at once. But it can't be a lamp, it's too bright for a lamp. It's more like the sun; but how ever could the sun be shining in a room in the middle of the night? What shall I do? Shall I open the door and peep in?"
"Cuckoo, cuckoo," came the answer, soft but clear, from the other side.
"Can it be a trick of the cuckoo's to get me out into the garden?" thought Griselda; and for the first time since she had run out of her room a shiver of cold made her teeth chatter and her skin feel creepy.
"Cuckoo, cuckoo," sounded again, nearer this time, it seemed to Griselda.
"He's waiting for me. I will trust him," she said resolutely. "He has always been good and kind, and it's horrid of me to think he's going to trick me."
She ran down the little stair, she seized the handle of the door. It turned easily; the door
