“Cuckoo,” she whispered; she dared not talk out loud—­it would have seemed so remarkable, you see.  “Cuckoo,” she said, very, very softly, “I wish you would eat something.  You’ll be so tired and hungry.”

“No, thank you,” said the cuckoo; and you can’t think how pleased Griselda was at having succeeded in making him speak.  “It isn’t my way.  I hope you are enjoying yourself?”

“Oh, very much,” said Griselda.  “I——­”

“Hush!” said the cuckoo; and looking up, Griselda saw a number of mandarins, in a sort of procession, coming their way.

When they got up to the cuckoo they set to work nodding, two or three at a time, more energetically than usual.  When they stopped, the cuckoo nodded in return, and then hopped off towards the middle of the room.

“They’re very fond of good music, you see,” he whispered as he passed Griselda; “and they don’t often get it.”

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.  She had had no idea that her friend was so accomplished.  It wasn’t “cuckooing” at all; it was real singing, like that of the nightingale or the thrush, or like something prettier than either.  It made Griselda think of woods in summer, and of tinkling brooks flowing through them, with the pretty brown pebbles sparkling up through the water; and then it made her think of something sad—­she didn’t know what; perhaps it was of the babes in the wood and the robins covering them up with leaves—­and then again, in a moment, it sounded as if all the merry elves and sprites that ever were heard of had escaped from fairyland, and were rolling over and over with peals of rollicking laughter.  And at last, all of a sudden, the song came to an end.

“Cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo!” rang out three times, clear and shrill.  The cuckoo flapped his wings, made a bow to the mandarins, and retired to his old corner.

There was no buzz of talk, as is usual after a performance has come to a close, but there was a great buzz of nodding, and Griselda, wishing to give the cuckoo as much praise as she could, nodded as hard as any of them.  The cuckoo really looked quite shy at receiving so much applause.  But in a minute or two the music struck up and the dancing began again—­one, two, three:  it seemed a sort of mazurka this time, which suited the mandarins very well, as it gave them a chance of nodding to mark the time.

Griselda had once learnt the mazurka, so she got on even better than before—­only she would have liked it more if her shoes had had sharper toes; 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 suddenly felt the little sharp tap of the cuckoo on her head, and heard him whisper—­