``Then a merry Christmas to you!'' said the
cuckoo. ``I went to sleep in the hollow of that old
root one evening last summer, and never woke till
the heat of your fire made me think it was summer
again. But now since you have burned my
lodging, let me stay in your hut till the spring
comes round,--I only want a hole to sleep in,
and when I go on my travels next summer be
assured I will bring you some present for your
trouble.''
``Stay and welcome,'' said Spare, while Scrub
sat wondering if it were something bad or not.
``I'll make you a good warm hole in the
thatch,'' said Spare. ``But you must be hungry
after that long sleep,--here is a slice of barley
bread. Come help us to keep Christmas!''
The cuckoo ate up the slice, drank water from a
brown jug, and flew into a snug hole which Spare
scooped for it in the thatch of the hut.
Scrub said he was afraid it wouldn't be lucky;
but as it slept on and the days passed he forgot
his fears.
So the snow melted, the heavy rains came,
the cold grew less, the days lengthened, and one
sunny morning the brothers were awakened by
the cuckoo shouting its own cry to let them know
the spring had come.
``Now I'm going on my travels,'' said the
bird, ``over the world to tell men of the spring.
There is no country where trees bud, or flowers
bloom, that I will not cry in before the year goes
round.
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