"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."
"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."
"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."
T
here was moonlight, though not so much, in the saloon and the ante-room, too; for though the windows, like those in Griselda's bed-room, had the shutters closed, there was a round part at the top, high up, which the shutters did not reach to, and in crept, through these clear uncovered panes, quite as many moonbeams, you may be sure, as could find their way.
Griselda, eager though she was, could not help standing still a moment to admire the effect.
"It looks prettier with the light coming in at those holes at the top than even if the shutters were open," she said to herself. "How goldy-silvery the cabinet looks; and, yes, I do declare, the mandarins are nodding! I wonder if it is out of politeness to me, or does Aunt Grizzel come in last thing at night and touch them to make them keep nodding till morning? Isupposethey're a sort of policemen to the palace; and I dare say there are all sorts of beautiful things inside. How I should like to see all through it!"
But at this moment the faint tick-tick of the cuckoo clock in the next room, reaching her ear, reminded her of the object of this midnight expedition of hers. She hurried into the ante-room.
It looked darker than the great saloon, for it had but one window. But through the uncovered space at the top of this window there penetrated some brilliant moonbeams,one of which lighted up brightly the face of the clock with its queer over-hanging eaves.
Griselda approached it and stood below, looking up.
"Cuckoo," she said softly—very softly.
But there was no reply.
"Cuckoo," she repeated rather more loudly. "Why won't you speak to me? I know you are there, and you're not asleep, for I heard your voice in my own room. Why won't you come out, cuckoo?"
"Tick-tick," said the clock, but there was no other reply.
Griselda felt ready to cry.
"Cuckoo," she said reproachfully, "I didn't think you were so hard-hearted. I have beensounhappy about you, and I was so pleased to hear your voice again, for I thought I had killed you, or hurt you very badly; and I didn'tmeanto hurt you, cuckoo. I was sorry the moment I had done it,dreadfullysorry. Dear cuckoo, won't you forgive me?"
SHE COULD NOT HELP VERY SOFTLY CLAPPING HER HANDSshe could not help very softly clapping her hands
There was a little sound at last—a faintcomingsound, and by the moonlight Griselda saw the doors open, and out flew the cuckoo. He stood still for a moment, looked round him as it were, then gently flapped his wings, and uttered his usual note—"Cuckoo."
Griselda stood in breathless expectation, but in her delight she could not help very softly clapping her hands.
The cuckoo cleared his throat. You never heard such a funny little noise as he made; and then, in a very clear, distinct, but yet "cuckoo-y" voice, he spoke.
"Griselda," he said, "are you truly sorry?"
"I told you I was," she replied. "But I didn'tfeelso very naughty, cuckoo. I didn't, really. I was only vexed for one minute, and when I threw the book I seemed to be a very little in fun, too. And it made me so unhappy when you went away, and my poor aunts have been dreadfully unhappy too. If you hadn't come back I should have told them tomorrow what I had done. I would havetold them before, but I was afraid it would have made them more unhappy. I thought I had hurt you dreadfully."
"So you did," said the cuckoo.
"But youlookquite well," said Griselda.
"It was myfeelings," replied the cuckoo; "and I couldn't help going away. I have to obey orders like other people."
Griselda stared. "How do you mean?" she asked.
"Never mind. You can't understand at present," said the cuckoo. "You can understand about obeyingyourorders, and you see, when you don't, things go wrong."
"Yes," said Griselda humbly, "they certainly do. But, cuckoo," she continued, "I never used to get into tempers at home—hardlynever, at least; and I liked my lessons then, and I never was scolded about them."
"What's wrong here, then?" said the cuckoo. "It isn't often that things go wrong in this house."
"That's what Dorcas says," said Griselda."It must be with my being a child—my aunts and the house and everything have got out of children's ways,"
"About time they did," remarked the cuckoo drily.
"And so," continued Griselda, "it is really very dull. I have lots of lessons, but it isn't so much that I mind. It is that I've no one to play with."
"There's something in that," said the cuckoo. He flapped his wings and was silent for a minute or two. "I'll consider about it," he observed at last.
"Thank you," said Griselda, not exactly knowing what else to say.
"And in the meantime," continued the cuckoo, "you'd better obey present orders and go back to bed."
"Shall I say good-night to you, then?" asked Griselda somewhat timidly.
"You're quite welcome to do so," replied the cuckoo. "Why shouldn't you?"
"You see I wasn't sure if you would likeit," returned Griselda, "for of course you're not like a person, and—and—I've been told all sorts of queer things about what fairies like and don't like."
"Who said I was a fairy?" inquired the cuckoo.
"Dorcas did, and,of course, my own common sense did too," replied Griselda. "You must be a fairy—you couldn't be anything else."
"I might be a fairyfied cuckoo," suggested the bird.
Griselda looked puzzled.
"I don't understand," she said, "and I don't think it could make much difference. But whatever you are, I wish you would tell me one thing."
"What?" said the cuckoo.
"I want to know, now that you've forgiven me for throwing the book at you, have you come back for good?"
"Certainly not for evil," replied the cuckoo.
Griselda gave a little wriggle. "Cuckoo, you're laughing at me," she said. "I mean, have you come back to stay and cuckoo as usual and make my aunts happy again?"
"You'll see in the morning," said the cuckoo. "Now go off to bed."
"Good night," said Griselda, "and thank you, and please don't forget to let me know when you've considered."
"Cuckoo, cuckoo," was her little friend's reply. Griselda thought it was meant for good night, but the fact of the matter was that at that exact second of time it was two o'clock in the morning.
She made her way back to bed. She had been standing some time talking to the cuckoo, but, though it was now well on in November, she did not feel the least cold, nor sleepy! She felt as happy and light-hearted as possible, and she wished it was morning, that she might get up. Yet the moment she laid her little brown curly head on the pillow, she fell asleep; and itseemed to her that just as she dropped off a soft feathery wing brushed her cheek gently and a tiny "Cuckoo" sounded in her ear.
When she woke it was bright morning, really bright morning, for the wintry sun was already sending some clear yellow rays out into the pale grey-blue sky.
"It must be late," thought Griselda, when she had opened the shutters and seen how light it was. "I must have slept a long time. I feel so beautifully unsleepy now. I must dress quickly—how nice it will be to see my aunts look happy again! I don't even care if they scold me for being late."
But, after all, it was not so much later than usual; it was only a much brighter morning than they had had for some time. Griselda did dress herself very quickly, however. As she went downstairs two or three of the clocks in the house, for there were several, were striking eight. These clocks must have been a little before the right time,for it was not till they had again relapsed into silence that there rang out from the ante-room the clear sweet tones, eight times repeated, of "Cuckoo."
Miss Grizzel and Miss Tabitha were already at the breakfast-table, but they received their little niece most graciously. Nothing was said about the clock, however, till about half-way through the meal, when Griselda, full of eagerness to know if her aunts were aware of the cuckoo's return, could restrain herself no longer.
"Aunt Grizzel," she said, "isn't the cuckoo all right again?"
"Yes, my dear. I am delighted to say it is," replied Miss Grizzel.
"Did you get it put right, Aunt Grizzel?" inquired Griselda, slyly.
"Little girls should not ask so many questions," replied Miss Grizzel, mysteriously. "Itisall right again, and that is enough. During fifty years 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 done badly."
"No, indeed, you won't have done badly," repeated Miss Tabitha.
But though the two old ladies thus tried to improve the occasion by a little lecturing, Griselda could see that at the bottom of their hearts they were both so happy that, even if she had been very naughty indeed, they could hardly have made up their minds to scold her.
She was not at all inclined to be naughty this day. She had something to think about and look forward to, which made her quite a different little girl, and made her take heart in doing her lessons as well as she possibly could.
"I wonder when the cuckoo will have considered enough about my having no one to play with?" she said to herself, as she was walking up and down the terrace at the back of the house.
"Caw, caw!" screamed a rook just over her head, as if in answer to her thought.
Griselda looked up at him.
"Your voice isn't half so pretty as the cuckoo's, Mr. Rook," she said. "All the same, I dare say I should make friends with you, if I understood what you meant. How funny it would be to know all the languages of the birds and the beasts, like the prince in the fairy tale! I wonder if I should wish for that, if a fairy gave me a wish? No, I don't think I would. I'dfarrather have the fairy carpet that would take you anywhere you liked in a minute. I'd go to China to see if all the people there look like Aunt Grizzel's mandarins; and I'd first of all, of course, go to fairyland."
"You must come in now, little missie," said Dorcas's voice. "Miss Grizzel says you have had play enough, and there's a nice fire in the ante-room for you to do your lessons by."
"Play!" repeated Griselda indignantly, as she turned to follow the old servant. "Do you call walking up and down the terrace'play,' Dorcas? I mustn't loiter even to pick a flower, if there were any, for fear of catching cold, and I mustn't run for fear of overheating myself. I declare, Dorcas, if I don't have some play soon, or something to amuse me, I think I'll run away."
"Nay, nay, missie, don't talk like that. You'd never do anything so naughty, and you so like Miss Sybilla, who was so good."
"Dorcas, I'm tired of being told I'm like Miss Sybilla," said Griselda, impatiently. "She was my grandmother; no one would like to be told they were like their grandmother. It makes me feel as if my face must be all screwy up and wrinkly, and as if I should have spectacles on and a wig."
"Thatis not like what Miss Sybilla was when I first saw her," said Dorcas. "She was younger than you, missie, and as pretty as a fairy."
"Wasshe?" exclaimed Griselda, stopping short.
"Yes, indeed she was. She might havebeen a fairy, so sweet she was and gentle—and yet so merry. Every creature loved her; even the animals about seemed to know her, as if she was one of themselves. She brought good luck to the house, and it was a sad day when she left it."
"I thought you said it was the cuckoo that brought good luck?" said Griselda.
"Well, so it was. The cuckoo and Miss Sybilla came here the same day. It was left to her by her mother's father, with whom she had lived since she was a baby, and when he died she came here to her sisters. She wasn'townsister to my ladies, you see, missie. Her mother had come from Germany, and it was in some strange place there, where her grandfather lived, that the cuckoo clock was made. They make wonderful clocks there, I've been told, but none more wonderful than our cuckoo, I'm sure."
"No, I'msurenot," said Griselda, softly. "Why didn't Miss Sybilla take it with her when she was married and went away?"
"She knew her sisters were so fond of it. It was like a memory of her left behind for them. It was like a part of her. And do you know, missie, the night she died—she died soon after your father was born, a year after she was married—for a whole hour, from twelve to one, that cuckoo went on cuckooing in a soft, sad way, like some living creature in trouble. Of course, we did not know anything was wrong with her, and folks said something had caught some of the springs of the works; butIdidn't think so, and never shall. And——"
But here Dorcas's reminiscences were abruptly brought to a close by Miss Grizzel's appearance at the other end of the terrace.
"Griselda, what are you loitering so for? Dorcas, you should have hastened, not delayed Miss Griselda."
So Griselda was hurried off to her lessons, and Dorcas to her kitchen. But Griselda did not much mind. She had plenty to think of and wonder about, and she liked todo her lessons in the ante-room, with the tick-tick of the clock in her ears, and the feeling thatperhapsthe cuckoo was watching her through some invisible peep-hole in his closed doors.
"And if he sees," thought Griselda, "if he sees how hard I am trying to do my lessons well, it will perhaps make him be quick about 'considering.'"
So she did try very hard. And she didn't speak to the cuckoo when he came out to say it was four o'clock. She was busy, and he was busy. She felt it was better to wait till he gave her some sign of being ready to talk to her again.
For fairies, you know, children, however charming, are sometimesratherqueer to have to do with. They don't like to be interfered with, or treated except with very great respect, and they have their own ideas about what is proper and what isn't, I can assure you.
I suppose it was with working so hard ather lessons—most people say it was with having been up the night before, running about the house in the moonlight; but as she had never felt so "fresh" in her life as when she got up that morning, it could hardly have been that—that Griselda felt so tired and sleepy that evening, she could hardly keep her eyes open. She begged to go to bed quite half an hour earlier than usual, which made Miss Tabitha afraid again that she was going to be ill. But as there is nothing better for children than to go to bed early, even if theyaregoing to be ill, Miss Grizzel told her to say good-night, and to ask Dorcas to give her a wine-glassful of elderberry wine, nice and hot, after she was in bed.
Griselda had no objection to the elderberry wine, though she felt she was having it on false pretences. She certainly did not need it to send her to sleep, for almost before her head touched the pillow she was as sound as a top. She had slept a good longwhile, when again she wakened suddenly—just as she had done the night before, and again with the feeling that something had wakened her. And the queer thing was that the moment she was awake she felt soveryawake—she had no inclination to stretch and yawn and hope it wasn't quite time to get up, and think how nice and warm bed was, and how cold it was outside! She sat straight up, and peered out into the darkness, feeling quite ready for an adventure.
"Is it you, cuckoo?" she said softly.
There was no answer, but listening intently, the child fancied she heard a faint rustling or fluttering in the corner of the room by the door. She got up and, feeling her way, opened it, and the instant she had done so she heard, a few steps only in front of her it seemed, the familiar notes, very,verysoft and whispered, "Cuckoo, cuckoo."
It went on and on, down the passage, Griselda trotting after. There was no moon to-night, heavy clouds had quite hidden it,and outside the rain was falling heavily. Griselda could hear it on the window-panes, through the closed shutters and all. But dark as it was, she made her way along without any difficulty, down the passage, across the great saloon, in through the ante-room door, guided only by the little voice now and then to be heard in front of her. She came to a standstill right before the clock, and stood there for a minute or two patiently waiting.
She had not very long to wait. There came the usual murmuring sound, then the doors above the clock face opened—she heard them open, it was far too dark to see—and in his ordinary voice, clear and distinct (it was just two o'clock, so the cuckoo was killing two birds with one stone, telling the hour and greeting Griselda at once), the bird sang out, "Cuckoo, cuckoo."
"Good evening, cuckoo," said Griselda, when he had finished.
"Good morning, you mean," said the cuckoo.
"Good morning, then, cuckoo," said Griselda. "Have you considered about me, cuckoo?"
The cuckoo cleared his throat.
"Have you learnt to obey orders yet, Griselda?" he inquired.
"I'm trying," replied Griselda. "But you see, cuckoo, I've not had very long to learn in—it was only last night you told me, you know."
The cuckoo sighed.
"You've a great deal to learn, Griselda."
"I dare say I have," she said. "But I can tell you one thing, cuckoo—whatever lessons I have, Icouldn'tever have any worse than those addition sums of Mr. Kneebreeches'. I have made up my mind about that, for to-day, do you know, cuckoo——"
"Yesterday," corrected the cuckoo. "Always be exact in your statements, Griselda."
"Well, yesterday, then," said Griselda, rather tartly; "though when you know quitewell what I mean, I don't see that you need be soveryparticular. Well, as I was saying, I tried andtried, but still they were fearful. They were, indeed."
"You've a great deal to learn, Griselda," repeated the cuckoo.
"I wish you wouldn't say that so often," said Griselda. "I thought you were going toplaywith me."
"There's something in that," said the cuckoo, "there's something in that. I should like to talk about it. But we could talk more comfortably if you would come up here and sit beside me."
Griselda thought her friend must be going out of his mind.
"Sit beside you up there!" she exclaimed. "Cuckoo, howcouldI? I'm far, far too big."
"Big!" returned the cuckoo. "What do you mean by big? It's all a matter of fancy. Don't you know that if the world and everything in it, counting yourself of course, wasall made little enough to go into a walnut, you'd never find out the difference."
"Wouldn'tI?" said Griselda, feeling rather muddled; "but,notcounting myself, cuckoo, I would then, wouldn't I?"
"Nonsense," said the cuckoo hastily; "you've a great deal to learn, and one thing is, not toargue. Nobody should argue; it's a shocking bad habit, and ruins the digestion. Come up here and sit beside me comfortably. Catch hold of the chain; you'll find you can manage if you try."
"But it'll stop the clock," said Griselda. "Aunt Grizzel said I was never to touch the weights or the chains."
"Stuff," said the cuckoo; "it won't stop the clock. Catch hold of the chains and swing yourself up. There now—I told you you could manage it."
"We're all nodding, nid-nid-nodding."
"We're all nodding, nid-nid-nodding."
"We're all nodding, nid-nid-nodding."
H
ow she managed it she never knew; but, somehow or other, itwasmanaged. She seemed to slide up the chain just as easily as in a general way she would have slidden down, only without any disagreeable anticipation of a bump at the end of the journey. And when she got to the top how wonderfully different it looked from anything she could have expected! The doors stood open, and Griselda found themquite big enough, or herself quite small enough—which it was she couldn't tell, and as it was all a matter of fancy she decided not to trouble to inquire—to pass through quite comfortably.
And inside there was the most charming little snuggery imaginable. It was something like a saloon railway carriage—it seemed to be all lined and carpeted and everything, with rich mossy red velvet; there was a little round table in the middle and two arm-chairs, on one of which sat the cuckoo—"quite like other people," thought Griselda to herself—while the other, as he pointed out to Griselda by a little nod, was evidently intended for her.
"Thank you," said she, sitting down on the chair as she spoke.
"Are you comfortable?" inquired the cuckoo.
"Quite," replied Griselda, looking about her with great satisfaction. "Are all cuckoo clocks like this when you get up inside them?"she inquired. "I can't think how there's room for this dear little place between the clock and the wall. Is it a hole cut out of the wall on purpose, cuckoo?"
"ARE YOU COMFORTABLE?" INQUIRED THE CUCKOO"are you comfortable?" inquired the 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 Imight."
She looked at her little bare feet as she spoke, and wondered whytheyweren't cold, for it was very chilblainy weather.
The cuckoo stood up, and with one of his claws reached from a corner where it was hanging a cloak which Griselda had not before noticed. For it was hanging wrong side out, and the lining was red velvet, very like what the sides of the little room were covered with, so it was no wonder she had not noticed it.
Had it been hanging therightside out she must have done so; this side was so very wonderful!
It was all feathers—feathers of every shade and colour, but beautifully worked in, somehow, so as to lie quite smoothly and evenly, one colour melting away into another like those in a prism, so that you could hardly tell where one began and another ended.
"What alovelycloak!" said Griselda, wrapping it round her and feeling even more comfortable than before, as she watched the rays of the little lamp in the roof—I think I was forgetting to tell you that the cuckoo's boudoir was lighted by a dear little lamp set into the red velvet roof like a pearl in a ring—playing softly on the brilliant colours of the feather mantle.
"It's better than lovely," said the cuckoo, "as you shall see. Now, Griselda," he continued, in the tone of one coming to business—"now, Griselda, let us talk."
"We have been talking," said Griselda, "ever so long. I am very comfortable. When you say 'let us talk' like that, it makes me forget all I wanted to say. Justlet me sit still and say whatever comes into my head."
"That won't do," said the cuckoo; "we must have a plan of action."
"A what?" said Griselda.
"You see youhavea great deal to learn," said the cuckoo triumphantly. "You don't understand what I say."
"But I didn't come up here to learn," said Griselda; "I can do that down there;" and she nodded her head in the direction of the ante-room table. "I want to play."
"Just so," said the cuckoo; "that's what I want to talk about. What do you call 'play'—blindman's-buff and that sort of thing?"
"No," said Griselda, considering. "I'm getting rather too big for that kind of play. Besides, cuckoo, you and I alone couldn't have much fun at blindman's-buff; there'd be only me to catch you or you to catch me."
"Oh, we could easily get more," said the cuckoo. "The mandarins would be pleased to join."
"The mandarins!" repeated Griselda. "Why, cuckoo, they're not alive! How could they play?"
The cuckoo looked at her gravely for a minute, then shook his head.
"You have agreatdeal to learn," he said solemnly. "Don't you know thateverything'salive?"
"No," said Griselda, "I don't; and I don't know what you mean, and I don't think I want to know what you mean. I want to talk about playing."
"Well," said the cuckoo, "talk."
"What I call playing," pursued Griselda, "is—I have thought about it now, you see—is being amused. If you will amuse me, cuckoo, I will count that you are playing with me."
"How shall I amuse you?" inquired he.
"Oh, that's for you to find out!" exclaimed Griselda. "You might tell me fairy stories, you know: if you're a fairy you should know lots; or—oh yes, of course that would be farnicer—if you are a fairy you might take me with you to fairyland."
Again the cuckoo shook his head.
"That," said he, "I cannot do."
"Why not?" said Griselda. "Lots of children have been there."
"I doubt it," said the cuckoo. "Somemay have been, but not lots. And some may have thought they had been there who hadn't really been there at all. And as to those who have been there, you may be sure of one thing—they were nottaken, they found their own way. No one ever wastakento fairyland—to the real fairyland. They may have been taken to the neighbouring countries, but not to fairyland itself."
"And how is one ever to find one's own way there?" asked Griselda.
"That I cannot tell you either," replied the cuckoo. "There are many roads there; you may find yours some day. And if ever you do find it, be sure you keep what you see of it well swept and clean, and then you maysee further after a while. Ah, yes, there are many roads and many doors into fairyland!"
"Doors!" cried Griselda. "Are there any doors into fairyland in this house?"
"Several," said the cuckoo; "but don't waste your time looking for them at present. It would be no use."
"Then how will you amuse me?" inquired Griselda, in a rather disappointed tone.
"Don't you care to go anywhere except to fairyland?" said the cuckoo.
"Oh yes, there are lots of places I wouldn't mind seeing. Not geography sort of places—it would be just like lessons to go to India and Africa and all those places—butqueerplaces, like the mines where the goblins make diamonds and precious stones, and the caves down under the sea where the mermaids live. And—oh, I've just thought—now I'm so nice and little, Iwouldlike to go all over the mandarins' palace in the great saloon."
"That can be easily managed," said thecuckoo; "but—excuse me for an instant," he exclaimed suddenly. He gave a spring forward and disappeared. Then Griselda heard his voice outside the doors, "Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo." It was three o'clock.
The doors opened again to let him through, and he re-settled himself on his chair. "As I was saying," he went on, "nothing could be easier. But that palace, as you call it, has an entrance on the other side, as well as the one you know."
"Another door, do you mean?" said Griselda. "How funny! Does it go through the wall? And where does it lead to?"
"It leads," replied the cuckoo, "it leads to the country of the Nodding Mandarins."
"Whatfun!" exclaimed Griselda, clapping her hands. "Cuckoo, do let us go there. How can we get down? You can fly, but must I slide down the chain again?"
"Oh dear, no," said the cuckoo, "by no means. You have only to stretch out your feather mantle, flap it as if it was wings—so"—he flapped his own wings encouragingly—"wish, and there you'll be."
"Where?" said Griselda bewilderedly.
"Wherever you wish to be, of course," said the cuckoo. "Are you ready? Here goes."
"Wait—wait a moment," cried Griselda. "Where am I to wish to be?"
"Bless the child!" exclaimed the cuckoo. "Wheredoyou wish to be? You said you wanted to visit the country of the Nodding Mandarins."
"Yes; but am I to wish first to be in the palace in the great saloon?"
"Certainly," replied the cuckoo. "That is the entrance to Mandarin Land, and you said you would like to see through it. So—you're surely ready now?"
"A thought has just struck me," said Griselda. "How will you know what o'clock it is, so as to come back in time to tell the next hour? My aunts will get into such a fright if you go wrong again! Are you sure weshall have time to go to the mandarins' country to-night?"
"Time!" repeated the cuckoo; "what is time? Ah, Griselda, you have averygreat deal to learn! What do you mean by time?"
"I don't know," replied Griselda, feeling rather snubbed. "Being slow or quick—I suppose that's what I mean."
"And what is slow, and what is quick?" said the cuckoo. "Alla matter of fancy! If everything that's been done since the world was made till now, was done over again in five minutes, you'd never know the difference."
"Oh, cuckoo, I wish you wouldn't!" cried poor Griselda; "you're worse than sums, you do so puzzle me. It's like what you said about nothing being big or little, only it's worse. Where would all the days and hours be if there was nothing but minutes? Oh, cuckoo, you said you'd amuse me, and you do nothing but puzzle me."
"It was your own fault. You wouldn'tget ready," said the cuckoo, "Now, here goes! Flap and wish."
Griselda flapped and wished. She felt a sort of rustle in the air, that was all—then she found herself standing with the cuckoo in front of the Chinese cabinet, the door of which stood open, while the mandarins on each side, nodding politely, seemed to invite them to enter. Griselda hesitated.
"Go on," said the cuckoo, patronizingly; "ladies first."
Griselda went on. To her surprise, inside the cabinet it was quite light, though where the light came from that illuminated all the queer corners and recesses and streamed out to the front, where stood the mandarins, she could not discover.
The "palace" was not quite as interesting as she had expected. There were lots of little rooms in it opening on to balconies commanding, no doubt, a splendid view of the great saloon; there were ever so many little 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 all the same, and there's nothing to see. I thought my aunts kept ever so many beautiful things in here, and there's nothing."
"Come along, then," said the cuckoo. "I didn't expect you'd care for the palace, as you called it, much. Let us go out the other way."
He hopped down a sort of little staircase near which they were standing, and Griselda followed him willingly enough. At the foot they found themselves in a vestibule, much handsomer than the entrance at the other side, and the cuckoo, crossing it, lifted one of his claws and touched a spring in the wall. Instantly a pair of large doors flew open in the middle, revealing to Griselda the prettiest and most curious sight she had ever seen.
A flight of wide, shallow steps led down from this doorway into a long, long avenue bordered by stiffly growing trees, from the branches of which hung innumerable lamps of every colour, making a perfect network of brilliance as far as the eye could reach.
HE FLAPPED HIS WINGS, AND A PALANQUIN APPEARED AT THE FOOT OF THE STEPShe flapped his wings, and a palanquin appeared at the foot of the steps
"Oh, how lovely!" cried Griselda, clapping her hands. "It'll be like walking along a rainbow. Cuckoo, come quick."
"Stop," said the cuckoo; "we've a good way to go. There's no need to walk. Palanquin!"
He flapped his wings, and instantly a palanquin appeared at the foot of the steps. It was made of carved ivory, and borne by four Chinese-looking figures with pigtails and bright-coloured jackets. A feeling came over Griselda that she was dreaming, or else that she had seen this palanquin before. She hesitated. Suddenly she gave a little jump of satisfaction.
"I know," she exclaimed. "It's exactly like the one that stands under a glass shade on Lady Lavander's drawing-room mantelpiece. I wonder if it is the very one? Fancy me being able to getintoit!"
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 dotheymean when they nod at me like that?"
"They mean, of course, what I tell you—'Get in,'" said the cuckoo.
"Why don't they say so, then?" persisted Griselda, getting in, however, as she spoke.
"Griselda, you have averygreat——" began the cuckoo, but Griselda interrupted him.
"Cuckoo," she exclaimed, "if you say that again, I'll jump out of the palanquin and run away home to bed. Of course I've a great deal to learn—that's why I like to ask questions about everything I see. Now, tell me where we are going."
"In the first place," said the cuckoo, "are you comfortable?"
"Very," said Griselda, settling herself down among the cushions.
It was a change from the cuckoo's boudoir. There were no chairs or seats, only a number of very,verysoft cushions covered with green silk. There were green silk curtains all round, too, which you could draw or not as you pleased, just by touching a spring. Griselda stroked the silk gently. It was not "fruzzley" silk, if you know what that means; it did not make you feel as if your nails wanted cutting, or as if all the rough places on your skin were being rubbed up the wrong way; its softness was like that of a rose or pansy petal.
"What nice silk!" said Griselda. "I'd like a dress of it. I never noticed that the palanquin was lined so nicely," she continued, "for I suppose itisthe one from Lady Lavander's mantelpiece? There couldn't be two so exactly like each other."
The cuckoo gave a sort of whistle.
"What a goose you are, my dear!" heexclaimed. "Excuse me," he continued, seeing that Griselda looked rather offended; "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, but you won't let me say the other thing, you know. The palanquin from Lady Lavander's! I should think not. You might as well mistake one of those horrible paper roses that Dorcas sticks in her vases for one of your aunt's Gloires de Dijon! The palanquin from Lady Lavander's—a clumsy human imitation not worth looking at!"
"I didn't know," said Griselda humbly. "Do they make such beautiful things in Mandarin Land?"
"Of course," said the cuckoo.
Griselda sat silent for a minute or two, but very soon she recovered her spirits.
"Will you please tell me where we are going?" she asked again.
"You'll see directly," said the cuckoo; "not that I mind telling you. There's to be a grand reception at one of the palaces to-night. I thought you'd like to assist at it.It'll give you some idea of what a palace is like. By-the-by, can you dance?"
"A little," replied Griselda.
"Ah, well, I dare say you will manage. I've ordered a court dress for you. It will be all ready when we get there."
"Thank you," said Griselda.
In a minute or two the palanquin stopped. The cuckoo got out, and Griselda followed him.
She found that they were at the entrance to averymuch grander palace than the one in her aunt's saloon. The steps leading up to the door were very wide and shallow, and covered with a gold embroidered carpet, whichlookedas if it would be prickly to her bare feet, but which, on the contrary, when she trod upon it, felt softer than the softest moss. She could see very little besides the carpet, for at each side of the steps stood rows and rows of mandarins, all something like, but a great deal grander than, the pair outside her aunt's cabinet; and as the cuckoohopped and Griselda walked up the staircase, they all, in turn, row by row, began solemnly to nod. It gave them the look of a field of very high grass, through which, any one passing, leaves for the moment a trail, till all the heads bob up again into their places.
"What do they mean?" whispered Griselda.
"It's a royal salute," said the cuckoo.
"A salute!" said Griselda. "I thought that meant kissing or guns."
"Hush!" said the cuckoo, for by this time they had arrived at the top of the staircase; "you must be dressed now."
Two mandariny-looking young ladies, with porcelain faces and three-cornered head-dresses, stepped forward and led Griselda into a small ante-room, where lay waiting for her the most magnificent dress you ever saw. But howdoyou think they dressed her? It was all by nodding. They nodded to the blue and silver embroidered jacket, and in a moment it had fitted itself on toher. They nodded to the splendid scarlet satin skirt, made very short in front and very long behind, and before Griselda knew where she was, it was adjusted quite correctly. They nodded to the head-dress, and the sashes, and the necklaces and bracelets, and forthwith they all arranged themselves. Last of all, they nodded to the dearest, sweetest little pair of high-heeled shoes imaginable—all silver, and blue, and gold, and scarlet, and everything mixed up together,onlythey were rather a stumpy shape about the toes and Griselda's bare feet were encased in them, and, to her surprise, quite comfortably so.
"They don't hurt me a bit," she said aloud; "yet they didn't look the least the shape of my foot."
But her attendants only nodded; and turning round, she saw the cuckoo waiting for her. He did not speak either, rather to her annoyance, but gravely led the way through one grand room after another to the grandestof all, where the entertainment was evidently just about to begin. And everywhere there were mandarins, rows and rows, who all set to work nodding as fast as Griselda appeared. She began to be rather tired of royal salutes, and was glad when, at last, in profound silence, the procession, consisting of the cuckoo and herself, and about half a dozen "mandarins," came to a halt before a kind of daïs, or raised seat, at the end of the hall.
Upon this daïs stood a chair—a throne of some kind, Griselda supposed it to be—and upon this was seated the grandest and gravest personage she had yet seen.
"Is he the king of the mandarins?" she whispered. But the cuckoo did not reply; and before she had time to repeat the question, the very grand and grave person got down from his seat, and coming towards her offered her his hand, at the same time nodding—first once, then two or three times together, then once again. Griselda seemed to knowwhat he meant. He was asking her to dance.
"Thank you," she said. "I can't danceverywell, but perhaps you won't mind,"
The king, if that was his title, took not the slightest notice of her reply, but nodded again—once, then two or three times together, then once alone, just as before. Griselda did not know what to do, when suddenly she felt something poking her head. It was the cuckoo—he had lifted his claw, and was tapping her head to make her nod. So she nodded—once, twice together, then once—that appeared to be enough. The king nodded once again; an invisible band suddenly struck up the loveliest music, and off they set to the places of honour reserved for them in the centre of the room, where all the mandarins were assembling.
What a dance that was! It began like a minuet and ended something like the haymakers. Griselda had not the least idea what the figures or steps were, but it didnot matter. If she did not know, her shoes or something about her did; for she got on famously. The music was lovely—"so the mandarins can't be deaf, though they are dumb," thought Griselda, "which is one good thing about them." The king seemed to enjoy it as much as she did, though he never smiled or laughed; any one could have seen he liked it by the way he whirled and twirled himself about. And between the figures, when they stopped to rest for a little, Griselda got on very well too. There was no conversation, or rather, if there was, it was all nodding.
So Griselda nodded too, and though she did not know what her nods meant, the king seemed to understand and be quite pleased; and when they had nodded enough, the music struck up again, and off they set, harder than before.
And every now and then tiny little mandariny boys appeared with trays filled with the most delicious fruits and sweetmeats.Griselda was not a greedy child, but for once in her life she reallydidfeel rather so. I cannot possibly describe these delicious things; just think of whatever in all your life was the most "lovely" thing you ever eat, and you may be sure they tasted like that. Only the cuckoo would not eat any, which rather distressed Griselda. He walked about among the dancers, apparently quite at home; and the mandarins did not seem at all surprised to see him, though he did look rather odd, being nearly, if not quite, as big as any of them. Griselda hoped he was enjoying himself, considering that she had to thank him for all the funshewas having, but she felt a little conscience-stricken when she saw that he wouldn't eat anything.
"Cuckoo," she whispered; she dared not talk out loud—it would have seemed so remarkable, you see. "Cuckoo," she said, very, very softly, "I wish you would eat something. You'll be so tired and hungry."
"No, thank you," said the cuckoo; and you can't think how pleased Griselda was at having succeeded in making him speak. "It isn't my way. I hope you are enjoying yourself?"
"Oh,verymuch," said Griselda. "I——"
"Hush!" said the cuckoo; and looking up, Griselda saw a number of mandarins, in a sort of procession, coming their way.
When they got up to the cuckoo they set to work nodding, two or three at a time, more energetically than usual. When they stopped, the cuckoo nodded in return, and then hopped off towards the middle of the room.
"They're very fond of good music, you see," he whispered as he passed Griselda; "and they don't often get it."