the room.

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

V

PICTURES

[Illustration]

"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--

"Griselda, it's time to go."

"Oh dear, why?" she asked. "I'm not a bit tired. Why need we go yet?"

"Obeying orders," said the cuckoo; and after that, Griselda dared not
say another word. It was very nearly as bad as being told she had a
great deal to learn.

"Must I say good-bye to the king and all the peop