"I don't feel as if I belonged to it a bit.

And they are all _so_ old; perhaps they won't like having a child among them ?" The very same thought that had occurred to the rooks! They could not decide as to the fors and againsts at all, so they settled to put it to the vote the next morning, and in the meantime they and Griselda all went to sleep.
I never heard if _they_ slept well that night; after such unusual excitement it was hardly to be expected they would.

But Griselda, being a little girl and not a rook, was so tired that two minutes after she had tucked herself up in bed she was quite sound asleep, and did not wake for several hours.
"I wonder what it will all look like in the morning," was her last waking thought.

"If it was summer now, or spring, I shouldn't mind--there would always be something nice to do then." As sometimes happens, when she woke again, very early in the morning, long before it was light, her thoughts went straight on with the same subject.
"If it was summer now, or spring," she repeated to herself, just as if she had not been asleep at all--like the man who fell into a trance for a hundred years just as he was saying "it is bitt--" and when he woke up again finished the sentence as if nothing had happened--"erly cold." "If only it was spring," thought Griselda.
Just as she had got so far in her thoughts, she gave a great start.

What was it she heard?
Could her wish have come true?
Was this fairyland indeed that she had got to, where one only needs to _wish_, for it to _be_?
She rubbed her eyes, but it was too dark to see; _that_ was not very fairyland-like, but her ears she felt certain had not deceived her: she was quite, quite sure that she had heard the cuckoo! She listened with all her might, but she did not hear it again.