“I don’t understand,” she said, “and I don’t think it could make much difference.  But whatever you are, I wish you would tell me one thing.”

“What?” said the cuckoo.

“I want to know, now that you’ve forgiven me for throwing the book at you, have you come back for good?”

“Certainly not for evil,” replied the cuckoo.

Griselda gave a little wriggle.  “Cuckoo, you’re laughing at me,” she said.  “I mean, have you come back to stay and cuckoo as usual and make my aunts happy again?”

“You’ll see in the morning,” said the cuckoo.  “Now go off to bed.”

“Good night,” said Griselda, “and thank you, and please don’t forget to let me know when you’ve considered.”

“Cuckoo, cuckoo,” was her little friend’s reply.  Griselda thought it was meant for good night, but the fact of the matter was that at that exact second of time it was two o’clock in the morning.

She made her way back to bed.  She had been standing some time talking to the cuckoo, but, though it was now well on in November, she did not feel the least cold, nor sleepy!  She felt as happy and light-hearted as possible, and she wished it was morning, that she might get up.  Yet the moment she laid her little brown curly head on the pillow, she fell asleep; and it seemed to her that just as she dropped off a soft feathery wing brushed her cheek gently and a tiny “Cuckoo” sounded in her ear.

When she woke it was bright morning, really bright morning, for the wintry sun was already sending some clear yellow rays out into the pale grey-blue sky.

“It must be late,” thought Griselda, when she had opened the shutters and seen how light it was.  “I must have slept a long time.  I feel so beautifully unsleepy now.  I must dress quickly—­how nice it will be to see my aunts look happy again!  I don’t even care if they scold me for being late.”

But, after all, it was not so much later than usual; it was only a much brighter morning than they had had for some time.  Griselda did dress herself very quickly, however.  As she went downstairs two or three of the clocks in the house, for there were several, were striking eight.  These clocks must have been a little before the right time, for it was not till they had again relapsed into silence that there rang out from the ante-room the clear sweet tones, eight times repeated, of “Cuckoo.”

Miss Grizzel and Miss Tabitha were already at the breakfast-table, but they received their little niece most graciously.  Nothing was said about the clock, however, till about half-way through the meal, when Griselda, full of eagerness to know if her aunts were aware of the cuckoo’s return, could restrain herself no longer.

“Aunt Grizzel,” she said, “isn’t the cuckoo all right again?”

“Yes, my dear.  I am delighted to say it is,” replied Miss Grizzel.

“Did you get it put right, Aunt Grizzel?” inquired Griselda, slyly.