feathers--feathers of every shade and colour, but beautifully
worked in, somehow, so as to lie quite smoothly and evenly, one colour
melting away into another like those in a prism, so that you could
hardly tell where one began and another ended.

"What a _lovely_ cloak!" said Griselda, wrapping it round her and
feeling even more comfortable than before, as she watched the rays of
the little lamp in the roof--I think I was forgetting to tell you that
the cuckoo's boudoir was lighted by a dear little lamp set into the red
velvet roof like a pearl in a ring--playing softly on the brilliant
colours of the feather mantle.

"It's better than lovely," said the cuckoo, "as you shall see. Now,
Griselda," he continued, in the tone of one coming to business--"now,
Griselda, let us talk."

"We have been talking," said Griselda, "ever so long. I am very
comfortable. When you say 'let us talk' like that, it makes me forget
all I wanted to say. Just let me sit still and say whatever comes into
my head."

"That won't do," said the cuckoo; "we must have a plan of action."

"A what?" said Griselda.

"You see you _have_ a great deal to learn," said the cuckoo
triumphantly. "You don't understand what I say."

"But I didn't come up here to learn," said Griselda; "I can do that down
there;" and she nodded her head in the direction of the ante-room table.
"I want to play."

"Just so," said the cuckoo; "that's what I want to talk about. What do
you call 'play'--blindman's-buff and that sort of thing?"

"No," said Griselda, considering. "I'm getting rather too big for that
kind of play. Besides, cuckoo, you and I alone couldn't have much fun at
blindman's-buff; there'd be only me to catch you or you to catch me."

"Oh, we could easily get more," said the cuckoo. "The mandarins would be
pleased to join."

"The mandarins!" repeated Griselda. "Why, cuckoo, they're not alive! How
could they play?"

The cuckoo looked at her gravely for a minute, then shook his head.

"You have a _great_ deal to learn," he said solemnly. "Don't you know
that _everything's_ alive?"

"No," said Griselda, "I don't; and I don't know what you mean, and I
don't think I want to know what you mean. I want to talk about playing."

"Well," said the cuckoo, "talk."

"What I call playing," pursued Griselda, "is--I have thought about it
now, you see--is being amused. If you will amuse me, cuckoo, I will
count that you are playing with me."

"How shall I am