The councilor's daughter dropped him an exuberant courtesy and said
"Cuckoo," and laughed.
"Cuckoo?" asked the councilor. Why, it was the little girl's face! The
man went quite crimson, and tried to say something when the councilor
came with a question about the boat. Yes, it was at his service. But
who was going to do the rowing? Why, he of course, said the girl, and
paid no attention to what her father said about it; it was immaterial
whether it was a bother to the gentleman, for sometimes he himself did
not mind at all troubling other people. Then they went down to the
boat, and on the way explained things to the councilor. They stepped
into the boat, and were already a good ways out, before the girl had
settled herself comfortably and found time to talk.
"I suppose it was something very learned you were reading," she said,
"when I came and called cuckoo and fetched you out sailing?"
"Rowing, you mean. Something learned! It was the 'History of Sir
Peter with the Silver Key and the Beautiful Magelone.'"
"Who is that by?"
"By no one in particular. Books of that sort never are. 'Vigoleis
with the Golden Wheel' isn't by anybody either, neither is 'Bryde,
the Hunter.'"
"I have never heard of those titles before."
"Please move a little to the side, otherwise we will list.--Oh no,
that is quite likely, they aren't fine books at all; they are the sort
you buy from old women at fairs."
"That seems strange.
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