"I know you came out on purpose just now, but I don't care.

I _do_ hate winter, and I _do_ hate lessons, and I _do_ think it would be nicer to be a butterfly than a little girl." In her secret heart I fancy she was half in hopes that the cuckoo would come out again, and talk things over with her.

Even if he were to scold her, she felt that it would be better than sitting there alone with nobody to speak to, which was very dull work indeed.

At the bottom of her conscience there lurked the knowledge that what she _should_ be doing was to be looking over her last lessons with Mr.Kneebreeches, and refreshing her memory for the next day; but, alas! knowing one's duty is by no means the same thing as doing it, and Griselda sat on by the window doing nothing but grumble and work herself up into a belief that she was one of the most-to-be-pitied little girls in all the world.

So that by the time Dorcas came to call her to tea, I doubt if she had a single pleasant thought or feeling left in her heart.
Things grew no better after tea, and before long Griselda asked if she might go to bed.