But there, alas! it was just as bad. The rooks seemed to know that
something was the matter; they set to work making such a chatter
immediately Griselda appeared that she felt inclined to run back into
the house again.
"I am sure they are talking about me," she said to herself. "Perhaps
they are fairies too. I am beginning to think I don't like fairies."
She was glad when bed-time came. It was a sort of reproach to her to see
her aunts so pale and troubled; and though she tried to persuade herself
that she thought them very silly, she could not throw off the
uncomfortable feeling.
She was so tired when she went to bed--tired in the disagreeable way
that comes from a listless, uneasy day--that she fell asleep at once and
slept heavily. When she woke, which she did suddenly, and with a start,
it was still perfectly dark, like the first morning that she had wakened
in the old house. It seemed to her that she had not wakened of
herself--something had roused her. Yes! there it was again, a very,
_very_ soft distant "cuckoo." _Was_ it distant? She could not tell.
Almost she could have fancied it was close to her.
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