CHAPTER VIII.
MASTER PHIL.
"Who comes from the world of flowers?
Daisy and crocus, and sea-blue bell, And violet shrinking in dewy cell-- Sly cells that know the secrets of night, When earth is bathed in fairy light-- Scarlet, and blue, and golden flowers." And so Mr.Kneebreeches had no reason to complain of his pupil that day.
And Miss Grizzel congratulated herself more heartily than ever on her wise management of children.
And Miss Tabitha repeated that Sister Grizzel might indeed congratulate herself.
And Griselda became gradually more and more convinced that the only way as yet discovered of getting through hard tasks is to set to work and do them; also, that grumbling, as things are at present arranged in this world, does not _always_, nor I may say _often_, do good; furthermore, that an ill-tempered child is not, on the whole, likely to be as much loved as a good-tempered one; lastly, that if you wait long enough, winter will go and spring will come.
For this was the case this year, after all! Spring had only been sleepy and lazy, and in such a case what could poor old winter do but fill the vacant post till she came?
Why he should be so scolded and reviled for faithfully doing his best, as he often is, I really don't know.

Not that all the ill words he gets have much effect on him--he comes again just as usual, whatever we say of or to him.

I suppose his feelings have long ago been frozen up, or surely before this he would have taken offence--well for us that he has not done so! But when the spring did come at last this year, it would be impossible for me to tell you how Griselda enjoyed it.

It was like new life to her as well as to the plants, and flowers, and birds, and insects.

Hitherto, you see, she had been able to see very little of the outside of her aunt's house; and charming as the inside was, the outside, I must say, was still "charminger." There seemed no end to the little up-and-down paths and alleys, leading to rustic seats and quaint arbours; no limits to the little pine-wood, down into which led the dearest little zig-zaggy path you ever saw, all bordered with snow-drops and primroses and violets, and later on with periwinkles, and wood anemones, and those bright, starry, white flowers, whose name no two people agree about.
This wood-path was the place, I think, which Griselda loved the best.
The bowling-green was certainly very delightful, and so was the terrace where the famous roses grew; but lovely as the roses were (I am speaking just now, of course, of later on in the summer, when they were all in bloom), Griselda could not enjoy them as much as the wild-flowers, for she was forbidden to gather or touch them, except with her funny round nose! "You may _scent_ them, my dear," said Miss Grizzel, who was of opinion that smell was not a pretty word; "but I cannot allow anything more." And Griselda did "scent" them, I assure you.