The Cuckoo Clock, Page 3

  CHAPTER III.

  OBEYING ORDERS.

  "Little girl, thou must thy part fulfil, If we're to take kindly to ours: Then pull up the weeds with a will, And fairies will cherish the flowers."

  There was moonlight, though not so much, in the saloon and 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.

  "WHY WON'T YOU SPEAK TO ME?"]

  Griselda approached it and stood below, looking up.

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

  But there was no reply.

  "Cuckoo," she repeated rather more loudly. "Why won't you speak to me? 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 youforgive me?"

  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 to-morrowwhat 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,at least; and I liked my lessons then, and I never was scolded aboutthem."

  "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, "for ofcourse you're not like a person, and--and--I've been told all sorts ofqueer 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 somethingto think about and look forward to, which made her quite a differentlittle girl, 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. "Miss Grizzelsays you have had play enough, and there's a nice fire in the ante-roomfor 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 wouldsay it was with having been up the night before, running about the housein the moonlight; but as she had never felt so "fresh" in her life aswhen she got up that morning, it could hardly have been that--thatGriselda felt so tired and sleepy that evening, she could hardly keepher eyes open. She begged to go to bed quite half an hour earlier thanusual, which made Miss Tabitha afraid again that she was going to beill. But as there is nothing better for children than to go to bedearly, even if they _are_ going to be ill, Miss Grizzel told her to saygood-night, and to ask Dorcas to give her a wine-glassful of elderberrywine, nice and hot, 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 the rainwas falling heavily. Griselda could hear it on the window-panes, throughthe closed shutters and all. But dark as it was, she made her way alongwithout any difficulty, down the passage, across the great saloon, inthrough the ante-room door, guided only by the little voice now and thento be heard in front of her. She came to a standstill right before theclock, 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 d
istinct (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."