“Good morning, then, cuckoo,” said Griselda.  “Have you considered about me, cuckoo?”

The cuckoo cleared his throat.

“Have you learnt to obey orders yet, Griselda?” he inquired.

“I’m trying,” replied Griselda.  “But you see, cuckoo, I’ve not had very long to learn in—­it was only last night you told me, you know.”

The cuckoo sighed.

“You’ve a great deal to learn, Griselda.”

“I dare say I have,” she said.  “But I can tell you one thing, cuckoo—­whatever lessons I have, I couldn’t ever have any worse than those addition sums of Mr. Kneebreeches’.  I have made up my mind about that, for to-day, do you know, cuckoo——­”

“Yesterday,” corrected the cuckoo.  “Always be exact in your statements, Griselda.”

“Well, yesterday, then,” said Griselda, rather tartly; “though when you know quite well what I mean, I don’t see that you need be so very particular.  Well, as I was saying, I tried and tried, but still they were fearful.  They were, indeed.”

“You’ve a great deal to learn, Griselda,” repeated the cuckoo.

“I wish you wouldn’t say that so often,” said Griselda.  “I thought you were going to play with me.”

“There’s something in that,” said the cuckoo, “there’s something in that.  I should like to talk about it.  But we could talk more comfortably if you would come up here and sit beside me.”

Griselda thought her friend must be going out of his mind.

“Sit beside you up there!” she exclaimed.  “Cuckoo, how could I?  I’m far, far too big.”

“Big!” returned the cuckoo.  “What do you mean by big?  It’s all a matter of fancy.  Don’t you know that if the world and everything in it, counting yourself of course, was all made little enough to go into a walnut, you’d never find out the difference.”

“Wouldn’t I?” said Griselda, feeling rather muddled; “but, not counting myself, cuckoo, I would then, wouldn’t I?”

“Nonsense,” said the cuckoo hastily; “you’ve a great deal to learn, and one thing is, not to argue.  Nobody should argue; it’s a shocking bad habit, and ruins the digestion.  Come up here and sit beside me comfortably.  Catch hold of the chain; you’ll find you can manage if you try.”

“But it’ll stop the clock,” said Griselda.  “Aunt Grizzel said I was never to touch the weights or the chains.”

“Stuff,” said the cuckoo; “it won’t stop the clock.  Catch hold of the chains and swing yourself up.  There now—­I told you you could manage it.”

CHAPTER IV.

THE COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS.

    “We’re all nodding, nid-nid-nodding.”

How she managed it she never knew; but, somehow or other, it was managed.  She seemed to slide up the chain just as easily as in a general way she would have slidden down, only without any disagreeable anticipation of a bump at the end of the journey.  And when she got to the top how wonderfully different it looked from anything she could have expected!  The doors stood open, and Griselda found them quite big enough, or herself quite small enough—­which it was she couldn’t tell, and as it was all a matter of fancy she decided not to trouble to inquire—­to pass through quite comfortably.