"Nonsense," said the cuckoo hastily; "you've a great deal to learn, and one thing is, not to _argue_. Nobody should argue; it's a shocking bad habit, and ruins the digestion. Come up here and sit beside me comfortably. Catch hold of the chain; you'll find you can manage if you try." "But it'll stop the clock," said Griselda. "Aunt Grizzel said I was never to touch the weights or the chains." "Stuff," said the cuckoo; "it won't stop the clock. Catch hold of the chains and swing yourself up. There now--I told you you could manage it." 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. 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!