CHAPTER IV.
THE COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS.
"We're all nodding, nid-nid-nodding." _How_ she managed it she never knew; but, somehow or other, it _was_ managed.

She seemed to slide up the chain just as easily as in a general way she would have slidden down, only without any disagreeable anticipation of a bump at the end of the journey.

And when she got to the top how wonderfully different it looked from anything she could have expected! The doors stood open, and Griselda found them quite big enough, or herself quite small enough--which it was she couldn't tell, and as it was all a matter of fancy she decided not to trouble to inquire--to pass through quite comfortably.
And inside there was the most charming little snuggery imaginable.

It was something like a saloon railway carriage--it seemed to be all lined and carpeted and everything, with rich mossy red velvet; there was a little round table in the middle and two arm-chairs, on one of which sat the cuckoo--"quite like other people," thought Griselda to herself--while the other, as he pointed out to Griselda by a little nod, was evidently intended for her.
"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.