"Thank you," said she, sitting down on the chair as she spoke.
"Are you comfortable?" inquired the cuckoo.
"Quite," replied Griselda, looking about her with great satisfaction.
"Are all cuckoo clocks like this when you get up inside them?" she
inquired. "I can't think how there's room for this dear little place
between the clock and the wall. Is it a hole cut out of the wall on
purpose, cuckoo?"
"Hush!" said the cuckoo, "we've got other things to talk about. First,
shall I lend you one of my mantles? You may feel cold."
"I don't just now," replied Griselda; "but perhaps I _might_."
She looked at her little bare feet as she spoke, and wondered why _they_
weren't cold, for it was very chilblainy weather.
The cuckoo stood up, and with one of his claws reached from a corner
where it was hanging a cloak which Griselda had not before noticed. For
it was hanging wrong side out, and the lining was red velvet, very like
what the sides of the little room were covered with, so it was no wonder
she had not noticed it.
Had it been hanging the _right_ side out she must have done so; this
side was so very wonderful!
It was all feathers--feathers of every shade and colour, but
beautifully worked in, somehow, so as to lie quite smoothly and evenly,
one colour melting away into another like those in a prism, so that you
could hardly tell where one began and another ended.
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