Late one spring afternoon, just as the sun was sinking out of
sight, lighting up the snow-capped mountains with beautiful
colors and sending long shafts of golden light across the
valleys, the cuckoo woke with a start.

"Bless me!" he said to himself, "Here it is six o'clock and not a
sound in the kitchen! It's high time for Mother Adolf to be
getting supper. What in the world this family would do without me
I really cannot think! They'd never know it was supper time if I
didn't tell them, and would starve to death as likely as not. It
is lucky for them I am such a responsible bird." The tiny wooden
door flew open and he stuck out his tiny wooden head. There was
not a sound in the kitchen but the loud ticking of the clock.

"Just as I thought," said the cuckoo. "Not a soul here."

There stood the table against the kitchen wall, with a little
gray mouse on it nibbling a crumb of cheese. Along finger of
sunlight streamed through the western window and touched the
great stone stove, as if trying to waken the fire within. A beam
fell upon a pan of water standing on the floor and sent gay
sparkles of light dancing over the shining tins in the cupboard.
The cuckoo saw it all at a glance. "This will never do," he
ticked indignantly. There was a queer rumbling sound in his
insides as if his feelings were getting quite too much for him,
and then suddenly he sent a loud "cuckoo" ringing through the
silent room. Instantly the little gray mouse leaped down from the
table and scampered away to his hole in the wall, the golden
sunbeam flickered and was gone, and shadows began to creep into