She ate a few spoonfuls, and then took up her book again. Miss Grizzel said nothing more, but to herself she thought that Mr. Kneebreeches had not been recalled any too soon. All day long it was much the same. Nothing seemed to come right to Griselda. Late in the afternoon Griselda crept up to the ante-room, and sat down by the window.
Butterflies never see winter, and they certainly never have any lessons or any kind of work to do.
It was only four o'clock striking, and as soon as he had told it the cuckoo was back behind his doors again in an instant, just as usual. There was nothing for Griselda to feel offended at, but somehow she got quite angry. I know you came out on purpose just now, but I don't care. I do hate winter, and I do hate lessons, and I do think it would be nicer to be a butterfly than a little girl. In her secret heart I fancy she was half in hopes that the cuckoo would come out again, and talk things over with her.