It let her put her hand round it and draw it in, and to her delight she felt that it was soft and warm, and it even gave a gentle peck on her thumb.
"Poor little bird, how cold you must be," she said kindly.

But, to her amazement, no sooner was the bird safely inside the room, than it managed cleverly to escape from her hand.

It fluttered quietly up on to her shoulder, and sang out in a soft but cheery tone, "Cuckoo, cuckoo--cold, did you say, Griselda?
Not so very, thank you." Griselda stept back from the window.
"It's _you_, is it ?" she said rather surlily, her tone seeming to infer that she had taken a great deal of trouble for nothing.
"Of course it is, and why shouldn't it be?
You're not generally so sorry to see me.

What's the matter ?" "Nothing's the matter," replied Griselda, feeling a little ashamed of her want of civility; "only, you see, if I had known it was _you_----" She hesitated.
"You wouldn't have clambered up and hurt your poor fingers in opening the window if you had known it was me--is that it, eh ?" said the cuckoo.
Somehow, when the cuckoo said "eh ?" like that, Griselda was obliged to tell just what she was thinking.
"No, I wouldn't have _needed_ to open the window," she said.

"_You_ can get in or out whenever you like; you're not like a real bird.