The Cuckoo Clock

by Mrs. Molesworth

  CHAPTER IX.

  UP AND DOWN THE CHIMNEY.

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

  "_Keeper_. Yes, I see. I mean, Sir, I do _not_ see."--_A Liliput Revel_.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "And why shouldn't it?" said Griselda saucily. "It doesn't do it anyharm. But oh, Dorcas, I've had such fun this afternoon--really, youcouldn't guess what I've been doing."

  "Very likely not, missie," said Dorcas.

  "But you might try to guess. Oh no, I don't think you need--guessingtakes such a time, and I want to tell you. Just fancy, Dorcas, I've beenplaying with a little boy in the wood."

  "Playing with a little boy, Miss Griselda!" exclaimed Dorcas, aghast.

  "Yes, and he's coming again to-morrow, and the day after, and everyday, I dare say," said Griselda. "He _is_ such a nice little boy."

  "But, missie," began Dorcas.

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

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

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

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

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

  "She thinks all boys rude and naughty, I'm afraid, missie," said Dorcas."All, that is to say, excepting your dear papa. But then, of course, shehad the bringing up of _him_ in her own way from the beginning."

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

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

  "Be careful, missie, now do, there's a dear good girl," said Dorcasanxiously, an hour later, when Griselda, dressed as usual in her littlewhite muslin frock, was ready to join her aunts at dessert.

  But Griselda would not condescend to make any reply.

  "Aunt Grizzel," she said suddenly, when she had eaten an orange andthree biscuits and drunk half a glass of home-made elderberry wine,"Aunt Grizzel, when I was out in the garden to-day--down the wood-path,I mean--I met a little boy, and he played with me, and I want to know ifhe may come every day to play with me."

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

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

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

  Naughty Griselda saw her uneasiness, and enjoyed it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  But Miss Grizzel did not feel happy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Miss Grizzel listened attentively.

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

  Dorcas did not wait till "to-morrow morning;" she could not bear tothink of Griselda's unhappiness. From her mistress's room she wentstraight to the little girl's, going in very softly, so as not todisturb her should she be sleeping.

  "Are you awake, missie?" she said gently.

  Griselda started up.

  "Yes," she exclaimed. "Is it you, cuckoo? I'm quite awake."

  "Bless the child," said Dorcas to herself, "how her head does run onMiss Sybilla's cuckoo. It's really wonderful. There's more in suchthings than some people think."

  But aloud she only replied--

  "It's Dorcas, missie. No fairy, only old Dorcas come to comfort you abit. Listen, missie. Your auntie is going over to Merrybrow Hallto-morrow to inquire about this little Master Phil from my LadyLavander, for we think it's at one of her ladyship's farms that he andhis nurse are staying, and if she hears that he's a nice-mannered littlegentleman, and comes of good parents--why, missie, there's no saying butthat you'll get leave to play with him as much as you like."

  "But not to-morrow, Dorcas," said Griselda. "Aunt Grizzel never goes toMerrybrow till the afternoon. She won't be back in time for me to playwith Phil to-morrow."

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

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

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

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

  Her patience touched Griselda.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "What are you unhappy about?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Try," said the cuckoo.

  Somehow Griselda had to try.

  She held out her arms in the cuckoo's direction, as if she expected hisneck to be about the size of a Shetland pony's, or a large Newfoundlanddog's; and, to her astonishment, so it was! A nice, comfortable,feathery neck it felt--so soft that she could not help laying her headdown upon it, and nestling in the downy cushion.

  "That's right," said the cuckoo.

  Then he seemed to give a little spring, and Griselda felt herselfaltogether lifted on to his back. She lay there as comfortably aspossible--it felt so firm as well as soft. Up he flew a little way--thenstopped short.

  "Are you all right?" he inquired. "You're not afraid of falling off?"

  "Oh no," said Griselda; "not a bit."

  "You needn't be," said the cuckoo, "for you couldn't if you tried. I'mgoing on, then."

  "Where to?" said Griselda.

  "Up the chimney first," said the cuckoo.

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

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

  It was quite true. Griselda shut her eyes tight. She felt nothing but apleasant sort of rush. Then she heard the cuckoo's voice, saying--

  "Well, wasn't that well done? Open your eyes and look about you."

  Griselda did so. Where were they?

  They were floating about above the top of the house, which Griselda sawdown below them, looking dark and vast. She felt confused andbewildered.

  "Cuckoo," she said, "I don't understand. Is it I that have grown little,or you that have grown big?"

  "Whichever you please," said the cuckoo. "You
have forgotten. I told youlong ago it is all a matter of fancy."

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

  "Never mind," said the cuckoo. "It'll show you how little consequencebig and little are of. Make yourself comfortable all the same. Are youall right? Shut your eyes if you like. I'm going pretty fast."

  "Where to?" said Griselda.

  "To Phil, of course," said the cuckoo. "What a bad memory you have! Areyou comfortable?"

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

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

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

  Suddenly the feeling in the air about her changed. For an instant itfelt more _rushy_ than before, and there was a queer, dull sound in herears. Then she felt that the cuckoo had stopped.

  "Where are we?" she asked.

  "We've just come _down_ a chimney again," said the cuckoo. "Open youreyes and clamber down off my back, but don't speak loud, or you'll wakenhim, and that wouldn't do. There you are--the moonlight's coming innicely at the window--you can see your way."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "TIRED! HOW COULD I BE TIRED, CUCKOO?"]

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

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

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

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