Could it, after all, have been fancy?
She grew sleepy at last, and was just dropping off when--yes, there it was again, as clear and distinct as possible--"Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!" three, four, _five_ times, then perfect silence as before.
"What a funny cuckoo," said Griselda to herself.

"I could almost fancy it was in the house.

I wonder if my great-aunts have a tame cuckoo in a cage?
I don't _think_ I ever heard of such a thing, but this is such a queer house; everything seems different in it--perhaps they have a tame cuckoo.

I'll ask them in the morning.

It's very nice to hear, whatever it is." And, with a pleasant feeling of companionship, a sense that she was not the only living creature awake in this dark world, Griselda lay listening, contentedly enough, for the sweet, fresh notes of the cuckoo's friendly greeting.