all, it was only the sea she saw; but such a great, strange,
silent sea, for there were no waves. Griselda was seated on the shore,
close beside the water's edge, but it did not come lapping up to her
feet in the pretty, coaxing way that _our_ sea does when it is in a good
humour. There were here and there faint ripples on the surface, caused
by the slight breezes which now and then came softly round Griselda's
face, but that was all. King Canute might have sat "from then till now"
by this still, lifeless ocean without the chance of reading his silly
attendants a lesson--if, indeed, there ever were such silly people,
which I very much doubt.

Griselda gazed with all her eyes. Then she suddenly gave a little
shiver.

"What's the matter?" said the cuckoo. "You have the mantle on--you're
not cold?"

"No," said Griselda, "I'm not cold; but somehow, cuckoo, I feel a little
frightened. The sea is so strange, and so dreadfully big; and the light
is so queer, too. What is the light, cuckoo? It isn't moonlight, is it?"

"Not exactly," said the cuckoo. "You can't both have your cake and eat
it, Griselda. Look up at the sky. There's no moon there, is there?"

"No," said Griselda; "but what lots of stars, cuckoo. The light comes
from them, I suppose? And where's the sun, cuckoo? Will it be rising
soon? It isn't always like this up here, is it?"

"Bless you, no," said the cuckoo. "There's sun enough, and rather too
much, sometimes. How would you like a day a fortnight long, and nights
to match? If it had been daytime here just now, I couldn't have brought
you. It's just about the very middle of the night now, and in about a
week of _your_ days the sun will begin to rise, because, you see----"

"Oh, _dear_ cuckoo, please don't explain!" cried Griselda. "I'll promise
to ask Mr. Kneebreeches, I will indeed. In fact, he was telling me
something just like it to-day or yesterday--which should I say?--at my
astronomy lesson. And that makes it so strange that you should have
brought me up here to-night to see for myself, doesn't it, cuckoo?"

"An odd coincidence," said the cuckoo.

"What _would_ Mr. Kneebreeches think if I told him where I had been?"
continued Griselda. "Only, you see, cuckoo, I never tell anybody about
what I see when I am with you."

"No," replied the cuckoo; "better not. ('Not that you could if you
tried,' he added to himself.) You're not frightened now, Griselda, are
you?"

"No, I don't think I am," she rep