“CUCKOO, CUCKOO, GOOD-BYE!”

    “Children, try to be good! 
      That is the end of all teaching;
    Easily understood,
      And very easy in preaching. 
    And if you find it hard,
      Your efforts you need but double;
    Nothing deserves reward
      Unless it has given as trouble.”

—­When she forgot everything, and fell fast, fast asleep, to wake, of course, in her own little bed as usual!

“One of your tricks again, Mr. Cuckoo,” she said to herself with a smile.  “However, I don’t mind.  It was a short cut home, and it was very comfortable in the boat, and I certainly saw a great deal last night, and I’m very much obliged to you—­particularly for making it all right with Phil about not coming to play with me to-day.  Ah! that reminds me, I’m in disgrace.  I wonder if Aunt Grizzel will really make me stay in my room all day.  How tired I shall be, and what will Mr. Kneebreeches think!  But it serves me right.  I was very cross and rude.”

There came a tap at the door.  It was Dorcas with the hot water.

“Good morning, missie,” she said gently, not feeling, to tell the truth, very sure as to what sort of a humour “missie” was likely to be found in this morning.  “I hope you’ve slept well.”

“Exceedingly well, thank you, Dorcas.  I’ve had a delightful night,” replied Griselda amiably, smiling to herself at the thought of what Dorcas would say if she knew where she had been, and what she had been doing since last she saw her.

“That’s good news,” said Dorcas in a tone of relief; “and I’ve good news for you, too, missie.  At least, I hope you’ll think it so.  Your aunt has ordered the carriage for quite early this morning—­so you see she really wants to please you, missie, about playing with little Master Phil; and if to-morrow’s a fine day, we’ll be sure to find some way of letting him know to come.”

“Thank you, Dorcas.  I hope it will be all right, and that Lady Lavander won’t say anything against it.  I dare say she won’t.  I feel ever so much happier this morning, Dorcas; and I’m very sorry I was so rude to Aunt Grizzel, for of course I know I should obey her.”

“That’s right, missie,” said Dorcas approvingly.

“It seems to me, Dorcas,” said Griselda dreamily, when, a few minutes later, she was standing by the window while the old servant brushed out her thick, wavy hair, “it seems to me, Dorcas, that it’s all ’obeying orders’ together.  There’s the sun now, just getting up, and the moon just going to bed—­they are always obeying, aren’t they?  I wonder why it should be so hard for people—­for children, at least.”

“To be sure, missie, you do put it a way of your own,” replied Dorcas, somewhat mystified; “but I see how you mean, I think, and it’s quite true.  And it is a hard lesson to learn.”