CHAPTER V.
PICTURES.
"And she is always beautiful, And always is eighteen!"
When he got to the middle of the room the cuckoo cleared his throat,flapped his wings, and began to sing. Griselda was quite astonished. 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 itwas of 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 the pal--?"she began to say; but she never finished the sentence, for just as shehad got her shoe off she felt the cuckoo throw something round her. Itwas 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 bedroom.
She rubbed her eyes, and sat up in bed. Could it have been a dream?
"What could have made me fall asleep so all of a sudden?" she thought."I wasn't the least sleepy at the mandarins' ball. What fun it was! 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 were obligedto go out, to drive all the way to Merrybrow Hall, as Lady Lavander senta messenger to say that she had an attack of influenza, and wished tosee 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."
<
br /> "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 _fete_?" 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 get yourselfa 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, andyou will have in your possession a clock that crowned heads might seekin 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 beforeshe recognized it. It was the great saloon, but it looked verydifferent from what she had ever seen it. Forty years or so make adifference in rooms 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 was filledwith 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 sl
owly 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,everything around her looking just as usual, the cuckoo clock tickingaway calmly and regularly. Had it been a dream only? Griselda could notmake up her mind.
"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."
My aunts must have come back!]
She sat still contentedly enough, thinking over what she had seen,and trying to make more "pictures" for herself in the fire. Then therecame faintly to her ears the sound of carriage wheels, opening andshutting of 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 likethat. Dorcas told me a very little, I think; at least, she made me wantto know, and I asked the cuckoo, and then, you see, he showed me it all.It was so pretty."
Miss Grizzel glanced at her sister.
"Tabitha, my dear," she said in a low voice, "do you hear?"
And Miss Tabitha, who really was not very deaf when she set herself tohear, nodded in awestruck silence.
"Tabitha," continued Miss Grizzel in the same tone, "it is wonderful!Ah, yes, how true it is, Tabitha, that 'there are more things in 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."
The Cuckoo Clock Page 5
