habits of real "flesh and blood" cuckoos to explain, that bird
was not known in the neighbourhood where Griselda's aunts lived. Some
twenty miles or so further south it was heard regularly, but all this
spring Griselda had never caught the sound of its familiar note, and she
now remembered hearing it never came to these parts.

So, "it must be my cuckoo," she said to herself. "He must be coming out
to speak to me. How funny! I have never seen him by daylight."

She listened. Yes, again there it was, "Cuckoo, cuckoo," as plain as
possible, and nearer than before.

"Cuckoo," cried Griselda, "do come and talk to me. It's such a long time
since I have seen you, and I have nobody to play with."

But there was no answer. Griselda held her breath to listen, but there
was nothing to be heard.

"Unkind cuckoo!" she exclaimed. "He is tricking me, I do believe; and
to-day too, just when I was so dull and lonely."

The tears came into her eyes, and she was beginning to think herself
very badly used, when suddenly a rustling in the bushes beside her made
her turn round, more than half expecting to see the cuckoo himself. But
it was not he. The rustling went on for a minute or two without anything
making its appearance, for the bushes were pretty thick just there, and
any one scrambling up from the pine-wood below would have had rather
hard work to get through, and indeed for a very big person such a feat
would have been altogether impossible.

It was not a very big person, however, who was causing all the rustling,
and crunching of branches, and general commotion, which now absorbed
Griselda's attention. She sat watching for another minute in perfect
stillness, afraid of startling by the slightest movement the squirrel or
rabbit or creature of some kind which she expected to see. At last--was
that a squirrel or rabbit--that rosy, round face, with shaggy, fair hair
falling over the eager blue eyes, and a general look of breathlessness
and over-heatedness and determination?

A squirrel or a rabbit! No, indeed, but a very sturdy, very merry, very
ragged little boy.

"Where are that cuckoo? Does _you_ know?" were the first words he
uttered, as soon as he had fairly shaken himself, though not by any
means all his clothes, free of the bushes (for ever so many pieces of
jacket and knickerbockers, not to speak of one boot and half his hat,
had been left behind on the way), and found breath to say something.

Griselda stared at hi