"Cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo!" on it went.

Griselda could have stamped with irritation, but _somehow_, in spite of herself, she felt compelled to say nothing.

She muttered some not very pretty words, coiled herself round on the sofa, opened her book, and began to read.
But it was not as interesting as she had expected.

She had not read many pages before she began to yawn, and she was delighted to be interrupted by Dorcas and the jelly.
But the jelly was not as nice as she had expected, either.

She tasted it, and thought it was too sweet; and when she tasted it again, it seemed too strong of cinnamon; and the third taste seemed too strong of everything.