“Can you blame me?” answered the provoking Rooshkulum; “did you not desire me not to take the eyes from the horses till I got here, and to put them on the plates, and two on your own plate, and that I would see what they would do then?”
“O, don’t imagine I blame you,” said the farmer; “but I meant your own eyes all the time; and, mind me, don’t do it any more!”
They were all by this time heartily sick of Rooshkulum, especially the old lady, who had never left her bed; and one morning, feeling something better, she called the farmer to her bedside, and addressed him thus:—“You know, my son, that your agreement with that rascal will terminate when you both shall hear the cuckoo. Now, in my youth I could imitate the cuckoo so well that I have had them flying round me. Put me up, therefore, in the big holly bush; take him along with you to cut a tree near; I will then cry ‘cuckoo!’ ‘cuckoo!’ and the agreement will be broken!” said she, chuckling to herself.
This seemed a capital idea; so the farmer lifted his mother out of bed, and put her up into the holly bush, calling Rooshkulum to bring the big axe, for that he intended to fell a tree. Rooshkulum did as he was desired, and commenced cutting down a certain tree, which the farmer pointed out. And not long had he been thus engaged when the old lady in the holly bush cried out “cuckoo!” “cuckoo!” “Hah! what’s that?” said the farmer; “that sounds like the cuckoo!”
“O, that cannot be,” said Rooshkulum, “for this is winter!”
But now the cuckoo was heard, beyond a doubt.
“Well,” said Rooshkulum, “before I’ve done with you, I’ll go and see this cuckoo.”
“Why, you stupid fool!” said the farmer, “no man ever saw the cuckoo.”
“Never mind!” said Rooshkulum, “it can be no harm to look. Wouldn’t you think, now, that the cuckoo was speaking out of the holly bush?”
“O, not at all!—perhaps she is five miles away. Come away at once and give up your place. Did not we both hear her?”