certainly had a roof--a roof with deep projecting eaves; and, looking
closer, yes, it _was_ a clock, after all, only the figures, which had
once been gilt, had grown dim with age, like everything else, and the
hands at a little distance were hardly to be distinguished from the
face.

Miss Grizzel stood perfectly still, looking up at the clock; Griselda
beside her, in breathless expectation. Presently there came a sort of
distant rumbling. _Something_ was going to happen. Suddenly two little
doors above the clock face, which Griselda had not known were there,
sprang open with a burst and out flew a cuckoo, flapped his wings, and
uttered his pretty cry, "Cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo!" Miss Grizzel counted
aloud, "Seven, eight, nine, ten." "Yes, he never makes a mistake," she
added triumphantly. "All these long years I have never known him wrong.
There are no such clocks made nowadays, I can assure you, my dear."

"But _is_ it a clock? Isn't he alive?" exclaimed Griselda. "He looked at
me and nodded his head, before he flapped his wings and went in to his
house again--he did indeed, aunt," she said earnestly; "just like
saying, 'How do you do?' to me."

Again Miss Grizzel smiled, the same odd yet pleased smile that Griselda
had seen on her face at breakfast. "Just what Sybilla used to say," she
murmured. "Well, my dear," she added aloud, "it is quite right he
_should_ say, 'How do you do?' to you. It is the first time he has seen
_you_, though many a year ago he knew your dear grandmother, and your
father, too, when he was a little boy. You will find him a good friend,
and one that can teach you many lessons."

"What, Aunt Grizzel?" inquired Griselda, looking puzzled.