She certainly did not need it to send her to sleep, for almost before her head touched the pillow she was as sound as a top.

She had slept a good long while, when again she wakened suddenly--just as she had done the night before, and again with the feeling that something had wakened her.

And the queer thing was that the moment she was awake she felt so _very_ awake--she had no inclination to stretch and yawn and hope it wasn't quite time to get up, and think how nice and warm bed was, and how cold it was outside! She sat straight up, and peered out into the darkness, feeling quite ready for an adventure.
"Is it you, cuckoo ?" she said softly.
There was no answer, but listening intently, the child fancied she heard a faint rustling or fluttering in the corner of the room by the door.
She got up and, feeling her way, opened it, and the instant she had done so she heard, a few steps only in front of her it seemed, the familiar notes, very, _very_ soft and whispered, "Cuckoo, cuckoo." It went on and on, down the passage, Griselda trotting after.

There was no moon to-night, heavy clouds had quite hidden it, and outside the rain was falling heavily.

Griselda could hear it on the window-panes, through the closed shutters and all.