It was a funeral procession, and in the place of chief mourner, with pale, set face, walked the same young man whom Griselda had last seen dancing with the girl Sybilla in the great saloon.

The sad group passed slowly out of sight; but as it disappeared there fell upon the ear the sounds of sweet music, lovelier far than she had heard before—­lovelier than the magic cuckoo’s most lovely songs—­and somehow, in the music, it seemed to the child’s fancy there were mingled the soft strains of a woman’s voice.

“It is Sybilla singing,” thought Griselda dreamily, and with that she fell asleep again.

* * * * *

When she woke she was in the arm-chair by the ante-room fire, everything around her looking just as usual, the cuckoo clock ticking away calmly and regularly.  Had it been a dream only?  Griselda could not make up her mind.

“But I don’t see that it matters if it was,” she said to herself.  “If it was a dream, the cuckoo sent it to me all the same, and I thank you very much indeed, cuckoo,” she went on, looking up at the clock.  “The last picture was rather sad, but still it was very nice to see it, and I thank you very much, and I’ll never say again that I don’t like to be told I’m like my dear pretty grandmother.”

The cuckoo took no notice of what she said, but Griselda did not mind.  She was getting used to his “ways.”

“I expect he hears me quite well,” she thought; “and even if he doesn’t, it’s only civil to try to thank him.”

[Illustration:  My aunts must have come back!]

She sat still contentedly enough, thinking over what she had seen, and trying to make more “pictures” for herself in the fire.  Then there came faintly to her ears the sound of carriage wheels, opening and shutting of doors, a little bustle of arrival.

“My aunts must have come back,” thought Griselda; and so it was.  In a few minutes Miss Grizzel, closely followed by Miss Tabitha, appeared at the ante-room door.

“Well, my love,” said Miss Grizzel anxiously, “and how are you?  Has the time seemed very long while we were away?”

“Oh no, thank you, Aunt Grizzel,” replied Griselda, “not at all.  I’ve been quite happy, and my cold’s ever so much better, and my headache’s quite gone.”

“Come, that is good news,” said Miss Grizzel.  “Not that I’m exactly surprised,” she continued, turning to Miss Tabitha, “for there really is nothing like tansy tea for a feverish cold.”

“Nothing,” agreed Miss Tabitha; “there really is nothing like it.”

“Aunt Grizzel,” said Griselda, after a few moments’ silence, “was my grandmother quite young when she died?”

“Yes, my love, very young,” replied Miss Grizzel with a change in her voice.

“And was her husband very sorry?” pursued Griselda.

“Heart-broken,” said Miss Grizzel.  “He did not live long after, and then you know, my dear, your father was sent to us to take care of.  And now he has sent you—­the third generation of young creatures confided to our care.”