es were collecting together from all quarters; that was
the real explanation of the hurrying and skurrying Griselda saw
overhead, but this, of course, she did not understand. She only saw that
it looked wild and stormy, and she shivered a little, partly with cold,
partly with a half-frightened feeling that she could not have explained.

"I had better go back to bed," she said to herself; "but I am not a bit
sleepy."

She was just drawing-to the shutter again, when something caught her
eye, and she stopped short in surprise. A little bird was outside on the
windowsill--a tiny bird crouching in close to the cold glass.
Griselda's kind heart was touched in an instant. Cold as she was, she
pushed back the shutter again, and drawing a chair forward to the
window, managed to unfasten it--it was not a very heavy one--and to open
it wide enough to slip her hand gently along to the bird. It did not
start or move.

"Can it be dead?" thought Griselda anxiously.

But no, it was not dead. It let her put her hand round it and draw it
in, and to her delight she felt that it was soft and warm, and it even
gave a gentle peck on her thumb.

"Poor little bird, how cold you must be," she said kindly. But, to her
amazement, no sooner was the bird safely inside the room, than it
managed cleverly to escape from her hand. It fluttered quietly up on to
her shoulder, and sang out in a soft but cheery tone, "Cuckoo,
cuckoo--cold, did you say, Griselda? Not so very, thank you."

Griselda stept back from the window.

"It's _you_, is it?" she said rather surlily, her tone seeming to infer
that she had taken a great deal of trouble for nothing.

"Of course it is, and why shouldn't it be? You're not generally so sorry
to see me. What's the matter?"

"Nothing's the matter," replied Griselda, feeling a little ashamed of
her want of civility; "only, you see, if I had known it was _you_----" She
hesitated.

"You wouldn't have clambered up and hurt your poor fingers in opening
the window if you had known it was me--is that it, eh?" said the cuckoo.

Somehow, when the cuckoo said "eh?" like that, Griselda was obliged to
tell just what she was thinking.

"No, I wouldn't have _needed_ to open the window," she said. "_You_ can
get in or out whenever you like; you're not like a real bird. Of
course, you were just tricking me, sitting out there and pretending to
be a starved robin."

There was a little indignation in her voice, and she gave her h