The Cuckoo Clock

The Cuckoo Clock

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Title: The Cuckoo Clock
Author: Mrs. Molesworth
Release Date: April 6, 2005 [eBook #15569]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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THE CUCKOO CLOCK
by
MRS. MOLESWORTH
Author of "Herr Baby," "Carrots," "Grandmother Dear," etc.
Illustrated by Walter Crane
London: MacMillan and Co., and New York.
1895

[Illustration: IT WAS A LITTLE BOAT.]
[Illustration]

TO
MARY JOSEPHINE,
AND TO THE DEAR MEMORY OF HER BROTHER,
THOMAS GRINDAL,
BOTH FRIENDLY LITTLE CRITICS OF MY CHILDREN'S STORIES.
Edinburgh, 1877.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I.
THE OLD HOUSE
II. _IM_PATIENT GRISELDA
III. OBEYING ORDERS
IV. THE COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS
V. PICTURES
VI. RUBBED THE WRONG WAY
VII. BUTTERFLY-LAND
VIII. MASTER PHIL
IX. UP AND DOWN THE CHIMNEY
X. THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOON
XI. "CUCKOO, CUCKOO, GOOD-BYE!"

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
"WHY WON'T YOU SPEAK TO ME?"
MANDARINS NODDING
"MY AUNTS MUST HAVE COME BACK!"
SHE LOOKED LIKE A FAIRY QUEEN
"WHERE ARE THAT CUCKOO?"
"TIRED! HOW COULD I BE TIRED, CUCKOO?"
IT WAS A LITTLE BOAT
CHAPTER I.
THE OLD HOUSE.
"Somewhat back from the village street Stands the old-fashioned country seat."
Once upon a time in an old town, in an old street, there stood a very old house. Such a house as you could hardly find nowadays, however you searched, for it belonged to a gone-by time--a time now quite passed away.
It stood in a street, but yet it was not like a town house, for though the front opened right on to the pavement, the back windows looked out upon a beautiful, quaintly terraced garden, with old trees growing so thick and close together that in summer it was like living on the edge of a forest to be near them; and even in winter the web of their interlaced branches hid all clear view behind.
There was a colony of rooks in this old garden. Year after year they held their parliaments and cawed and chattered and fussed; year after year they built their nests and hatched their eggs; year after year, I suppose, the old ones gradually died off and the young ones took their place, though, but for knowing this must be so, no one would have suspected it, for to all appearance the rooks were always the same--ever and always the same.
Time indeed seemed to stand still in and all about the old house, as if it and the people who inhabited it had got so old that they could not get any older, and had outlived the possibility of change.
But one day at last there did come a change. Late in the dusk of an autumn afternoon a carriage drove up to the door of the old house, came rattling over the stones with a sudden noisy clatter that sounded quite impertinent, startling the rooks just as they were composing themselves to rest, and setting them all wondering what could be the matter.
A little girl was the matter! A little girl in a grey merino frock and grey beaver bonnet, grey tippet and grey gloves--all grey together, even to her eyes, all except her round rosy face and bright brown hair. Her name even was rather grey, for it was Griselda.
A gentleman lifted her out of the carriage and disappeared with her into the house, and later that same evening the gentleman came out of the house and got into the carriage which had come back for him again, and drove away. That was all that the rooks saw of the change that had come to the old house. Shall we go inside to see more?
Up the shallow, wide, old-fashioned staircase, past the wainscoted walls, dark and shining like a mirror, down a long narrow passage with many doors, which but for their gleaming brass handles one would not have known were there, the oldest of the three old servants led little Griselda, so tired and sleepy that her supper had been left almost untasted, to the room prepared for her. It was a queer room, for everything in the house was queer; but in the dancing light of the fire burning brightly in the tiled grate, it looked cheerful enough.
"I am glad there's a fire," said the child. "Will it keep alight till the morning, do you think?"
The old servant shook her head.
"'Twould not be safe to leave it so that it would burn till morning," she said. "When you are in bed and asleep, little missie, you won't want the fire. Bed's the warmest place."
"It isn't