneebreeches so soon, Sister Tabitha, " remarked Miss Grizzel, uneasily, when Griselda had left the room. But Miss Tabitha was busy counting herstitches, and did not give full attention to Miss Grizzel's observation, so she just repeated placidly, "Oh yes, Sister Grizzel, you may be sureyou have done right in recalling Mr. Kneebreeches. "

"I am glad you think so, " said Miss Grizzel, with again a little sigh ofrelief. "I was only distressed to see the child looking so white andtired. "

Upstairs Griselda was hurry-scurrying into bed. There was a lovely firein her room--fancy that! Was she not a poor neglected little creature?But even this did not please her. She was too cross to be pleased withanything; too cross to wash her face and hands, or let Dorcas brush herhair out nicely as usual; too cross, alas, to say her prayers! She justhuddled 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 wouldnot look into herself, was the truth of it; she shrank from doing sobecause she _knew_ things had been going on in that silly little heartof hers in a most unsatisfactory way all day, and she wanted to go tosleep 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. Whenshe woke up she felt so refreshed and rested that she fancied it must bemorning. It was dark, of course, but that was to be expected inmid-winter, especially as the shutters were closed. 

"I wonder, " thought Griselda, "I wonder if it really _is_ morning. Ishould like to get up early--I went so early to bed. I think I'll justjump out of bed and open a chink of the shutters. I'll see at once ifit'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 ofmorning to be seen. There was moonlight, but nothing else, and not sovery much of that, for the clouds were hurrying across the "orbèdmaiden's" face at such a rate, one after the other, that the light wasmore like a number of pale flashes than the steady, cold shining of mostfrosty moonlight nights. There was going to be a change of weather, andthe cloud armies were collecting together from all quarters; that wasthe real explanation of the hurrying and skurrying Griselda sawoverhead, but this, of course, she did not understand. She only saw thatit looked wild and stormy, and she shivered a little, partly with cold, partly with a half-frightened feeling that she could not have explained. 

"I had better go back to bed, " she said to herself; "but I am not a bitsleepy. "

She was just drawing-to the shutter again, when something caught hereye, and she stopped short in surprise. A little bird was outside on thewindow-sill--a tiny bird crouching in close to the cold glass. Griselda's kind heart was touched in an instant. Cold as she was, shepushed back the shutter again, and drawing a chair forward to thewindow, managed to unfasten it--it was not a very heavy one--and toopen it wide enough to slip her hand gently along to the bird. It didnot start or move. 

"Can it be dead?" thought Griselda anxiously. 

But no, it was not dead. It let her put her hand round it and draw itin, and to her delight she felt that it was soft and warm, and it evengave a gentle peck on her thumb. 

"Poor little bird, how cold you must be, " she said kindly. But, to heramazement, no sooner was the bird safely inside the room, than itmanaged cleverly to escape from her hand. It fluttered quietly up on toher shoulder, and sang out in a soft but cheery tone, "Cuckoo, cuckoo--cold, did you say, Griselda? Not so very, thank you. "

Griselda stept back from the window. 

"It's _you_, is it?" she said rather surlily, her tone seeming to inferthat she had taken a great deal of trouble for nothing. 

"Of course it is, and why shouldn't it be? You're not generally sosorry to see me. What's the matter?"

"Nothing's the matter, " replied Griselda, feeling a little ashamed ofher 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 openingthe window if you had known it was me--is that it, eh?" said the cuckoo. 

Somehow, when the cuckoo said "eh?" like that, Griselda was obliged totell just what she was thinking. 

"No, I wouldn't have _needed_ to open the window, " she said. "_You_ canget 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 astarved robin. "

There was a little indignation in her voice, and she gave her head atoss, which nearly upset the cuckoo. 

"Dear me, dear me!" exclaimed the cuckoo. "You have a great deal tocomplain of, Griselda. Your time and strength must be very valuable foryou 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 howyesterday had been spent? She said nothing, but she drooped her head, and one or two tears came slowly creeping up to her eyes. 

"Child!" said the cuckoo, suddenly changing his tone, "you are veryfoolish. Is a kind thought or action _ever_ wasted? Can your eyes seewhat such good seeds grow into? They have wings, Griselda--kindnesseshave wings and roots, remember that--wings that never droop, and rootsthat never die. What do you think I came and sat outside your windowfor?"

"Cuckoo, " said Griselda humbly, "I am very sorry. "

"Very well, " said the cuckoo, "we'll leave it for the present. I havesomething 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'dlike to come in and get warm. "

"There are other ways of getting warm besides going to bed, " said thecuckoo. "A nice brisk walk, for instance. I was going to ask you to comeout into the garden with me. "

Griselda almost screamed. 

"Out into the garden! _Oh_, cuckoo!" she exclaimed, "how can you thinkof such a thing? Such a freezing cold night. Oh no, indeed, cuckoo, Icouldn't possibly. "

"Very well, Griselda, " said the cuckoo; "if you haven't yet learnt totrust me, there's no more to be said. Good-night. "

He flapped his wings, cried out "Cuckoo" once only, flew across theroom, and almost before Griselda understood what he was doing, haddisappeared. 

She hurried after him, stumbling against the furniture in her haste, andby the uncertain light. The door was not open, but the cuckoo had gotthrough it--"by the keyhole, I dare say, " thought Griselda; "he can'scrooge' himself up any way"--for a faint "Cuckoo" was to be heard onits other side. In a moment Griselda had opened it, and was speedingdown the long passage in the dark, guided only by the voice from time totime heard before her, "Cuckoo, cuckoo. "

She forgot all about the cold, or rather, she did not feel it, thoughthe floor was of uncarpeted old oak, whose hard, polished surface wouldhave usually felt like ice to a child's soft, bare feet. It was a verylong passage, and to-night, somehow, it seemed longer than ever. Infact, Griselda could have fancied she had been running along it for halfa mile or more, when at last she was brought to a standstill by findingshe could go no further. Where was she? She could not imagine! It mustbe a part of the house she had never explored in the daytime, shedecided. In front of her was a little stair running downwards, andending in a doorway. All this Griselda could see by a bright light thatstreamed in by the keyhole and through the chinks round the door--alight so brilliant that the little girl blinked her eyes, and for amoment felt quite dazzled and confused. 

"It came so suddenly, " she said to herself; "some one must have lighteda lamp in there all at once. But it can't be a lamp, it's too bright fora lamp. It's more like the sun; but how ever could the sun be shining ina room in the middle of the night? What shall I do? Shall I open thedoor and peep in?"

"Cuckoo, cuckoo, " came the answer, soft but clear, from the other side. 

"Can it be a trick of the cuckoo's to get me out into the garden?"thought Griselda; and for the first time since she had run out of herroom a shiver of cold made her teeth chatter and her skin feel creepy. 

"Cuckoo, cuckoo, " sounded again, nearer this time, it seemed toGriselda. 

"He's waiting for me. I _will_ trust him, " she said resolutely. "He hasalways been good and kind, and it's horrid of me to think he's going totrick me. "

She ran down the little stair, she seized the handle of the door. Itturned easily; the door opened--opened, and closed again noiselesslybehind her, and what do you think she saw?

"Shut your eyes for a minute, Griselda, " said the cuckoo's voice besideher; "the light will dazzle you at first. Shut them, and I will brushthem with a little daisy dew, to strengthen them. "

Griselda did as she was told. She felt the tip of the cuckoo's softestfeather pass gently two or three times over her eyelids, and a deliciousscent seemed immediately to float before her. 

"I didn't know _daisies_ had any scent, " she remarked. 

"Perhaps you didn't. You forget, Griselda, that you have a great----"

"Oh, please don't, cuckoo. Please, please don't, _dear_ cuckoo, " sheexclaimed, dancing about with her hands clasped in entreaty, but hereyes still firmly closed. "Don't say that, and I'll promise to believewhatever 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 takeeffect, " said the cuckoo. "Here goes--one--two--three. There, now. "

Griselda opened her eyes. 

[Illustration]

VII

BUTTERFLY-LAND

[Illustration]

 "I'd be a butterfly. "

Griselda opened her eyes. 

What did she see?

The loveliest, loveliest garden that ever or never a little girl's eyessaw. As for describing it, I cannot. I must leave a good deal to yourfancy. It was just a _delicious_ garden. 

There was a charming mixture of all that is needed to make a gardenperfect--grass, velvety lawn rather; water, for a little brook rantinkling in and out, playing bopeep among the bushes; trees, of course, and flowers, of course, flowers of every shade and shape. But all thesebeautiful things Griselda did not at first give as much attention to asthey deserved; her eyes were so occupied with a quite unusual sight thatmet them. 

This was butterflies! Not that butterflies are so very uncommon; butbutterflies, as Griselda saw them, I am quite sure, children, none ofyou ever saw, or are likely to see. There were such enormous numbers ofthem, and the variety of their colours and sizes was so great. They werefluttering about everywhere; the garden seemed actually alive with them. 

Griselda stood for a moment in silent delight, feasting her eyes on thelovely things before her, enjoying the delicious sunshine which kissedher poor little bare feet, and seemed to wrap her all up in its warmembrace. Then she turned to her little friend. 

"Cuckoo, " she said, "I thank you _so_ much. This _is_ fairyland, atlast!"

The cuckoo smiled, I was going to say, but that would be a figure ofspeech only, would it not? He shook his head gently. 

"No, Griselda, " he said kindly; "this is only butterfly-land. "

"_Butterfly_-land!" repeated Griselda, with a little disappointment inher tone. 

"Well, " said the cuckoo, "it's where you were wishing to be yesterday, isn't it?"

Griselda did not particularly like these allusions to "yesterday. " Shethought 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 Irun about and look at everything? How delicious it is to feel the warmsunshine again! I didn't know how cold I was. Look, cuckoo, my toes andfingers 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 abutterfly; 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 ateverything if you like, but you had better not be in such a hurry. Youwill make a great many mistakes if you are--you have made some already. "

"How?" said Griselda. 

"_Have_ the butterflies nothing to do but fly about? Watch them. "

Griselda watched. 

"They do seem to be doing something, " she said, at last, "but I can'tthink what. They seem to be nibbling at the flowers, and then flyingaway something like bees gathering honey. _Butterflies_ don't gatherhoney, 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 theprettiest paths in all the pretty garden. The paths were arranged indifferent colours, as it were; that is to say, the flowers growing alongtheir sides were not all "mixty-maxty, " but one shade after another inregular order--from the palest blush pink to the very deepest damaskcrimson; then, again, from the soft greenish blue of the small grassforget-me-not to the rich warm tinge of the brilliant cornflower. _Every_ tint was there; shades, to which, though not exactly strange toher, Griselda could yet have given no name, for the daisy dew, you see, had sharpened her eyes to observe delicate variations of colour, as shehad never done before. 

"How beautifully the flowers are planned, " she said to the cuckoo. "Isit just to look pretty, or why?"

"It saves time, " replied the cuckoo. "The fetch-and-carry butterfliesknow exactly where to go to for the tint the world-flower-painterswant. "

"Who are the fetch-and-carry butterflies, and who are theworld-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 particularlyrelishing the manner in which it was given. She did use her eyes, and asshe and the cuckoo made their way along the flower alleys, she saw thatthe butterflies were never idle. They came regularly, in little partiesof twos and threes, and nibbled away, as she called it, at flowers ofthe same colour but different shades, till they had got what theywanted. Then off flew butterfly No. 1 with perhaps the palest tint ofmaize, or yellow, or lavender, whichever he was in quest of, followed byNo. 2 with the next deeper shade of the same, and No. 3 bringing up therear. 

Griselda gave a little sigh. 

"What's the matter?" said the cuckoo. 

"They work very hard, " she replied, in a melancholy tone. 

"It's a busy time of year, " observed the cuckoo, drily. 

After a while they came to what seemed to be a sort of centre to thegarden. It was a huge glass house, with numberless doors, in and out ofwhich butterflies were incessantly flying--reminding Griselda again ofbees and a beehive. But she made no remark till the cuckoo spoke again. 

"Come in, " he said. 

Griselda had to stoop a good deal, but she did manage to get in withoutknocking her head or doing any damage. Inside was just a mass ofbutterflies. A confused mass it seemed at first, but after a while shesaw that it was the very reverse of confused. The butterflies were allsettled in rows on long, narrow, white tables, and before each was atiny object about the size of a flattened-out pin's head, which he wasmost carefully painting with one of his tentacles, which, from time totime, he moistened by rubbing it on the head of a butterfly waitingpatiently behind him. Behind this butterfly again stood another, whoafter a while took his place, while the first attendant flew away. 

"To fill his paint-box again, " remarked the cuckoo, who seemed to readGriselda's thoughts. 

"But what _are_ they painting, cuckoo?" she inquired eagerly. 

"All the flowers in the world, " replied the cuckoo. "Autumn, winter, andspring, they're hard at work. It's only just for the three months ofsummer that the butterflies have any holiday, and then a few stray onesnow and then wander up to the world, and people talk about 'idlebutterflies'! And even then it isn't true that they are idle. They go upto take a look at the flowers, to see how their work has turned out, andmany a damaged petal they repair, or touch up a faded tint, though noone ever knows it. "

"_I_ know it now, " said Griselda. "I will never talk about idlebutterflies 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. Theynever fade or die, they are always just as you see them. But the coloursof your flowers are all taken from them, as you have seen. Of coursethey don't look the same up there, " he went on, with a slightcontemptuous shrug of his cuckoo shoulders; "the coarse air and the uglythings about must take the bloom off. The wild flowers do the best, tomy 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?" askedGriselda. 

"They're packed up, of course, and taken up at night when all of you areasleep, " 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 areusually, Griselda, you couldn't even _see_ the petals the butterfliesare 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 tosay more a sudden tumult filled the air. It was butterfly dinner-time!

"Are you hungry, Griselda?" said the cuckoo. 

"Not so very, " replied Griselda. 

"It's just as well perhaps that you're not, " he remarked, "for I don'tknow that you'd be much the better for dinner here. "

"Why not?" inquired Griselda curiously. "What do they have for dinner?Honey? I like that very well, spread on the top of bread-and-butter, ofcourse--I don't think I should care to eat it alone. "

"You won't get any honey, " the cuckoo was beginning; but he wasinterrupted. Two handsome butterflies flew into the great glass hall, and making straight for the cuckoo, alighted on his shoulders. Theyfluttered about him for a minute or two, evidently rather excited aboutsomething, 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 abanquet which is to be held in honour of your visit. "

"What fun!" cried Griselda. "Do let's go at once, cuckoo. But, oh dearme, " she went on, with a melancholy change of tone, "I was forgetting, cuckoo. I can't go to the banquet. I have nothing on but my night-gown. I never thought of it before, for I'm not a bit cold. "

"Never mind, " said the cuckoo, "I'll soon have that put to rights. "

He flew off, and was back almost immediately, followed by a whole flockof butterflies. They were of a smaller kind than Griselda had hithertoseen, and they were of two colours only; half were blue, half yellow. They flew up to Griselda, who felt for a moment as if she were reallygoing to be suffocated by them, but only for a moment. There seemed agreat buzz and flutter about her, and then the butterflies set to workto _dress_ her. And how do you think they dressed her? With_themselves_! They arranged themselves all over her in the cleverestway. One set of blue ones clustered round the hem of her littlenight-gown, making a thick "_ruche_, " as it were; and then there cametwo or three thinner rows of yellow, and then blue again. Round herwaist they made the loveliest belt of mingled blue and yellow, and allover the upper part of her night-gown, in and out among the pretty whitefrills which Dorcas herself "goffered, " so nicely, they made themselvesinto fantastic trimmings of every shape and kind; bows, rosettes--Icannot tell you what they did not imitate. 

Perhaps the prettiest ornament of all was the coronet or wreath theymade of themselves for her head, dotting over her curly brown hair toowith butterfly spangles, which quivered like dew-drops as she movedabout. No one would have known Griselda; she _looked_ like a fairyqueen, or princess, at least, for even her little white feet had whatlooked like butterfly shoes upon them, though these, you willunderstand, were only a sort of make-believe, as, of course, the shoeswere soleless. 

"Now, " said the cuckoo, when at last all was quiet again, and every blueand every yellow butterfly seemed settled in his place, "now, Griselda, come and look at yourself. "

[Illustration: SHE PEERED IN WITH GREAT SATISFACTION]

He led the way to a marble basin, into which fell the waters of one ofthe 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 greatsatisfaction, turning herself round so as to see first over oneshoulder, then over the other. 

"It _is_ lovely, " she said at last. "But, cuckoo, I'm just thinking--howshall I possibly be able to sit down without crushing ever so many?"

"Bless you, you needn't trouble about that, " said the cuckoo; "thebutterflies are quite able to take care of themselves. You don't supposeyou are the first little girl they have ever made a dress for?"

Griselda said no more, but followed the cuckoo, walking rather"gingerly, " notwithstanding his assurances that the butterflies couldtake care of themselves. At last the cuckoo stopped, in front of a sortof banked-up terrace, in the centre of which grew a strange-lookingplant with large, smooth, spreading-out leaves, and on the two topmostleaves, their splendid wings glittering in the sunshine, sat twomagnificent butterflies. They were many times larger than any Griseldahad yet seen; in fact, the cuckoo himself looked rather small besidethem, and they were _so_ beautiful that Griselda felt quite over-awed. You could not have said what colour they were, for at the faintestmovement they seemed to change into new colours, each more exquisitethan the last. Perhaps I could best give you an idea of them by sayingthat they were like living rainbows. 

"Are those the king and queen?" asked Griselda in a whisper. 

"Yes, " said the cuckoo. "Do you admire them?"

"I should rather think I did, " said Griselda. "But, cuckoo, do theynever do anything but lie there in the sunshine?"

"Oh, you silly girl, " exclaimed the cuckoo, "always jumping atconclusions. No, indeed, that is not how they manage things inbutterfly-land. The king and queen have worked harder than any otherbutterflies. They are chosen every now and then, out of all the others, as being the most industrious and the cleverest of all theworld-flower-painters, and then they are allowed to rest, and are fed onthe finest essences, so that they grow as splendid as you see. But evennow they are not idle; they superintend all the work that is done, andchoose all the new colours. "

"Dear me!" said Griselda, under her breath, "how clever they must be. "

Just then the butterfly king and queen stretched out their magnificentwings, and rose upwards, soaring proudly into the air. 

"Are they going away?" said Griselda in a disappointed tone. 

"Oh no, " said the cuckoo; "they are welcoming you. Hold out your hands. "

Griselda held out her hands, and stood gazing up into the sky. In aminute or two the royal butterflies appeared again, slowly, majesticallycircling downwards, till at length they alighted on Griselda's littlehands, the king on the right, the queen on the left, almost coveringher fingers with their great dazzling wings. 

"You _do_ look nice now, " said the cuckoo, hopping back a few steps andlooking up at Griselda approvingly; "but it's time for the feast tobegin, as it won't do for us to be late. "

The king and queen appeared to understand. They floated away fromGriselda's hands and settled themselves, this time, at one end of abeautiful little grass plot or lawn, just below the terrace where grewthe large-leaved plant. This was evidently their dining-room, for nosooner were they in their places than butterflies of every kind andcolour came pouring in, in masses, from all directions. Butterfliessmall and butterflies large; butterflies light and butterflies dark;butterflies blue, pink, crimson, green, gold-colour--_every_ colour, andfar, far more colours than you could possibly imagine. 

They all settled down, round the sides of the grassy dining-table, andin another minute a number of small white butterflies appeared, carrying among them flower petals carefully rolled up, each containing adrop of liquid. One of these was presented to the king, and then one tothe queen, who each sniffed at their petal for an instant, and thenpassed it on to the butterfly next them, whereupon fresh petals werehanded to them, which they again passed on. 

"What are they doing, cuckoo?" said Griselda; "that's not _eating_. "

"It's their kind of eating, " he replied. "They don't require any otherkind of food than a sniff of perfume; and as there are perfumesextracted from every flower in butterfly-land, and there are far moreflowers than you could count between now and Christmas, you must allowthere 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 onmy pocket-handkerchief when it comes round to me? I have myhandkerchief here, you see. Isn't it nice that I brought it? It wasunder my pillow, and I wrapped it round my hand to open the shutter, forthe hook scratched it once. "

"You may pour one drop on your handkerchief, " said the cuckoo, "but notmore. I shouldn't like the butterflies to think you greedy. "

But Griselda grew very tired of the scent feast long before all thepetals had been passed round. The perfumes were very nice, certainly, but there were such quantities of them--double quantities in honour ofthe guest, of course! Griselda screwed up her handkerchief into a tightlittle 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 cuckooasked her what was the matter. 

"I am so tired of the feast, " she said. "Do let us do something else, cuckoo. "

"It is getting rather late, " said the cuckoo. "But see, Griselda, theyare going to have an air-dance now. "

"What's that?" said Griselda. 

"Look, and you'll see, " he replied. 

Flocks and flocks of butterflies were rising a short way into the air, and there arranging themselves in bands according to their colours. 

"Come up to the bank, " said the cuckoo to Griselda; "you'll see thembetter. "

Griselda climbed up the bank, and as from there she could look down onthe butterfly show, she saw it beautifully. The long strings ofbutterflies twisted in and out of each other in the most wonderful way, like ribbons of every hue plaiting themselves and then in an instantunplaiting themselves again. Then the king and queen placed themselvesin the centre, and round and round in moving circles twisted anduntwisted the brilliant bands of butterflies. 

"It's like a kaleidoscope, " said Griselda; "and now it's like thosetwisty-twirly dissolving views that papa took me to see once. It's_just_ like them. Oh, how pretty! Cuckoo, are they doing it all onpurpose to please me?"

"A good deal, " said the cuckoo. "Stand up and clap your hands loud threetimes, to show them you're pleased. "

Griselda obeyed. "Clap" number one--all the butterflies rose up into theair in a cloud; clap number two--they all fluttered and twirled andbuzzed about, as if in the greatest excitement; clap number three--theyall 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 cloudof 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 thecuckoo. 

And just as Griselda clapped her hands, holding her precioushandkerchief between her teeth, she heard him give his usual cry, "Cuckoo, cuckoo. "

_Clap_--where were they all?

Griselda opened her eyes--garden, butterflies, cuckoo, all haddisappeared. She was in bed, and Dorcas was knocking at the door withthe hot water. 

"Miss Grizzel said I was to wake you at your usual time this morning, missie, " she said. "I hope you don't feel too tired to get up. "

"Tired! I should think not, " replied Griselda. "I was awake this morningages 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 doyou think of that?"

"It's beautiful, " said Dorcas. "It's out of the big blue chinay bottleon 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 giveme my slippers, I want to get up and look over my lessons for Mr. Kneebreeches before he comes. Dear me, " she added to herself, as she wasputting on her slippers, "how pretty my feet did look with the bluebutterfly shoes! It was very good of the cuckoo to take me there, but Idon't think I shall ever wish to be a butterfly again, now I know howhard they work! But I'd like to do my lessons well to-day. I fancy it'llplease the dear old cuckoo. "

[Illustration]

VIII

MASTER PHIL

[Illustration]

 "Who comes from the world of flowers? Daisy and crocus, and sea-blue bell, And violet shrinking in dewy cell-- Sly cells that know the secrets of night, When earth is bathed in fairy light-- Scarlet, and blue, and golden flowers. "

And so Mr. Kneebreeches had no reason to complain of his pupil that day. 

And Miss Grizzel congratulated herself more heartily than ever on herwise management of children. 

And Miss Tabitha repeated that Sister Grizzel might indeed congratulateherself. 

And Griselda became gradually more and more convinced that the only wayas yet discovered of getting through hard tasks is to set to work and dothem; also, that grumbling, as things are at present arranged in thisworld, does not _always_, nor I may say _often_, do good; furthermore, that an ill-tempered child is not, on the whole, likely to be as muchloved 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 sleepyand lazy, and in such a case what could poor old winter do but fill thevacant post till she came? Why he should be so scolded and reviled forfaithfully doing his best, as he often is, I really don't know. Not thatall the ill words he gets have much effect on him--he comes again justas usual, whatever we say of or to him. I suppose his feelings have longago been frozen up, or surely before this he would have takenoffence--well for us that he has not done so!

But when the spring did come at last this year, it would be impossiblefor me to tell you how Griselda enjoyed it. It was like new life to heras well as to the plants, and flowers, and birds, and insects. Hitherto, you see, she had been able to see very little of the outside of heraunt's house; and charming as the inside was, the outside, I must say, was still "charminger. " There seemed no end to the little up-and-downpaths and alleys, leading to rustic seats and quaint arbours; no limitsto the little pine-wood, down into which led the dearest littlezig-zaggy path you ever saw, all bordered with snow-drops and primrosesand violets, and later on with periwinkles, and wood anemones, and thosebright, starry, white flowers, whose name no two people agree about. 

This wood-path was the place, I think, which Griselda loved the best. The bowling-green was certainly very delightful, and so was the terracewhere the famous roses grew; but lovely as the roses were (I am speakingjust now, of course, of later on in the summer, when they were all inbloom), Griselda could not enjoy them as much as the wild-flowers, forshe was forbidden to gather or touch them, except with her funny roundnose!

"You may _scent_ them, my dear, " said Miss Grizzel, who was of opinionthat smell was not a pretty word; "but I cannot allow anything more. "

And Griselda did "scent" them, I assure you. She burrowed her whole rosyface 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 forflowers now that she knew the secret of how they were painted, and whata great deal of trouble the butterflies take about them. 

But after a while one grows tired of "scenting" roses; and even thetrying to walk straight across the bowling-green with her eyes shut, from the arbour at one side to the arbour exactly like it at the other, grew stupid, though no doubt it would have been capital fun with acompanion to applaud or criticize. 

So the wood-path became Griselda's favourite haunt. As the summer grewon, she began to long more than ever for a companion--not so much forplay, as for some one to play with. She had lessons, of course, just asmany as in the winter; but with the long days, there seemed to come aquite unaccountable increase of play-time, and Griselda sometimes foundit hang heavy on her hands. She had not seen or heard anything of thecuckoo either, save, of course, in his "official capacity" oftime-teller, for a very long time. 

"I suppose, " she thought, "he thinks I don't need amusing, now that thefine 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, andthis was why she loved the path down into the wood so much. There was asort of mystery about it; it might have been the path leading to thecottage of Red-Ridinghood's grandmother, or a path leading to fairylanditself. There were all kinds of queer, nice, funny noises to be heardthere--in one part of it especially, where Griselda made herself a seatof some moss-grown stones, and where she came so often that she got toknow all the little flowers growing close round about, and even theparticular birds whose nests were hard by. 

She used to sit there and _fancy_--fancy that she heard the wood-elveschattering under their breath, or the little underground gnomes andkobolds hammering at their fairy forges. And the tinkling of the brookin the distance sounded like the enchanted bells round the necks of thefairy kine, who are sent out to pasture sometimes on the upper worldhillsides. For Griselda's head was crammed full, perfectly full, offairy lore; and the mandarins' country, and butterfly-land, were quiteas real to her as the every-day world about her. 

But all this time she was not forgotten by the cuckoo, as you will see. 

One day she was sitting in her favourite nest, feeling, notwithstandingthe sunshine, and the flowers, and the soft sweet air, and the pleasantsounds all about, rather dull and lonely. For though it was only May, itwas really quite a hot day, and Griselda had been all the morning at herlessons, and had tried very hard, and done them very well, and now shefelt as if she deserved some reward. Suddenly in the distance, she hearda well-known sound, "Cuckoo, cuckoo. "

"Can that be the cuckoo?" she said to herself; and in a moment she feltsure that it must be. For, for some reason that I do not know enoughabout the habits of real "flesh and blood" cuckoos to explain, that birdwas not known in the neighbourhood where Griselda's aunts lived. Sometwenty miles or so further south it was heard regularly, but all thisspring Griselda had never caught the sound of its familiar note, and shenow remembered hearing it never came to these parts. 

So, "it must be my cuckoo, " she said to herself. "He must be coming outto speak to me. How funny! I have never seen him by daylight. "

She listened. Yes, again there it was, "Cuckoo, cuckoo, " as plain aspossible, and nearer than before. 

"Cuckoo, " cried Griselda, "do come and talk to me. It's such a long timesince I have seen you, and I have nobody to play with. "

But there was no answer. Griselda held her breath to listen, but therewas nothing to be heard. 

"Unkind cuckoo!" she exclaimed. "He is tricking me, I do believe; andto-day too, just when I was so dull and lonely. "

The tears came into her eyes, and she was beginning to think herselfvery badly used, when suddenly a rustling in the bushes beside her madeher turn round, more than half expecting to see the cuckoo himself. Butit was not he. The rustling went on for a minute or two without anythingmaking its appearance, for the bushes were pretty thick just there, andany one scrambling up from the pine-wood below would have had ratherhard work to get through, and indeed for a very big person such a featwould 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 absorbedGriselda's attention. She sat watching for another minute in perfectstillness, afraid of startling by the slightest movement the squirrel orrabbit or creature of some kind which she expected to see. At last--wasthat a squirrel or rabbit--that rosy, round face, with shaggy, fair hairfalling over the eager blue eyes, and a general look of breathlessnessand over-heatedness and determination?

A squirrel or a rabbit! No, indeed, but a very sturdy, very merry, veryragged little boy. 

"Where are that cuckoo? Does _you_ know?" were the first words heuttered, as soon as he had fairly shaken himself, though not by anymeans all his clothes, free of the bushes (for ever so many pieces ofjacket and knickerbockers, not to speak of one boot and half his hat, had been left behind on the way), and found breath to say something. 

Griselda stared at him for a moment without speaking, she was soastonished. It was months since she had spoken to a child, almost sinceshe had seen one, and about children younger than herself she knew verylittle at any time, being the baby of the family at home, you see, andhaving only big brothers older than herself for play-fellows. 

"Who are you?" she said at last. "What's your name, and what do youwant?"

"My name's Master Phil, and I want that cuckoo, " answered the littleboy. "He camed up this way. I'm sure he did, for he called me all theway. "

"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 hadbetter go home; and you have torn your clothes so. "

"This aren't a garden, " replied the little fellow undauntedly, lookinground him; "this are a wood. There are blue-bells and primroses here, and that shows it aren't a garden--not anybody's garden, I mean, withwalls round, for nobody to come in. "

"But it _is_, " said Griselda, getting rather vexed. "If it isn't agarden it's _grounds_, private grounds, and nobody should come withoutleave. This path leads down to the wood, and there's a door in the wallat the bottom to get into the lane. You may go down that way, littleboy. No one comes scrambling up the way you did. "

"But I want to find the cuckoo, " said the little boy. "I do so want tofind 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 athim more carefully. He was such a very little boy, after all; she didnot like to be cross to him. 

"How old are you?" she asked. 

"Five and a bit. I had a birthday after the summer, and if I'm good, nurse says perhaps I'll have one after next summer too. Do you ever havebirthdays?" he went on, peering up at Griselda. "Nurse says she used towhen she was young, but she never has any now. "

"_Have_ you a nurse?" asked Griselda, rather surprised; for, to tell thetruth, from "Master Phil's" appearance, she had not felt at all surewhat _sort_ of little boy he was, or rather what sort of people hebelonged 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? Perhapsyou're too big, though. People leave off having nurses and mothers whenthey're big, don't they? Just like birthdays. But _I_ won't. I won'tnever leave off having a mother, any way. I don't care so much aboutnurse and birthdays, not _kite_ so much. Did you care when you had toleave off, when you got too big?"

"I hadn't to leave off because I got big, " said Griselda sadly. "I leftoff when I was much littler than you, " she went on, unconsciouslyspeaking as Phil would best understand her. "My mother died. "

"I'm werry sorry, " said Phil; and the way in which he said it quiteovercame Griselda's unfriendliness. "But perhaps you've a nice nurse. Mynurse is rather nice; but she _will_ 'cold me to-day, won't she?" headded, laughing, pointing to the terrible rents in his garments. "Theseare my very oldestest things; that's a good thing, isn't it? Nurse saysI don't look like Master Phil in these, but when I have on my bluewelpet, then I look like Master Phil. I shall have my blue welpet whenmother comes. "

"Is your mother away?" said Griselda. 

"Oh yes, she's been away a long time; so nurse came here to take care ofme at the farm-house, you know. Mother was ill, but she's better now, and some day she'll come too. "

"Do you like being at the farm-house? 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 youcould help me to find the cuckoo?" he added insinuatingly. 

"What do you know about the cuckoo?" said Griselda. 

[Illustration: "BUT I MAY SEE YOU AGAIN, " SAID PHIL]

"He called me, " said Phil, "he called me lots of times; and to-day nursewas busy, so I thought I'd come. And do you know, " he addedmysteriously, "I do believe the cuckoo's a fairy, and when I find himI'm going to ask him to show me the way to fairyland. "

"He says we must all find the way ourselves, " said Griselda, quiteforgetting 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. "Someday perhaps I'll tell you--I mean if ever I see you again. "

"But I may see you again, " said Phil, settling himself down comfortablybeside Griselda on her mossy stone. "You'll let me come, won't you? Ilike to talk about fairies, and nurse doesn't understand. And if thecuckoo knows you, perhaps that's why he called me to come to play withyou. "

"How did he call you?" asked Griselda. 

"First, " said Phil gravely, "it was in the night. I was asleep, and Ihad been wishing I had somebody to play with, and then I d'eamed of thecuckoo--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 calledme, but I _couldn't_ find him, and nurse said 'Nonsense. ' And to-day hecalled me again, so I camed up through the bushes. And mayn't I comeagain? Perhaps if we both tried together we could find the way tofairyland. Do you think we could?"

"I don't know, " said Griselda, dreamily. "There's a great deal to learnfirst, the cuckoo says. "

"Have you learnt a great deal?" (he called it "a gate deal") asked Phil, looking up at Griselda with increased respect. "_I_ don't know scarcelynothing. Mother was ill such a long time before she went away, but Iknow she wanted me to learn to read books. But nurse is too old to teachme. "

"Shall I teach you?" said Griselda. "I can bring some of my old booksand teach you here after I have done my own lessons. "

"And then mother _would_ be surprised when she comes back, " said MasterPhil, clapping his hands. "Oh, _do_. And when I've learnt to read agreat deal, do you think the cuckoo would show us the way to fairyland?"

"I don't think it was that sort of learning he meant, " said Griselda. "But I dare say that would help. I _think_, " she went on, lowering hervoice a little, and looking down gravely into Phil's earnest eyes, "I_think_ he means mostly learning to be very good--very, _very_ good, youknow. "

"Gooder than you?" said Phil. 

"Oh dear, yes; lots and lots gooder than me, " replied Griselda. 

"_I_ think you're very good, " observed Phil, in a parenthesis. Then hewent on with his cross-questioning. 

"Gooder than mother?"

"I don't know your mother, so how can I tell how good she is?" saidGriselda. 

"_I_ can tell you, " said Phil, importantly. "She is just as good as--asgood 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 agood thing for you to learn to read. You must ask your nurse to let youcome here every afternoon that it's fine, and I'll ask my aunt. "

"I needn't ask nurse, " said Phil composedly; "she'll never know where Iam, and I needn't tell her. She doesn't care what I do, except tearingmy clothes; and when she scolds me, _I_ don't care. "

"_That_ isn't good, Phil, " said Griselda gravely. "You'll never be asgood as good if you speak like that. "

"What should I say, then? Tell me, " said the little boy submissively. 

"You should ask nurse to let you come to play with me, and tell her I'mmuch bigger than you, and I won't let you tear your clothes. And youshould 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, andthe children laughed heartily and enjoyed themselves tremendously. Andwhen they were tired they sat down again and gathered flowers fornosegays, and Griselda was surprised to find how clever Phil was aboutit. 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 allthe best places for flowers near by, and where grew the largestprimroses and the sweetest violets, in a way that astonished her. 

"You're such a little boy, " she said; "how do you know so much aboutflowers?"

"I've had no one else to play with, " he said innocently. "And then, youknow, the fairies are so fond of them. "

When Griselda thought it was time to go home, she led little Phil downthe 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 morebushes, can't you, Master Phil?" she said. 

"Yes, thank you, and I'll come again to that place to-morrow afternoon, shall I?" asked Phil. "I'll know when--after I've had my dinner andraced three times round the big field, then it'll be time. That's how itwas to-day. "

"I should think it would do if you _walked_ three times--or twice if youlike--round the field. It isn't a good thing to race just when you'vehad your dinner, " observed Griselda sagely. "And you mustn't try to comeif it isn't fine, for my aunts won't let me go out if it rains even thetiniest bit. And of course you must ask your nurse's leave. "

"Very well, " said little Phil as he trotted off. "I'll try to rememberall those things. I'm so glad you'll play with me again; and if you seethe cuckoo, please thank him. "

[Illustration]

IX

UP AND DOWN THE CHIMNEY

[Illustration]

 "_Helper. _ Well, but if it was all dream, it would be the same as if it was all real, would it not?

 _Keeper. _ Yes, I see. I mean, Sir, I do _not_ see. "--_A Liliput Revel. _

_Not_ having "just had her dinner, " and feeling very much inclined forher tea, Griselda ran home at a great rate. 

She felt, too, in such good spirits; it had been so delightful to have acompanion in her play. 

"What a good thing it was I didn't make Phil run away before I found outwhat a nice little boy he was, " she said to herself. "I must look out myold reading books to-night. I shall so like teaching him, poor littleboy, and the cuckoo will be pleased at my doing something useful, I'msure. "

Tea was quite ready, in fact waiting for her, when she came in. This wasa meal she always had by herself, brought up on a tray to Dorcas'slittle sitting-room, where Dorcas waited upon her. And sometimes whenGriselda was in a particularly good humour she would beg Dorcas to sitdown and have a cup of tea with her--a liberty the old servant was fartoo dignified and respectful to have thought of taking, unless speciallyrequested to do so. 

This evening, as you know, Griselda was in a very particularly goodhumour, and besides this, so very full of her adventures, that she wouldhave been glad of an even less sympathising listener than Dorcas waslikely to be. 

"Sit down, Dorcas, and have some more tea, do, " she said coaxingly. "Itlooks ever so much more comfortable, and I'm sure you could eat alittle more if you tried, whether you've had your tea in the kitchen ornot. I'm _fearfully_ hungry, I can tell you. You'll have to cut a wholelot more bread and butter and not 'ladies' slices' either. "

"How your tongue does go, to be sure, Miss Griselda, " said Dorcas, smiling, as she seated herself on the chair Griselda had drawn in forher. 

"And why shouldn't it?" said Griselda saucily. "It doesn't do it anyharm. But oh, Dorcas, I've had such fun this afternoon--really, youcouldn'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--guessingtakes such a time, and I want to tell you. Just fancy, Dorcas, I've beenplaying 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 everyday, I dare say, " said Griselda. "He _is_ such a nice little boy. "

"But, missie, " began Dorcas. 

"Well? What's the matter? You needn't look like that--as if I had donesomething naughty, " said Griselda sharply. 

"But you'll tell your aunt, missie?"

"Of course, " said Griselda, looking up fearlessly into Dorcas's facewith her bright grey eyes. "Of course; why shouldn't I? I must ask herto give the little boy leave to come into _our_ grounds; and I told thelittle boy to be sure to tell his nurse, who takes care of him, abouthis playing with me. "

"His nurse, " repeated Dorcas, in a tone of some relief. "Then he must bequite a little boy, perhaps Miss Grizzel would not object so much inthat case. "

"Why should she object at all? She might know I wouldn't want to playwith a naughty rude boy, " said Griselda. 

"She thinks all boys rude and naughty, I'm afraid, missie, " saidDorcas. "All, that is to say, excepting your dear papa. But then, ofcourse, she had the bringing up of _him_ in her own way from thebeginning. "

"Well, I'll ask her, any way, " said Griselda, "and if she says I'm notto play with him, I shall think--I know what I shall _think_ of AuntGrizzel, whether I _say_ it or not. "

And the old look of rebellion and discontent settled down again on herrosy face. 

"Be careful, missie, now do, there's a dear good girl, " said Dorcasanxiously, an hour later, when Griselda, dressed as usual in her littlewhite 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 andthree 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 knowif he may come every day to play with me. "

Griselda knew she was not making her request in a very amiable orbecoming manner; she knew, indeed, that she was making it in such a wayas was almost certain to lead to its being refused; and yet, though shewas really so very, very anxious to get leave to play with little Phil, she took a sort of spiteful pleasure in injuring her own cause. 

How _foolish_ ill-temper makes us! Griselda had allowed herself to getso angry at the _thought_ of being thwarted that had her aunt looked upquietly and said at once, "Oh yes, you may have the little boy to playwith you whenever you like, " she would really, in a strange distortedsort of way, have been _disappointed_. 

But, of course, Miss Grizzel made no such reply. Nothing less than amiracle could have made her answer Griselda otherwise than as she did. Like Dorcas, for an instant, she was utterly "flabbergasted, " if youknow what that means. For she was really quite an old lady, you know, and sensible as she was, things upset her much more easily than when shewas younger. 

Naughty Griselda saw her uneasiness, and enjoyed it. 

"Playing with a boy!" exclaimed Miss Grizzel. "A boy in my grounds, andyou, my niece, to have played with him!"

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

"Griselda, " said her aunt, "I am too astonished to say more at present. Go to bed. "

"Why should I go to bed? It is not my bedtime, " cried Griselda, blazingup. "What have I done to be sent to bed as if I were in disgrace?"

"Go to bed, " repeated Miss Grizzel. "I will speak to you to-morrow. "

"You are very unfair and unjust, " said Griselda, starting up from herchair. "That's all the good of being honest and telling everything. Imight have played with the little boy every day for a month and youwould never have known, if I hadn't told you. "

She banged across the room as she spoke, and out at the door, slammingit behind her rudely. Then upstairs like a whirlwind; but when she gotto her own room, she sat down on the floor and burst into tears, andwhen Dorcas came up, nearly half an hour later, she was still in thesame place, crouched up in a little heap, sobbing bitterly. 

"Oh, missie, missie, " said Dorcas, "it's just what I was afraid of!"

As Griselda rushed out of the room Miss Grizzel leant back in her chairand sighed deeply. 

"Already, " she said faintly. "She was never so violent before. Can oneafternoon's companionship with rudeness have already contaminated her?Already, Tabitha--can it be so?"

"Already, " said Miss Tabitha, softly shaking her head, which somehowmade her look wonderfully like an old cat, for she felt cold of anevening and usually wore a very fine woolly shawl of a delicate greyshade, and the borders of her cap and the ruffles round her throat andwrists were all of fluffy, downy white--"already, " she said. 

"Yet, " said Miss Grizzel, recovering herself a little, "it is true whatthe child said. She might have deceived us. Have I been hard upon her, Sister Tabitha?"

"Hard upon her! Sister Grizzel, " said Miss Tabitha with more energy thanusual; "no, certainly not. For once, Sister Grizzel, I disagree withyou. Hard upon her! Certainly not. "

But Miss Grizzel did not feel happy. 

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

"I thought you would not mind having me, instead of Martha, to-night, ma'am, " she said, "for I did so want to speak to you about MissGriselda. The poor, dear young lady has gone to bed so very unhappy. "

"But do you know what she has done, Dorcas?" said Miss Grizzel. "Admitted a _boy_, a rude, common, impertinent _boy_, into my precincts, and played with him--with a _boy_, Dorcas. "

"Yes, ma'am, " said Dorcas. "I know all about it, ma'am. Miss Griseldahas told me all. But if you would allow me to give an opinion, it isn'tquite so bad. He's quite a little boy, ma'am--between five and six--onlyjust about the age Miss Griselda's dear papa was when he first came tous, and, by all I can hear, quite a little gentleman. "

"A little gentleman, " repeated Miss Grizzel, "and not six years old!That is less objectionable than I expected. What is his name, as youknow so much, Dorcas?"

"Master Phil, " replied Dorcas. "That is what he told Miss Griselda, andshe never thought to ask him more. But I'll tell you how we could get tohear more about him, I think, ma'am. From what Miss Griselda says, Ibelieve 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 MerrybrowHall. My lady is pretty sure to know about the child, for she knows allthat goes on among her tenants, and I remember hearing that a littlegentleman and his nurse had come to Mr. Crouch's to lodge for sixmonths. "

Miss Grizzel listened attentively. 

"Thank you, Dorcas, " she said, when the old servant had left offspeaking. "You have behaved with your usual discretion. I shall driveover to Merrybrow to-morrow, and make inquiry. And you may tell MissGriselda in the morning what I purpose doing; but tell her also that, asa punishment for her rudeness and ill-temper, she must have breakfast inher own room to-morrow, and not see me till I send for her. Had sherestrained her temper and explained the matter, all this distress mighthave been saved. "

Dorcas did not wait till "to-morrow morning"; she could not bear tothink of Griselda's unhappiness. From her mistress's room she wentstraight to the little girl's, going in very softly, so as not todisturb 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 onMiss Sybilla's cuckoo. It's really wonderful. There's more in suchthings than some people think. "

But aloud she only replied--

"It's Dorcas, missie. No fairy, only old Dorcas come to comfort you abit. Listen, missie. Your auntie is going over to Merrybrow Hallto-morrow to inquire about this little Master Phil from my LadyLavander, for we think it's at one of her ladyship's farms that he andhis nurse are staying, and if she hears that he's a nice-mannered littlegentleman, and comes of good parents--why, missie, there's no sayingbut 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 toMerrybrow till the afternoon. She won't be back in time for me to playwith Phil to-morrow. "

"No, but next day, perhaps, " said Dorcas. 

"Oh, but that won't do, " said Griselda, beginning to cry again. "Poorlittle Phil will be coming up to the wood-path _to-morrow_, and if hedoesn't find me, he'll be _so_ unhappy--perhaps he'll never come againif I don't meet him to-morrow. "

Dorcas saw that the little girl was worn out and excited, and not yetinclined to take a reasonable view of things. 

"Go to sleep, missie, " she said kindly, "and don't think anything moreabout it till to-morrow. It'll be all right, you'll see. "

Her patience touched Griselda. 

"You are very kind, Dorcas, " she said. "I don't mean to be cross to_you_; but I can't bear to think of poor little Phil. Perhaps he'll sitdown on my mossy stone and cry. Poor little Phil!"

But notwithstanding her distress, when Dorcas had left her she did feelher heart a little lighter, and somehow or other before long she fellasleep. 

When she awoke it seemed to be suddenly, and she had the feeling thatsomething had disturbed her. She lay for a minute or two perfectlystill--listening. Yes; there it was--the soft, faint rustle in the airthat she knew so well. It seemed as if something was moving away fromher. 

"Cuckoo, " she said gently, "is that you?"

A moment's pause, then came the answer--the pretty greeting sheexpected. 

"Cuckoo, cuckoo, " soft and musical. Then the cuckoo spoke. 

"Well, Griselda" he said, "and how are you? It's a good while since wehave had any fun together. "

"That's not _my_ fault, " said Griselda sharply. She was not yet feelingquite as amiable as might have been desired, you see. "That's_certainly_ not my fault, " she repeated. 

"I never said it was, " replied the cuckoo. "Why will you jump atconclusions so? It's a very bad habit, for very often you jump _over_them, you see, and go too far. One should always _walk_ up toconclusions, very slowly and evenly, right foot first, then left, onewith another--that's the way to get where you want to go, and feel sureof your ground. Do you see?"

"I don't know whether I do or not, and I'm not going to speak to you ifyou go on at me like that. You might see I don't want to be lecturedwhen I am so unhappy. "

"What are you unhappy about?"

"About Phil, of course. I won't tell you, for I believe you know, " saidGriselda. "Wasn't it you that sent him to play with me? I was sopleased, and I thought it was very kind of you; but it's all spoiltnow. "

"But I heard Dorcas saying that your aunt is going over to consult myLady Lavander about it, " said the cuckoo. "It'll be all right; youneedn't be in such low spirits about nothing. "

"Were you in the room _then_?" said Griselda. "How funny you are, cuckoo. But it isn't all right. Don't you see, poor little Phil will becoming up the wood-path to-morrow afternoon to meet me, and I won't bethere! I can't bear to think of it. "

"Is that all?" said the cuckoo. "It really is extraordinary how somepeople make troubles out of nothing! We can easily tell Phil not to cometill the day after. Come along. "

"Come along, " repeated Griselda; "what do you mean?"

"Oh, I forgot, " said the cuckoo. "You don't understand. Put out yourhand. There, do you feel me?"

"Yes, " said Griselda, stroking gently the soft feathers which seemed tobe close under her hand. "Yes, I feel you. "

"Well, then, " said the cuckoo, "put your arms round my neck, and hold mefirm. I'll lift you up. "

"How _can_ you talk such nonsense, cuckoo?" said Griselda. "Why, one ofmy little fingers would clasp your neck. How can I put my arms roundit?"

"Try, " said the cuckoo. 

Somehow Griselda had to try. 

She held out her arms in the cuckoo's direction, as if she expected hisneck to be about the size of a Shetland pony's, or a large Newfoundlanddog's; and, to her astonishment, so it was! A nice, comfortable, feathery neck it felt--so soft that she could not help laying her headdown 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 herselfaltogether lifted on to his back. She lay there as comfortably aspossible--it felt so firm as well as soft. Up he flew a little way--thenstopped 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'mgoing on, then. "

"Where to?" said Griselda. 

"Up the chimney first, " said the cuckoo. 

"But there'll never be room, " said Griselda. "I might _perhaps_ crawl uplike a sweep, hands and knees, you know, like going up a ladder. Butstretched out like this--it's just as if I were lying on a sofa--I_couldn't_ go up the chimney. "

"Couldn't you?" said the cuckoo. "We'll see. _I_ intend to go, any way, and to take you with me. Shut your eyes--one, two, three--heregoes--we'll be up the chimney before you know. "

It was quite true. Griselda shut her eyes tight. She felt nothing but apleasant 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 sawdown below them, looking dark and vast. She felt confused andbewildered. 

"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 youlong ago it is all a matter of fancy. "

"Yes, if everything grew little _together_, " persisted Griselda; "but itisn't everything. It's just you or me, or both of us. No, it can't beboth of us. And I don't think it can be me, for if any of me had grownlittle all would, and my eyes haven't grown little, for everything looksas big as usual, only _you_ a great deal bigger. My eyes can't havegrown bigger without the rest of me, surely, for the moon looks just thesame. And I must have grown little, or else we couldn't have got up thechimney. Oh, cuckoo, you have put all my thinking into such a muddle!"

"Never mind, " said the cuckoo. "It'll show you how little consequencebig and little are of. Make yourself comfortable all the same. Are youall 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! Areyou comfortable?"

"_Very_, thank you, " replied Griselda, giving the cuckoo's neck anaffectionate hug as she spoke. 

"That'll do, thank you. Don't throttle me, if it's quite the same toyou, " said the cuckoo. "Here goes--one, two, three, " and off he flewagain. 

Griselda shut her eyes and lay still. It was delicious--the gliding, yetdarting motion, like nothing she had ever felt before. It did not makeher the least giddy, either; but a slightly sleepy feeling came overher. She felt no inclination to open her eyes; and, indeed, at the ratethey were going, she could have distinguished very little had she doneso. 

Suddenly the feeling in the air about her changed. For an instant itfelt more _rushy_ than before, and there was a queer, dull sound in herears. 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 youreyes and clamber down off my back, but don't speak loud, or you'll wakenhim, and that wouldn't do. There you are--the moonlight's coming innicely at the window--you can see your way. "

Griselda found herself in a little bed-room, quite a tiny one, and bythe look of the simple furniture and the latticed window, she saw thatshe was not in a grand house. But everything looked very neat and nice, and on a little bed in one corner lay a lovely sleeping child. It wasPhil! He looked so pretty asleep--his shaggy curls all tumbling about, his rosy mouth half open as if smiling, one little hand tossed over hishead, the other tight clasping a little basket which he had insisted ontaking to bed with him, meaning as soon as he was dressed the nextmorning to run out and fill it with flowers for the little girl he hadmade friends with. 

Griselda stepped up to the side of the bed on tiptoe. The cuckoo haddisappeared, but Griselda heard his voice. It seemed to come from alittle way up the chimney. 

"Don't wake him, " said the cuckoo, "but whisper what you want to sayinto his ear, as soon as I have called him. He'll understand; he'saccustomed to my ways. "

Then came the old note, soft and musical as ever--

"Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo. Listen, Phil, " said the cuckoo, and withoutopening his eyes a change passed over the little boy's face. Griseldacould see that he was listening to hear her message. 

"He thinks he's dreaming, I suppose, " she said to herself with a smile. Then she whispered softly--

"Phil, dear, don't come to play with me to-morrow, for I can't come. Butcome the day after. I'll be at the wood-path then. "

"Welly well, " murmured Phil. Then he put out his two arms towardsGriselda, all without opening his eyes, and she, bending down, kissedhim softly. 

"Phil's so sleepy, " he whispered, like a baby almost. Then he turnedover and went to sleep more soundly than before. 

"That'll do, " said the cuckoo. "Come along, Griselda. "

Griselda obediently made her way to the place whence the cuckoo's voiceseemed to come. 

"Shut your eyes and put your arms round my neck again, " said the cuckoo. 

She did not hesitate this time. It all happened just as before. Therecame the same sort of rushy sound; then the cuckoo stopped, and Griseldaopened her eyes. 

They were up in the air again--a good way up, too, for some grand oldelms that stood beside the farmhouse were gently waving their topmostbranches a yard or two from where the cuckoo was poising himself andGriselda. 

"Where shall we go to now?" he said. "Or would you rather go home? Areyou tired?"

"Tired!" exclaimed Griselda. "I should rather think not. How could I betired, cuckoo?"

"Very well, don't excite yourself about nothing, whatever you do, " saidthe cuckoo. "Say where you'd like to go. "

"How can I?" said Griselda. "You know far more nice places than I do. "

"You don't care to go back to the mandarins, or the butterflies, Isuppose?" asked the cuckoo. 

"No, thank you, " said Griselda; "I'd like something new. And I'm notsure that I care for seeing any more countries of that kind, unless youcould take me to the _real_ fairyland. "

"_I_ can't do that, you know, " said the cuckoo. 

Just then a faint "soughing" sound among the branches suggested anotheridea to Griselda. 

"Cuckoo, " she exclaimed, "take me to the sea. It's _such_ a time since Isaw the sea. I can fancy I hear it; do take me to see it. "

[Illustration]

X

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOON

[Illustration]

 "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 littleon the way, perhaps, Griselda, as we shall not be going down chimneys, or anything of that kind just at present. "

"Yes, " said Griselda. "I think I should. I'm rather tired of shuttingmy 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 twistyour neck to see over my shoulder. Are you comfortable now? And, by-the-by, as you may be cold, just feel under my left wing. You'll findthe feather mantle there, that you had on once before. Wrap it roundyou. I tucked it in at the last moment, thinking you might want it. "

"Oh, you dear, kind cuckoo!" cried Griselda. "Yes, I've found it. I'lltuck 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 littlegirl such a flight before? Floating, darting, gliding, sailing--no wordscan describe it. Griselda lay still in delight, gazing all about her. 

"How lovely the stars are, cuckoo!" she said. "Is it true they're allgreat, big _suns_? I'd rather they weren't. I like to think of them asnice, funny little things. "

"They're not all suns, " said the cuckoo. "Not all those you're lookingat now. "

"I like the twinkling ones best, " said Griselda. "They look sogood-natured. Are they _all_ twirling about always, cuckoo? Mr. Kneebreeches has just begun to teach me astronomy, and _he_ says theyare; but I'm not at all sure that he knows much about it. "

"He's quite right all the same, " replied the cuckoo. 

"Oh dear me! How tired they must be, then!" said Griselda. "Do theynever 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 theystood still now and then. "

"Would it?" said the cuckoo. "I know somebody who would soon find faultif 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 nothingto eat before long? That's what it would be if they stood still, yousee, because----"

"Thank you, cuckoo, " interrupted Griselda. "It's very nice to hearyou--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 onething, 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 thecuckoo. 

"_That's_ not funny, " said Griselda. "What a messy place it must be!Why, even _my_ unfinished work makes quite a heap. I don't like thatopinion at all, cuckoo. Tell me another. "

"I _have_ heard, " said the cuckoo, "that among the places there youwould find the country of the little black dogs. You know what sort ofcreatures those are?"

"Yes, I suppose so, " said Griselda, rather reluctantly. 

"There are a good many of them in this world, as of course you know, "continued the cuckoo. "But up there, they are much worse than here. Whena child has made a great pet of one down here, I've heard tell thefairies take him up there when his parents and nurses think he'ssleeping quietly in his bed, and make him work hard all night, with hisown particular little black dog on his back. And it's so dreadfullyheavy--for every time he takes it on his back down here it grows a poundheavier up there--that by morning the child is quite worn out. I daresay you've noticed how haggered and miserable some ill-tempered childrenget to look--now you'll know the reason. "

"Thank you, cuckoo, " said Griselda again; "but I can't say I like thisopinion about the other side of the moon any better than the first. Ifyou 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 ofchildren, they say, get quite cured in the country of the little blackdogs. It's this way--for every time a child refuses to take the dog onhis back down here it grows a pound lighter up there, so at last anysensible child learns how much better it is to have nothing to say to itat all, and gets out of the way of it, you see. Of course, there _are_children whom nothing would cure, I suppose. What becomes of them Ireally can't say. Very likely they get crushed into pancakes by theweight of the dogs at last, and then nothing more is ever heard ofthem. "

"Horrid!" said Griselda, with a shudder. "Don't let's talk about it anymore, cuckoo; tell me your _own_ opinion about what there really is onthe other side of the moon. "

The cuckoo was silent for a moment. Then suddenly he stopped short inthe middle of his flight. 

"Would you like to see for yourself, Griselda?" he said. "There would beabout time to do it, " he added to himself, "and it would fulfil herother wish, too. "

"See the moon for myself, do you mean?" cried Griselda, clasping herhands. "I should rather think I would. Will you really take me there, cuckoo?"

"To the other side, " said the cuckoo. "I couldn't take you to thisside. "

"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 knowwhy you couldn't take me there. "

"For _reasons_, " said the cuckoo drily. "I'll give you one if you like. If I took you to this side of the moon you wouldn't be yourself when yougot there. "

"Who would I be, then?"

"Griselda, " said the cuckoo, "I told you once that there are a greatmany things you don't know. Now, I'll tell you something more. There area great many things you're not _intended_ to know. "

"Very well, " said Griselda. "But do tell me when you're going on again, and where you are going to take me to. There's no harm my asking that?"

"No, " said the cuckoo. "I'm going on immediately, and I'm going to takeyou where you wanted to go to, only you must shut your eyes again, andlie perfectly still without talking, for I must put on steam--a gooddeal of steam--and I can't talk to you. Are you all right?"

"All right, " said Griselda. 

She had hardly said the words when she seemed to fall asleep. Therushing sound in the air all round her increased so greatly that she wasconscious of nothing else. For a moment or two she tried to rememberwhere she was, and where she was going, but it was useless. She forgoteverything, and knew nothing more of what was passing till--till sheheard 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 thecuckoo's back, for there he was standing beside her, as tiny as usual. Either he had grown little again, or she had grown big--which, shesupposed, 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 onlygive you a faint idea of, children; something so strange and unlike whatshe had ever seen before, that only in a dream could you see it asGriselda saw it. And yet _why_ it seemed to her so strange and unnaturalI cannot well explain; if I could, my words would be as good aspictures, 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 herfeet in the pretty, coaxing way that _our_ sea does when it is in a goodhumour. There were here and there faint ripples on the surface, causedby the slight breezes which now and then came softly round Griselda'sface, but that was all. King Canute might have sat "from then till now"by this still, lifeless ocean without the chance of reading his sillyattendants 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 littleshiver. 

"What's the matter?" said the cuckoo. "You have the mantle on--you'renot cold?"

"No, " said Griselda, "I'm not cold; but somehow, cuckoo, I feel a littlefrightened. The sea is so strange, and so dreadfully big; and the lightis 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 eatit, Griselda. Look up at the sky. There's no moon there, is there?"

"No, " said Griselda; "but what lots of stars, cuckoo. The light comesfrom them, I suppose? And where's the sun, cuckoo? Will it be risingsoon? It isn't always like this up here, is it?"

"Bless you, no, " said the cuckoo. "There's sun enough, and rather toomuch, sometimes. How would you like a day a fortnight long, and nightsto match? If it had been daytime here just now, I couldn't have broughtyou. It's just about the very middle of the night now, and in about aweek of _your_ days the sun will begin to rise, because, you see----"

"Oh, _dear_ cuckoo, please don't explain!" cried Griselda. "I'll promiseto ask Mr. Kneebreeches, I will indeed. In fact, he was telling mesomething just like it to-day or yesterday--which should I say?--at myastronomy lesson. And that makes it so strange that you should havebrought me up here to-night to see for myself, doesn't it, cuckoo?"

"An odd coincidence, " said the cuckoo. 

"What _would_ Mr. Kneebreeches think if I told him where I had been?"continued Griselda. "Only, you see, cuckoo, I never tell anybody aboutwhat I see when I am with you. "

"No, " replied the cuckoo; "better not. ('Not that you could if youtried, ' he added to himself. ) You're not frightened now, Griselda, areyou?"

"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 ofthe moon; and, no doubt, Mr. Kneebreeches has told you that the moon'sdiameter and circumference are respec----"

"Oh _don't_, cuckoo!" interrupted Griselda, beseechingly. "I want toenjoy myself, and not to have lessons. Tell me something funny, cuckoo. Are there any mermaids in the moon-sea?"

"Not exactly, " said the cuckoo. 

"What a stupid way to answer, " said Griselda. "There's no sense in that;there either must be or must not be. There couldn't be half mermaids. "

"I don't know about that, " replied the cuckoo. "They might have beenhere once and have left their tails behind them, like Bopeep's sheep, you know; and some day they might be coming to find them again, youknow. That would do for 'not exactly, ' wouldn't it?"

"Cuckoo, you're laughing at me, " said Griselda. "Tell me, are there anymermaids, or fairies, or water-sprites, or any of those sort ofcreatures here?"

"I must still say 'not exactly, '" said the cuckoo. "There are beingshere, or rather there have been, and there may be again; but you, Griselda, can know no more than this. "

His tone was rather solemn, and again Griselda felt a little "eerie. "

"It's a dreadfully long way from home, any way, " she said. "I feel asif, when I go back, I shall perhaps find I have been away fifty years orso, like the little boy in the fairy story. Cuckoo, I think I would liketo go home. Mayn't I get on your back again?"

"Presently, " said the cuckoo. "Don't be uneasy, Griselda. Perhaps I'lltake 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 allthese ideas still about far and near, and big and little, and long andshort, after all I've taught you and all you've seen. "

"I'm very sorry, " said Griselda humbly; "but you see, cuckoo, I can'thelp it. I suppose I'm made so. "

"Perhaps, " said the cuckoo, meditatively. 

He was silent for a minute. Then he spoke again. "Look over there, Griselda, " he said. "There's the short cut. "

Griselda looked. Far, far over the sea, in the silent distance, she sawa tiny speck of light. It was very tiny; but yet the strange thing wasthat, far away as it appeared, and minute as it was, it seemed to throwoff a thread of light to Griselda's very feet--right across the greatsheet of faintly gleaming water. And as Griselda looked, the threadseemed to widen and grow, becoming at the same time brighter andclearer, 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 theshining streak she saw something slowly moving--something from whichthe light came, for the nearer it got to her the shorter grew theglowing path, and behind the moving object the sea looked no brighterthan before it had appeared. 

At last--at last, it came quite near--near enough for Griselda todistinguish clearly what it was. 

It was a little boat--the prettiest, the loveliest little boat that everwas seen; and it was rowed by a little figure that at first sightGriselda felt certain was a fairy. For it was a child with bright hairand silvery wings, which with every movement sparkled and shone like athousand diamonds. 

Griselda sprang up and clapped her hands with delight. At the sound, thechild in the boat turned and looked at her. For one instant she couldnot remember where she had seen him before; then she exclaimed, joyfully--

"It is Phil! Oh, cuckoo, it is Phil. Have you turned into a fairy, Phil?"

[Illustration: IT WAS ROWED BY A LITTLE FIGURE]

But, alas, as she spoke the light faded away, the boy's figuredisappeared, the sea and the shore and the sky were all as they had beenbefore, lighted only by the faint, strange gleaming of the stars. Onlythe boat remained. Griselda saw it close to her, in the shallow water, afew feet from where she stood. 

"Cuckoo, " she exclaimed in a tone of reproach and disappointment, "whereis Phil gone? Why did you send him away?"

"I didn't send him away, " said the cuckoo. "You don't understand. Nevermind, 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 sideof the moon?" said Griselda, feeling ready to cry. 

"Oh, you silly girl!" said the cuckoo. "Phil's all right, and in someways he has a great deal more sense than you, I can tell you. Get intothe boat and make yourself comfortable; lie down at the bottom andcover yourself up with the mantle. You needn't be afraid of wettingyour feet a little, moon water never gives cold. There, now. "

Griselda did as she was told. She was beginning to feel rather tired, and it certainly was very comfortable at the bottom of the boat, withthe nice warm feather-mantle well tucked round her. 

"Who will row?" she said sleepily. "_You_ can't, cuckoo, with your tinylittle claws, you could never hold the oars, I'm----"

"Hush!" said the cuckoo; and whether he rowed or not Griselda neverknew. 

Off they glided somehow, but it seemed to Griselda that _somebody_rowed, for she heard the soft dip, dip of the oars as they went along, so regularly that she couldn't help beginning to count in time--one, two, three, four--on, on--she thought she had got nearly to a hundred, when----

XI

"CUCKOO, CUCKOO, GOOD-BYE!"

[Illustration]

 "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, ofcourse, in her own little bed as usual!

"One of your tricks again, Mr. Cuckoo, " she said to herself with asmile. "However, I don't mind. It _was_ a short cut home, and it wasvery comfortable in the boat, and I certainly saw a great deal lastnight, and I'm very much obliged to you--particularly for making it allright with Phil about not coming to play with me to-day. Ah! thatreminds me, I'm in disgrace. I wonder if Aunt Grizzel will really makeme 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 andrude. "

There came a tap at the door. It was Dorcas with the hot water. 

"Good morning, missie, " she said gently, not feeling, to tell the truth, very sure as to what sort of a humour "missie" was likely to be found inthis morning. "I hope you've slept well. "

"Exceedingly well, thank you, Dorcas. I've had a delightful night, "replied Griselda amiably, smiling to herself at the thought of whatDorcas would say if she knew where she had been, and what she had beendoing since last she saw her. 

"That's good news, " said Dorcas in a tone of relief; "and I've good newsfor you, too, missie. At least, I hope you'll think it so. Your aunt hasordered the carriage for quite early this morning--so you see she reallywants to please you, missie, about playing with little Master Phil; andif to-morrow's a fine day, we'll be sure to find some way of letting himknow to come. "

"Thank you, Dorcas. I hope it will be all right, and that Lady Lavanderwon't say anything against it. I dare say she won't. I feel ever so muchhappier this morning, Dorcas; and I'm very sorry I was so rude to AuntGrizzel, for of course I know I _should_ obey her. "

"That's right, missie, " said Dorcas approvingly. 

"It seems to me, Dorcas, " said Griselda dreamily, when, a few minuteslater, she was standing by the window while the old servant brushed outher thick, wavy hair, "it seems to me, Dorcas, that it's _all_ 'obeyingorders' together. There's the sun now, just getting up, and the moonjust going to bed--_they_ are always obeying, aren't they? I wonder whyit should be so hard for people--for children, at least. "

"To be sure, missie, you do put it a way of your own, " replied Dorcas, somewhat mystified; "but I see how you mean, I think, and it's quitetrue. And it _is_ a hard lesson to learn. "

"I want to learn it _well_, Dorcas, " said Griselda, resolutely. "So willyou please tell Aunt Grizzel that I'm very sorry about last night, andI'll do just as she likes about staying in my room or anything. But, ifshe _would_ let me, I'd far rather go down and do my lessons as usualfor Mr. Kneebreeches. I won't ask to go out in the garden; but I wouldlike to please Aunt Grizzel by doing my lessons _very_ well. "

Dorcas was both delighted and astonished. Never had she known her little"missie" so altogether submissive and reasonable. 

"I only hope the child's not going to be ill, " she said to herself. Butshe proved a skilful ambassadress, notwithstanding her misgivings; andGriselda's imprisonment confined her only to the bounds of the house andterrace walk, instead of within the four walls of her own little room, as she had feared. 

Lessons _were_ very well done that day, and Mr. Kneebreeches' report wasall that could be wished. 

"I am particularly gratified, " he remarked to Miss Grizzel, "by theintelligence and interest Miss Griselda displays with regard to thestudy of astronomy, which I have recently begun to give her someelementary instruction in. And, indeed, I have no fault to find with theway in which any of the young lady's tasks are performed. "

"I am extremely glad to hear it, " replied Miss Grizzel graciously, andthe kiss with which she answered Griselda's request for forgiveness wasa very hearty one. 

And it was "all right" about Phil. 

Lady Lavander knew all about him; his father and mother were friends ofhers, for whom she had a great regard, and for some time she had beenintending to ask the little boy to spend the day at Merrybrow Hall, tobe introduced to her god-daughter Griselda. So, _of course_, as LadyLavander knew all about him, there could be no objection to his playingin Miss Grizzel's garden!

And "to-morrow" turned out a fine day. So altogether you can imaginethat Griselda felt very happy and light-hearted as she ran down thewood-path to meet her little friend, whose rosy face soon appeared amongthe bushes. 

"What did you do yesterday, Phil?" asked Griselda. "Were you sorry notto come to play with me?"

"No, " said Phil mysteriously, "I didn't mind. I was looking for the wayto fairyland to show you, and I do believe I've found it. Oh, it _is_such a pretty way. "

Griselda smiled. 

"I'm afraid the way to fairyland isn't so easily found, " she said. "ButI'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. Ican show you quite well, and we can be back by tea-time. "

"Very well, " said Griselda; and off they set. 

Whether it was the way to fairyland or not, it was not to be wondered atthat little Phil thought so. He led Griselda right across the wood to apart where she had never been before. It was pretty rough work part ofthe way. The children had to fight with brambles and bushes, and hereand there to creep through on hands and knees, and Griselda had toremind Phil several times of her promise to his nurse that his clothesshould not be the worse for his playing with her, to prevent hisscrambling through "anyhow" and leaving bits of his knickerbockersbehind him. 

But when at last they reached Phil's favourite spot all their troubleswere forgotten. Oh, how pretty it was! It was a sort of tiny glade inthe very middle of the wood--a little green nest enclosed all round bytrees, and right through it the merry brook came rippling along as ifrejoicing at getting out into the sunlight again for a while. And allthe choicest and sweetest of the early summer flowers seemed to becollected here in greater variety and profusion than in any other partof the wood. 

"_Isn't_ it nice?" said Phil, as he nestled down beside Griselda on thesoft, mossy grass. "It must have been a fairies' garden some time, I'msure, and I shouldn't wonder if one of the doors into fairyland ishidden somewhere here, if only we could find it. "

"If only!" said Griselda. "I don't think we shall find it, Phil; but, any way, this is a lovely place you've found, and I'd like to come herevery often. "

Then at Phil's suggestion they set to work to make themselves a housein the centre of this fairies' garden, as he called it. They managed itvery much to their own satisfaction, by dragging some logs of wood andbig stones from among the brushwood hard by, and filling the holes upwith bracken and furze. 

"And if the fairies _do_ come here, " said Phil, "they'll be very pleasedto find a house all ready, won't they?"

Then they had to gather flowers to ornament the house inside, and dryleaves and twigs all ready for a fire in one corner. Altogether it wasquite a business, I can assure you, and when it was finished they werevery hot and very tired and _rather_ dirty. Suddenly a thought struckGriselda. 

"Phil, " she said, "it must be getting late. "

"Past tea-time?" he said coolly. 

"I dare say it is. Look how low down the sun has got. Come, Phil, wemust 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 shecertainly could not have found her way alone. They scrambled on for someway, then the bushes suddenly seemed to grow less thick, and in a minutethey came out upon a little path. 

"Phil, " said Griselda, "this isn't the way we came. "

"Isn't it?" said Phil, looking about him. "Then we must have comed thewrong way. "

"I'm afraid so, " said Griselda, "and it seems to be so late already. I'mso sorry, for Aunt Grizzel will be vexed, and I did so want to pleaseher. Will your nurse be vexed, Phil?"

"I don't care if she are, " replied Phil valiantly. 

"You shouldn't say that, Phil. You know we _shouldn't_ have stayed solong playing. "

"Nebber mind, " said Phil. "If it was mother I would mind. Mother's sogood, 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 indistress, "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 tworoads, rough cart-ruts only, met; or, rather, where the path ran acrossthe road. Right, or left, or straight on, which should it be? Griseldastood still in perplexity. Already it was growing dusk; already themoon'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 wayin a little bit of a wood like this--I that was up at the other side ofthe 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 inher own. 

She was not disappointed. Presently, in the distance, came thewell-known cry, "cuckoo, cuckoo, " so soft and far away, but yet soclear. 

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, pullingGriselda along, he darted down the road to the right--the direction fromwhence came the cry. 

They had some way to go, for they had wandered far in a wrong direction, but the cuckoo never failed them. Whenever they were at a loss--wheneverthe path turned or divided, they heard his clear, sweet call; and, without the least misgiving, they followed it, till at last it broughtthem out upon the high-road, a stone's throw from Farmer Crouch's gate. 

"I know the way now, good cuckoo, " exclaimed Phil. "I can go home alonenow, 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 beme, not you. "

There was a little bustle about the door of the farm-house as thechildren wearily came up to it. Two or three men were standing togetherreceiving directions from Mr. Crouch himself, and Phil's nurse wastalking eagerly. Suddenly she caught sight of the truants. 

"Here he is, Mr. Crouch!" she exclaimed. "No need now to send to lookfor him. Oh, Master Phil, how could you stay out so late? And to-nightof all nights, just when your----I forgot, I mustn't say. Come in to theparlour at once--and this little girl, who is she?"

"She isn't a little girl, she's a young lady, " said Master Phil, puttingon his lordly air, "and she's to come into the parlour and have somesupper with me, and then some one must take her home to her auntie'shouse--that's what I say. "

More to please Phil than from any wish for "supper, " for she was reallyin a fidget to get home, Griselda let the little boy lead her into theparlour. But she was for a moment perfectly startled by the cry thatbroke from him when he opened the door and looked into the room. A ladywas standing there, gazing out of the window, though in the quicklygrowing darkness she could hardly have distinguished the little figureshe was watching for so anxiously. 

The noise of the door opening made her look round. 

"Phil, " she cried, "my own little Phil; where have you been to? Youdidn'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 filledher eyes as for a minute or two she listened to the cooings andcaressings of the mother and son. 

Only for a minute, however. Then Phil called to her. 

"Mother, mother, " he cried again, "you must kiss Griselda, too! She'sthe little girl that is so kind, and plays with me; and she has nomother, " he added in a lower tone. 

The lady put her arm round Griselda, and kissed her, too. She did notseem surprised. 

"I think I know about Griselda, " she said very kindly, looking into herface with her gentle eyes, blue and clear like Phil's. 

And then Griselda found courage to say how uneasy she was about theanxiety her aunts would be feeling, and a messenger was sent off at onceto tell of her being safe at the farm. 

But Griselda herself the kind lady would not let go till she had hadsome nice supper with Phil, and was both warmed and rested. 

"And what were you about, children, to lose your way?" she askedpresently. 

"I took Griselda to see a place that I thought was the way to fairyland, and then we stayed to build a house for the fairies, in case they come, and then we came out at the wrong side, and it got dark, " explainedPhil. 

"And _was_ it the way to fairyland?" asked his mother, smiling. 

Griselda shook her head as she replied--

"Phil doesn't understand yet, " she said gently. "He isn't old enough. The way to the true fairyland is hard to find, and we must each find itfor 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 Philaway, are you?" she whispered. 

"No, I have come to stay here, " she answered; "and Phil's father iscoming too, soon. We are going to live at the White House--the house onthe other side of the wood, on the way to Merrybrow. Are you glad, children?"

 * * * * *

Griselda had a curious dream that night--merely a dream, nothing else. She dreamt that the cuckoo came once more; this time, he told her, tosay "good-bye. "

"For you will not need me now, " he said. "I leave you in good hands, Griselda. You have friends now who will understand you--friends who willhelp you both to work and to play. Better friends than the mandarins, orthe butterflies, or even than your faithful old cuckoo. "

And when Griselda tried to speak to him, to thank him for his goodness, to beg him still sometimes to come to see her, he gently fluttered away. "Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, " he warbled; but somehow the last "cuckoo"sounded like "good-bye. "

In the morning, when Griselda awoke, her pillow was wet with tears. Thus many stories end. She was happy, very happy in the thought of herkind new friends; but there were tears for the one she felt she had saidfarewell to, even though he was only a cuckoo in a clock. 

[Illustration]

THE CASTLE IN THE LOUGH

THE CASTLE IN THE LOUGH

A LEGEND OF DONEGAL

[Illustration]

"Father, " little Dermot would say, "tell me something more about thecastle in the lough. "

Dermot M'Swyne was a little lad, with blue soft eyes and bright fairhair. He was the only son of Brian, the chief of the M'Swynes, andpeople used sometimes to say scornfully that he was a poor puny son tocome of such a father, for he was not big and burly, as a M'Swyne oughtto be, but slim and fair, and like a girl. However, Brian M'Swyne lovedhis fair-haired boy, and would have given up most other pleasures inthe world for the pleasure of having the little fellow by his side andlistening to his prattling voice. He was like his mother, those said whoremembered the blue-eyed stranger whom Brian M'Swyne had brought hometen years before as his wife to Doe Castle, in Donegal, and who hadpined there for a few years and then died; and perhaps it was for hersake that the child was so dear to the rough old chief. He was nevertired of having the little lad beside him, and many a time he wouldcarry him about and cradle him in his arms, and pass his big fingersthrough the boy's golden curls, and let the little hands play with hisbeard. 

Sitting together in the firelight on winter nights, while the peat firewas burning on the floor, and the wind, sweeping across Lough Eske, wentwailing round the castle walls and sighing in the leafless trees, theboy would often get his father to tell him stories of the country-side. There were many strange legends treasured up in the memories of all oldinhabitants of the place, wild stories of enchantments, or of fairies orbanshees; and little Dermot would never tire of listening to thesetales. Sometimes, when he had heard some only half-finished story, hewould go dreaming on and on to himself about it, till he had woven anending, or a dozen endings, to it in his own brain. 

But of all the tales to which he used to listen there was one thatperhaps, more than any other, he liked to hear--the story of theenchanted castle swallowed up by Lough Belshade. There, down beneath thewaters of the dark lough, into which he had looked so often, was thecastle standing still, its gates and towers and walls all perfect, justas it had stood upon the earth, the very fires still alight that hadbeen burning on its hearths, and--more wonderful than all--the peoplewho had been sunk in it, though fixed and motionless in their enchantedsleep, alive too. It was a wonder of wonders; the child was never tiredof thinking of it, and dreaming of the time in which the enchantmentshould be broken, and of the person who should break it; for, strangestof all, the story said that they must sleep until a M'Swyne should comeand wake them. But what M'Swyne would do it? And how was it to be done?"Father, " little Dermot would say, "tell me something more about theenchanted castle in the lough. "

The legend was thus: On the shores of the desolate lough there had oncestood a great castle, where lived a beautiful maiden called Eileen. Herfather was the chieftain of a clan, and she was his only child. Manyyoung lovers sought her, but she cared for none of them. At last therecame to the castle a noble-looking knight. He had traveled from a farcountry, he said, and he began soon to tell wonderful stories to Eileenof the beauty and the richness of that land of his; how the skies therewere always blue, and the sun always shone, and lords and ladies lived, not in rough stone-hewn castles like these, but in palaces all brightwith marbles and precious stones; and how their lives were all a longdelight, with music and dancing and all pleasant things. 

Eileen listened while he told these tales to her, till she began to longto see his country; and her heart yearned for something brighter andbetter than the sombre life she led by the shores of the dark lough; andso when, after a time, the knight one day told her that he loved her, she gave him her promise to go to his home with him and marry him. 

She was very contented for a little while after she had promised to bethe knight's wife, and spent nearly all her time in talking to her loverand in picturing to herself the new and beautiful things that she wasgoing to see. She was very happy, on the whole; though now and then, totell the truth, as time went on, she began to be a little puzzled andsurprised by certain things that the knight did, and certain odd habitsthat he had; for, in fact, he had some very odd habits, indeed, and, charming and handsome as he was, conducted himself occasionally inreally quite a singular way. 

For instance, it was a curious fact that he never could bear the sightof a dog; and if ever one came near him (and as there were a good manydogs about the castle, it was quite impossible to keep them from comingnear him now and then) he would set his teeth, and rise slowly from hisseat, and begin to make a low hissing noise, craning his neck forward, and swelling and rounding his back in such an extraordinary way that thefirst time Eileen saw him doing it she thought he was going to have afit, and was quite alarmed. 

"Oh, dear, I--I'm afraid you're ill!" she exclaimed, getting upon herfeet and feeling very uneasy. 

"No, no, it's only--it's only--the dog, " gasped the knight, gripping hisseat with both hands, as if it needed the greatest effort to keephimself still. "Hiss--s--s--s! I've such a terrible dislike to dogs. It's--it's in my family, " said the poor young man; and he could notrecover his composure at all till the little animal that had disturbedhim was carried away. 

Then he had such a strange fashion of amusing himself in his own roomwhere he slept. It was a spacious room, hung all round with arras; andoften, after the household had gone to bed, those who slept nearest tothe knight were awakened out of their sleep by the noise he made inrunning up and down, and here and there; scudding about over the floor, and even--as far as could be guessed by the sounds--clambering up thewalls, just as though, instead of being a gracious high-bred younggentleman, he had been the veriest tomboy. 

"I fear, Sir Knight, you do not always rest easily in your apartment, "Eileen's old father said to him one morning after he had been makingeven more disturbance of this sort than usual. "We have rough ways herein the North, and perhaps the arrangement of your sleeping quarters isnot exactly to your liking?"

But the knight, when he began to say this, interrupted him hastily, anddeclared that he had never slept more comfortably in any room in hislife, or more peacefully, he said; he was seldom conscious of even somuch as awakening once. Of course, when he said this, Eileen and herfather could only open their eyes, and come to the conclusion that thepoor young knight was a somnambulist, and afflicted with the habit ofrunning and leaping in his sleep. 

Again, too, out-of-doors, it was very odd how it affected him to hearthe birds sing. Whenever they began their songs, all sorts of nervoustwitchings would come over him, and he would lick his lips and makeconvulsive movements with his hands; and his attention would become sodistracted that he would quite lose the thread of his discourse if hewere talking, or the thread of Eileen's, if she were talking to him. "Itis because I enjoy hearing them so much, " he said once; and of coursewhen he said so Eileen could only believe him; yet she could not helpwishing he would show his pleasure in some other way than this curiousone of setting his teeth and rolling his eyes, and looking much more asif he wanted to eat the birds than to listen to them. 

Still, in spite of these and a good many other peculiarities, the youngknight was very charming, and Eileen was very fond of him. They used tospend the happiest days together, wandering about the wild and beautifulcountry, often sitting for hours on the rocky shores of the dark lough, looking into the deep still water at their feet. It was a wild, romantic, lonely place, shut out from the sunlight by great granitecliffs that threw their dark weird shadows over it. 

"Do you know there is a prophecy that our castle shall stand one dayhere in the middle of the lough?" Eileen said, laughing, once. "I don'tknow how it is to be done, but we are to be planted somehow in themiddle of the water. That is what the people say. I shouldn't like tolive here then. How gloomy it would be to have those great shadowsalways over us!" and the girl shivered a little, and stole her hand intoher lover's, and they began to talk about the far different place whereshe should live; his beautiful palace, far away in the sunny countrybeyond the sea. She was never weary of hearing about the new place andnew life that she was going to, and all the beauty and happiness thatwere going to be hers. 

So time went on, until at last the day before the marriage-day came. Eileen had been showing her lover all her ornaments; she had a greatnumber of very precious ones, and, to please him and amuse herself, shehad been putting them all on, loading herself with armlets, andbracelets, and heavy chains of gold, such as the old Irish princessesused to wear, till she looked as gorgeous as a princess herself. 

It was a sunny summer day, and she sat thinking to herself, "My marriedlife will begin so soon now--the new, beautiful, strange life--and Iwill wear these ornaments in the midst of it; but where everything elseis so lovely, will he think me then as lovely as he does now?"

Presently she glanced up, with a little shyness and a little vanity, just to see if he was looking at and thinking of her; but as she liftedup her head, instead of finding that his eyes were resting on her, shefound----

Well, she found that the knight was certainly not thinking of her onebit. He was sitting staring fixedly at one corner of the apartment, withhis lips working in the oddest fashion; twitching this way and that, andparting and showing his teeth, while he was clawing with his hands thechair on which he sat. 

"Dear me!" said Eileen rather sharply and pettishly, "what is the matterwith you?"

Eileen spoke pretty crossly; for as she had on various previousoccasions seen the knight conduct himself in this sort of way, herfeeling was less of alarm at the sight of him than simply of annoyancethat at this moment, when she herself had been thinking of him sotenderly, he could be giving his attention to any other thing. "What isthe matter with you?" she said; and she raised herself in her chair andturned round her head to see if she could perceive anything worthlooking at in that corner into which the knight was staring almost as ifthe eyes would leap out of his head. 

"Why, there's nothing there but a mouse!" she said contemptuously, whenshe had looked and listened for a moment, and heard only a little faintscratching behind the tapestry. 

"No, no, I believe not; oh, no, nothing but a mouse, " replied the knighthurriedly; but still he did not take his eyes from the spot, and hemoved from side to side in his chair, and twitched his head from rightto left, and looked altogether as if he hardly knew what he was about. 

"And I am sure a mouse is a most harmless thing, " said Eileen. 

"Harmless? Oh! delicious!" replied the knight, with so much unction thatEileen, in her turn, opened her eyes and stared. "Delicious! quitedelicious!" murmured the knight again. 

But after a moment or two more, all at once he seemed to recollecthimself, and made a great effort, and withdrew his eyes from the cornerwhere the mouse was still making a little feeble scratching. 

"I mean a--a most interesting animal, " he said. "I have always felt withregard to mice----"

But just at this instant the mouse poked out his little head frombeneath the tapestry, and the knight leaped to his feet as if he wasshot. 

"Hiss--s--s! skier--r--r! hiss--s--s--s!" he cried; and--could Eileenbelieve her eyes?--for one instant she saw the knight flash past her, and then there was nothing living in the room besides her but a greatblack cat clinging by his claws half-way up the arras, and a littlebrown mouse between his teeth. 

Of course the only thing that Eileen could do was to faint, and so shefainted, and it was six hours before she came to herself again. In themean time nobody in the world knew what had happened; and when sheopened her eyes and began to cry out about a terrible black cat, theyall thought she had gone out of her mind. 

"My dear child, I assure you there is no such thing in the house as ablack cat, " her father said uneasily to her, trying to soothe her in thebest way he could. 

"Oh, yes, he turned into a black cat, " cried Eileen. 

"Who turned into a black cat?" asked her father. 

"The knight did, " sobbed Eileen. 

And then the poor old father went out of the room, thinking that hisdaughter was going mad. 

"She is quite beside herself; she says that you are not a man, but acat, " he said sorrowfully to the young knight, whom he met standingoutside his daughter's room. "What in the world could have put suchthoughts into her head? Not a thing will she talk about but black cats. "

"Let me see her; I will bring her to her right mind, " said the knight. 

"I doubt it very much, " replied the chief; but as he did not know whatelse to do, he let him go into the room, and the knight went in softlyand closed the door, and went up to the couch on which Eileen lay. Shelay with her eyes closed, and with all her gold chains still upon herneck and arms; and the knight, because he trod softly, had come quite upto her side before she knew that he was there. But the moment she openedher eyes and saw him, she gave such a scream that it quite made himleap; and if he had not bolted the door every creature in the castlewould have rushed into the room at the sound of it. Fortunately for him, however, he had bolted the door; and as it was a very stout door, madeof strong oak, Eileen might have screamed for an hour before anybodycould have burst it open. As soon, therefore, as the knight hadrecovered from the start she gave him, he quietly took a chair and satdown by her side. 

"Eileen, " he said, beginning to speak at once--for probably he felt thatthe matter he had come to mention was rather a painful and a delicateone, and the more quickly he could get over what he had to say thebetter--"Eileen, you have unhappily to-day seen me under--ahem!--underan unaccustomed shape----"

He had only got so far as this, when Eileen gave another shriek andcovered her face with her hands. 

"I say, " repeated the knight, in a tone of some annoyance, and raisinghis voice, for Eileen was making such a noise that it was reallynecessary to speak pretty loudly--"I say you have unfortunately seen meto-day under a shape that you were not prepared for; but I have come, mylove, to assure you that the--transformation--was purely accidental--amere blunder of a moment--an occurrence that shall never be repeated inyour sight. Look up to me again, Eileen, and do not let this eve of ourmarriage-day----"

But what the knight had got to say about the eve of their marriage-dayEileen never heard, for as soon as he had reached these words she gaveanother shriek so loud that he jumped upon his seat. 

"Do you think that I will ever marry a black cat?" cried Eileen, fixingher eyes with a look of horror on his face. 

"Eileen, take care!" exclaimed the knight sternly. "Take care how youanger me, or it will be the worse for you. "

"The worse for me! Do you think I am afraid of you?" said Eileen withher eyes all flashing, for she had a high enough spirit, and was notgoing to allow herself to be forced to marry a black cat, let the knightsay what he would. She rose from her couch and would have sprung to theground, if all at once the knight had not bent forward and taken her byher hand. 

"Eileen, " said the knight, holding her fast and looking into her face, "Eileen, will you be my wife?"

"I would sooner die!" cried Eileen. 

"Eileen, " cried the knight passionately, "I love you! Do not break yourpromise to me. Forget what you have seen. I am a powerful magician. Iwill make you happy. I will give you all you want. Be my wife. "

"Never!" cried Eileen. 

"Then you have sealed your fate!" exclaimed the knight fiercely; andsuddenly he rose and extended his arms, and said some strange words thatEileen did not understand; and all at once it appeared to her as if somethick white pall were spreading over her, and her eyelids began toclose, and involuntarily she sank back. 

Once more, but as if in a dream, she heard the knight's voice. 

"If you do not become my wife, " he said, "you shall never be the wife ofany living man. The black cat can hold his own. Sleep here till anotherlover comes to woo you. "

A mocking laugh rang through the room--and then Eileen heard no more. Itseemed to her that her life was passing away. A strange feeling came toher, as if she were sinking through the air; there was a sound in herears of rushing water; and then all recollection and all consciousnessceased. 

Some travelers passing that evening by the lough gazed at the spot onwhich the castle had stood, and rubbed their eyes in wild surprise, forthere was no castle there, but only a bare tract of desolate, wasteground. The prophecy had been fulfilled; the castle had been lifted upfrom its foundation and sunk in the waters of the lough. 

This was the story that Dermot used to listen to as he sat in hisfather's hall on winter nights--a wild old story, very strange, andsweet too, as well as strange. For they were living still, the legendalways said--the chief and his household, and beautiful Eileen; not deadat all, but only sleeping an enchanted sleep, till some one of theM'Swynes should come and kill the black cat who guarded them, and setthem free. Under those dark, deep waters, asleep for three hundredyears, lay Eileen, with all her massive ornaments on her neck and arms, and red-gold Irish hair. How often did the boy think of her, and pictureto himself the motionless face, with its closed, waiting eyes, and yearnto see it. Asleep there for three hundred years! His heart used to burnat the imagination. In all these centuries had no M'Swyne been foundbold enough to find the black cat and kill him? Could it be so hard athing to kill a black cat? the little fellow thought. 

"I'd kill him myself if only I had the chance, " he said one day; andwhen he said that his father laughed. 

"Ay, my lad, you might kill him if you had the chance--but how would youget the chance?" he asked him. "Do you think the magician would be foolenough to leave his watch over the lough and put himself in your way?Kill him? Yes, we could any of us kill him if we could catch him; butthree hundred years have passed away and nobody has ever caught himyet. "

"Well, I may do it some day, when I am grown a man, " Dermot said. 

So he went on dreaming over the old legend, and weaving out of his ownbrain an ending to it. What if it should be, indeed, his lot to awakeEileen from her enchanted sleep? He used to wander often by the shoresof the dark little lough and gaze into the shadowy waters. Many a time, too, he would sail across them, leaning down over his boat's side, totry in vain to catch some glimpse of the buried castle's walls ortowers. Once or twice--it might have been mere fancy--it seemed to himas if he saw some dark thing below the surface, and he would cry aloud, "The cat! I see the black cat!" But they only laughed at him when hereturned home and said this. "It was only a big fish at the bottom ofthe water, my boy, " his father would reply. 

When he was a boy he talked of this story often and was never weary ofasking questions concerning it; but presently, as he grew older, he grewmore reserved and shy, and when he spoke about Eileen the color used tocome into his cheek. "Why, boy, are you falling in love with her?" hisfather said to him one day. "Are there not unbewitched maidens enough toplease you on the face of the earth, but you must take a fancy to abewitched one lying asleep at the bottom of the lough?" and he laughedaloud at him. After that day Dermot never spoke of Eileen in hisfather's hearing. But although he ceased to speak of her, yet only themore did he think and dream about her; and the older he grew, the lessdid he seem to care for any of those unbewitched maidens of whom hisfather had talked; and the only maiden of whom he thought with love andlonging was this one who lay asleep in the enchanted castle in thelough. 

So the years passed on, and in time Dermot's father died, and the youngman became chieftain of his clan. He was straight and tall, with blue, clear eyes, and a frank, fair face. Some of the M'Swynes, who were arough, burly race, looked scornfully on him and said that he was fitterto make love to ladies than to head men on a battle-field; but theywronged him when they said that, for no braver soldier than Dermot hadever led their clan. He was both brave and gentle too, and courteous, and tender, and kind; and as for being only fit to make love toladies--why, making love to ladies was almost the only thing he neverdid. 

"Are you not going to bring home a wife to the old house, my son?" saidhis foster-mother, an old woman who had lived with him all her life. "Before I die I'd love to dandle a child of yours upon my knee. "

But Dermot only shook his head. "My wife, I fear, will be hard to win. Imay have to wait for her all my days. " And then, after a little while, when the old woman still went on talking to him, "How can I marry whenmy love has been asleep these three hundred years?"

This was the first time that he had spoken about Eileen for many a day, and the old nurse had thought, like everybody else, that he hadforgotten that old legend and all the foolish fancies of his youth. 

She was sitting at her spinning-wheel, but she dropped the thread andfolded her hands sadly on her knees. 

"My son, why think on her that's as good as dead? Even if you could winher, would you take a bewitched maiden to be your wife?"

It was a summer's day, and Dermot stood looking far away through thesunshine toward where, though he could not see it, the enchanted castlelay. He had stood in that same place a thousand times, looking towardit, dreaming over the old tale. 

For several minutes he made no answer to what the old woman had said;then all at once he turned round to her. 

"Nurse, " he said passionately, "I have adored her for twenty years. Eversince I first stood at your knees, and you told me of her, she has beenthe one love of my heart. Unless I can marry her, I will never marry anywoman in this world. " He came to the old woman's side, and though he wasa full-grown man, he put his arms about her neck. "Nurse, you have akeen woman's wit; cannot you help me with it?" he said. "I have wanderedround the lough by day and night and challenged the magician to come andtry his power against me, but he does not hear me, or he will not come. How can I reach him through those dark, cruel waters and force him tocome out of them and fight with me?"

"Foolish lad!" the old woman said. She was a wise old woman, but shebelieved as much as everybody else did in the legend of the castle inthe lough. "What has he to gain that he need come up and fight with you?Do you think the black cat's such a fool as to heed your ranting andyour challenging?"

"But what else can I do?"

The old woman took her thread into her hands again, and sat spinning fortwo or three minutes without answering a word. She was a sensible oldwoman, and it seemed to her a sad pity that a fine young man like herfoster-son should waste his life in pining for the love of a maiden whohad lain asleep and enchanted for three hundred years. Yet the nurseloved him so dearly that she could not bear to cross him in anything, orto refuse to do anything that he asked. So she sat spinning and thinkingfor a little while, and then said:

"It was a mouse that made him show himself in his own shape first, andit's few mice he can be catching, I guess, down in the bottom of thelough. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll give you half a dozen mice in abag tomorrow, and you can let them loose when you get to the water side, and see if that will bring him up. "

Well, Dermot did not think very much of this plan; but still, as he hadasked the old woman to help him, he felt that he could not avoid takingher advice, and so the next morning his nurse gave him a bag with half adozen mice in it, and he carried it with him to the lough. But, alas! assoon as ever he had opened the bag, all the six mice rushed away likelightning and were out of sight in a moment. 

"That chance is soon ended, " Dermot said mournfully to himself; so hetook back the empty bag to his nurse, and told her what had happened. 

"You goose, why didn't you let them out one by one?" inquired she. "Sure they would run when you opened the bag. You should have made playwith them. "

"To be sure, so I should; but I never thought of that. I'll do betternext time. "

So next day the woman brought him the bag again, filled this time withfat rats, and he took it to the lough, and laid it down at the waterside, and opened the mouth of it just wide enough for one of the rats toput out his nose; and then he sat and watched, and watched, letting therats run away one by one; but though he sat watching for the whole day, not a sign did he ever see of the black cat. At last he camedisconsolately home again with the empty bag on his shoulder. 

"Never mind, my son, we'll try something else to-morrow, " said nursecheerfully. So next morning she brought him a fishing-rod, and a largepiece of toasted cheese. "Take this to the lough and bait your hook withit, " she said, "and see if the black cat won't come up and take a bite. All cats like cheese. "

Dermot went immediately to the lough, baited his hook, and threw theline out into the water. After a few minutes his heart gave a greatjump, for he felt a sudden pull at the line. He drew it in softly andcautiously; but when he got it to the water's edge there was nothing onhis hook but a large flat fish--and the toasted cheese had all brokenaway and was gone. 

"What a foolish old woman, to give me toasted cheese to put into water!"he said to himself; then he heaved a sigh, threw the fish into his bag, and once more went sadly away. 

"I dare say the villain of a cat has breakfasted nicely off the toastedcheese without the trouble of coming for it, " he said bitterly, when hegot home. 

"Never mind; we'll maybe have better luck to-morrow, " replied the nurse. "I dreamed a dream, and in the dream I thought of something else to do. "

So early next morning she brought a fat black pig. 

"What in the world am I to do with this?" said Dermot sharply. 

"Ah, now, be easy, my dear, " said the old woman coaxingly. "Just take itdown to the lough and roast it there, and sure when the cat smells thefine smell of it he'll come up for a taste. "

Now Dermot was getting rather tired of doing all these odd things; andthough he had readily gone to the lough with the mice and the rats andthe toasted cheese, yet he did not at all relish the notion of carryinga live pig across the country with him for two or three miles. However, he was very good-natured, and so, although he did not himself think thatany good would come of it, after a little while he let his nursepersuade him to take the pig. The old woman tied a string about its leg, and he took it to the lough, and as soon as he got there he collectedsome sticks and peat together and, building up a good big pile, setlight to it. Then he killed the pig with his hunting-knife and hung itup before the fire to roast. Presently a most savory smell began tofill the air. 

Dermot withdrew a little way, sat down behind a jutting piece of rock, and watched, his eyes never leaving the smooth surface of the lough; butminute after minute passed and not the slightest movement stirred it. From time to time he made up his fire afresh, and turned his pig fromside to side. The whole air around grew full of the smell of roastingmeat, so savory that, being hungry, it made Dermot's own mouth water;but still--there lay the lough, quiet and smooth, and undisturbed asglass, with only the dark shadows of the silent rocks lying across it. 

At last the pig was cooked and ready, and Dermot rose and drew it fromthe fire. 

"I may as well make my own dinner off it, " he thought sorrowfully tohimself, "for nobody else will come to have a share of it. " So he tookhis knife and cut himself a juicy slice, and sat down again, concealinghimself behind the rock, with his bow and arrow by his side, and hadjust lifted the first morsel to his lips, when--

Down fell the untasted meat upon the ground, and his heart leaped to hislips, for surely something at last was stirring the waters! The oilysurface had broken into circles; there was a movement, a little splash, a sudden vision of something black. A moment or two he sat breathlesslygazing; and then--was he asleep, or was he waking, and really sawit?--he saw above the water a black cat's head. Black head, black pawsput out to swim, black back, black tail. 

Dermot took his bow up in his hand, and tried to fit an arrow to it; buthis hand shook, and for a few moments he could not draw. Slowly thecreature swam to the water's edge, and, reaching it, planted its feetupon the earth, and looked warily, with green, watchful eye, all round;then, shaking itself--and the water seemed to glide off its black fur asoff a duck's back--it licked its lips, and, giving one great sweep intothe air, it bounded forward to where the roasted pig was smoking on theground. For a moment Dermot saw it, with its tail high in the air andits tongue stretched out to lick the crackling; and then, sharp andsure, whiz! went an arrow from his bow; and the next moment, stretchedflat upon the ground, after one great dismal howl, lay the man-cat, orcat-man, with an arrow in his heart. 

Dermot sprang to his feet, and, rushing to the creature's side, caughthim by the throat; but he was dead already; only the great, wide-opened, green, fierce eyes seemed to shoot out an almost human look of hatredand despair, before they closed forever. The young chieftain took up thebeast, looked at it, and with all his might flung it from him into thelough; then turning round, he stretched his arms out passionately. 

"Eileen! Eileen!" he cried aloud; and as though that word had broken thespell, all at once--oh, wonderful sight!--the enchanted castle began torise. Higher it rose and higher; one little turret first; thenpinnacles and tower and roof; then strong stone walls; until, complete, it stood upon the surface of the lough like a strange floating ship. Andthen slowly and gently it drifted to the shore and, rising at thewater's edge, glided a little through the air, and sank at last upon theearth, fixing itself firmly down once more where it had stood of old, asif its foundations never had been stirred through the whole of thosethree hundred years. 

With his heart beating fast, Dermot stood gazing as if he could nevercease to gaze. It was a lovely summer day, and all the landscape roundhim was bathed in sunlight. The radiance shone all over the gray castlewalls and made each leaf on every tree a golden glory. It shone onbright flowers blooming in the castle garden; it shone on human figuresthat began to live and move. Breathless and motionless, Dermot watchedthem. He was not close to them, but near enough to see them in theirstrange quaint dresses, passing to and fro, like figures that hadstarted from some painted picture of a by-gone age. The place grew fullof them. They poured out from the castle gates; they gathered intogroups; they spread themselves abroad; they streamed out from the castleright and left. Did they know that they had been asleep? Apparently not, for each man went on with his natural occupation, as if he had butpaused over it a minute to take breath. A hum of voices filled the air;Dermot heard strange accents, almost like those of an unknown tongue, mingled with the sound of laughter. Three hundred years had passed away, and yet they did not seem to know it; busily they went about theirsports or labors--as calmly and unconsciously as if they never had beeninterrupted for an hour. 

And, in the midst of all, where was Eileen? The young chieftain stoodlooking at the strange scene before him, with his heart beating high andfast. He had killed the cat, he had broken the enchantment, he hadawakened the castle from its sleep, but what was to come next? Did theprophecy, which said that a M'Swyne should do this, say also that, fordoing it, he should be given a reward?

Nay, it said nothing more. The rest was all a blank. But was there, then, to be no reward for him? Dermot stood suddenly erect and crusheddown a certain faintness that had been rising in his heart. Theprophecy, indeed, said nothing, but he would carve out the rest of hisdestiny for himself. 

And so he carved it out. He went straight through the unknown people tothe castle garden and found--was it what he sought? He found a ladygathering flowers--a lady in a rich dress, with golden armlets, bracelets, and head-ornaments--such as are now only discovered in tombs. But she was not dead; she was alive and young. For she turned round, and, after his life's patient waiting, Dermot saw Eileen's face. 

And then--what more? Well, need I tell the rest? What ending could thestory have but one? Of course he made her love him, and they married, and lived, and died. That was the whole. They were probably happy--I donot know. You may see the little lough still in that wild country ofDonegal, and the deep dark waters that hid the enchanted castle beneaththem for so many years. As for the castle itself--that, I think, hascrumbled away; and the whole story is only a story legend--one of thepretty, foolish legends of the old times. 

THE END

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Transcriber's Note:

Variations in spelling and hyphenation, as well as unusual words, havebeen retained as they appear in the original publication.