"Come, dears, quickly, and I'll help make you ready," said their mother; and they left the nursery together.
During the excitement Tabiatha had remained unnoticed in her basket under the table, glad in all the turmoil to be peaceful and forgotten. She came out, stretched herself lazily, and soon began to gambol about the room. The clock chain, lying loosely on the ground, attracted her attention. She crouched, then leapt at one bound upon it, backed a little, touched it with her paw, lay on her side, and played with the bright links with all four paws and much enjoyment. With a sudden movement she righted herself—made a spring upwards, missed the chain and fell without hurt. Liking this novel game, she leapt higher next time, and alighted on a cushioned chair, scratched her way up, jumped on to a bookcase, and then on to an empty shelf. There was the chain within easy reach. Putting out her paw, it caught instead in a ring she hadn't noticed. To disentangle it she reached over, lost her foothold, and, still caught in the ring, found that the rattling chain was moving downwards with her weight until it deposited her gently on the ground, greatly to her surprise. Again she scrambled up the furniture in the same way. Her paw was now on both chains. Suddenly something swung backwards and forwards—
Tic—tac!
Tabiatha was for the moment dismayed, and, arching her back, she stood rooted to the spot.
Tic—tac!
It came unpleasantly close to her, nearly touching her nose each time, but she never budged an inch. Whr-r-r-r-r!
Cuc—koo! Cuc—koo! Cuc—koo! Cuc——
Tabiatha, rising to the occasion, and quick to seize an opportunity or anything else, took her last and only chance. She seized the poultry with both paws—Crack! Snap! She lost her balance and fell down, down, on to the cushioned chair. The Cuckoo flew into the air, alighted on Tabiatha's back, and bounded on to the ground. Tabiatha forgot at once her escape from breaking her neck, sprang after the Cuckoo lying there, turned it over, paused, sniffed, found to her surprise that it was not good to eat, that it hadn't even feathers, and was only made of wood, turned it over again, and began tapping it and pouncing on it until, suddenly forgetting all about it, she cantered away sideways with her tail curling in the air. She jumped into her basket, rolled herself up, soon purred herself fast asleep, and looked the very picture of helpless innocence.
The Cuckoo, out in the world at last, having recovered from its first alarm at the useless stiffness of its wings, waited for something to happen. As nothing did happen, it thought the world a very dull and stupid place, and concluded that, after all, work was better than lying there helpless, idle, motionless, and ridiculous. What was the use of its trained voice now? It couldn't articulate a sound even to summon help. It had no idea of the time, but the sun was shining brightly when at last it found itself carefully lifted and placed on a higher level.