tell you, my dear Dorcas. Come here for a minute,
Dorcas, please," she went on. "There now, sniff my handkerchief. What do
you think of that?"

"It's beautiful," said Dorcas. "It's out of the big blue chinay bottle
on your auntie's table, isn't it, missie?"

"Stuff and nonsense," replied Griselda; "it's scent of my own, Dorcas.
Aunt Grizzel never had any like it in her life. There now! Please give
me my slippers, I want to get up and look over my lessons for Mr.
Kneebreeches before he comes. Dear me," she added to herself, as she
was putting on her slippers, "how pretty my feet did look with the blue
butterfly shoes! It was very good of the cuckoo to take me there, but I
don't think I shall ever wish to be a butterfly again, now I know how
hard they work! But I'd like to do my lessons well to-day. I fancy it'll
please the dear old cuckoo."

CHAPTER VIII.

MASTER PHIL.

"Who comes from the world of flowers?
Daisy and crocus, and sea-blue bell,
And violet shrinking in dewy cell--
Sly cells that know the secrets of night,
When earth is bathed in fairy light--
Scarlet, and blue, and golden flowers."

And so Mr. Kneebreeches had no reason to complain of his pupil that day.

And Miss Grizzel congratulated herself more heartily than ever on her
wise management of children.

And Miss Tabitha repeated that Sister Grizzel might indeed congratulate
herself.

And Griselda became gradually more and more convinced that the only way
as yet discovered of getting through hard tasks is to set to work and
do them; also, that grumbling, as things are at present arranged in this
world, does not _always_, nor I may say _often_, do good; furthermore,
that an ill-tempered child is not, on the whole, likely to be as much
loved as a good-tempered one; lastly, that if you wait long enough,
winter will go and spring will come.

For this was the case this year, after all! Spring had only been sleepy
and lazy, and in such a case what could poor old winter do but fill the
vacant post till she came? Why he should be so scolded and reviled for
faithfully doing his best, as he often is, I really don't know. Not that
all the ill words he gets have much effect on him--he comes again just
as usual, whatever we say of or to him. I suppose his feelings have long
ago been frozen up, or surely before this he would have taken
offence--well for us that he has not done so!

But when the spring did come at las