The Cuckoo Clock

by Mrs. Molesworth

  CHAPTER VIII.

  MASTER PHIL.

  "Who comes from the world of flowers? Daisy and crocus, and sea-blue bell, And violet shrinking in dewy cell-- Sly cells that know the secrets of night, When earth is bathed in fairy light-- Scarlet, and 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 anddo them; 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 amspeaking just now, of course, of later on in the summer, when they wereall in bloom), Griselda could not enjoy them as much as thewild-flowers, for she was forbidden to gather or touch them, except withher funny round nose!

  "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 Ihad _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 worldhill-sides. 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 pinewood below would have had rather hardwork to get through, and indeed for a very big person such a feat wouldhave 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.

 
; "WHERE ARE THAT CUCKOO?"]

  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,and having only big brothers older than herself for play-fellows.

  "Who are you?" she said at last. "What's your name, and what do 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 a garden it's _grounds_, private grounds, and nobodyshould come without leave. This path leads down to the wood, and there'sa door in the wall at the bottom to get into the lane. You may go downthat way, little boy. No one comes scrambling up the way you did."

  "But I want to find the cuckoo," said the little boy. "I do so want 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 farmhouse, you know. Mother was ill, but she's better now, andsome day she'll come too."

  "Do you like being at the farmhouse? Have you anybody to play with?"said Griselda.

  Phil shook his curly head. "I never have anybody to play with," he said."I'd like to play with you if you're not too big. And do you think youcould help me to find the cuckoo?" he added insinuatingly.

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

  "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 learn first, the cuckoo says."

  "Have you learnt a great deal?" (he called it "a gate deal") asked Phil,looking up at Griselda with increased respect. "_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."