hough he never smiled or laughed; any one could
have seen he liked it by the way he whirled and twirled himself about.
And between the figures, when they stopped to rest for a little,
Griselda got on very well too. There was no conversation, or rather, if
there was, it was all nodding.

So Griselda nodded too, and though she did not know what her nods meant,
the king seemed to understand and be quite pleased; and when they had
nodded enough, the music struck up again, and off they set, harder than
before.

And every now and then tiny little mandariny boys appeared with trays
filled with the most delicious fruits and sweetmeats. Griselda was not a
greedy child, but for once in her life she really _did_ feel rather so.
I cannot possibly describe these delicious things; just think of
whatever in all your life was the most "lovely" thing you ever eat, and
you may be sure they tasted like that. Only the cuckoo would not eat
any, which rather distressed Griselda. He walked about among the
dancers, apparently quite at home; and the mandarins did not seem at all
surprised to see him, though he did look rather odd, being nearly, if
not quite, as big as any of them. Griselda hoped he was enjoying
himself, considering that she had to thank him for all the fun _she_ was
having, but she felt a little conscience-stricken when she saw that he
wouldn't eat anything.

"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.