"
The cuckoo "that lived in a clock!" Griselda gazed round her eagerly.
Where was the clock? She could see nothing in the least like one, only
up on the wall in one corner was what looked like a miniature house, of
dark brown carved wood. It was not so _very_ like a house, but it
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.
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