She felt just a little ill—­a sort of feeling that sometimes is rather nice, sometimes “very extremely” much the reverse!  She felt in the humour for being petted, and having beef-tea, and jelly, and sponge cake with her tea, and for a day or two this was all very well.  She was petted, and she had lots of beef-tea, and jelly, and grapes, and sponge cakes, and everything nice, for her aunts, as you must have seen by this time, were really very, very kind to her in every way in which they understood how to be so.

But after a few days of the continued petting, and the beef-tea and the jelly and all the rest of it, it occurred to Miss Grizzel, who had a good large bump of “common sense,” that it might be possible to overdo this sort of thing.

“Tabitha,” she said to her sister, when they were sitting together in the evening after Griselda had gone to bed, “Tabitha, my dear, I think the child is quite well again now.  It seems to me it would be well to send a note to good Mr. Kneebreeches, to say that she will be able to resume her studies the day after to-morrow.”

“The day after to-morrow,” repeated Miss Tabitha.  “The day after to-morrow—­to say that she will be able to resume her studies the day after to-morrow—­oh yes, certainly.  It would be very well to send a note to good Mr. Kneebreeches, my dear Grizzel.”

“I thought you would agree with me,” said Miss Grizzel, with a sigh of relief (as if poor Miss Tabitha during all the last half-century had ever ventured to do anything else), getting up to fetch her writing materials as she spoke.  “It is such a satisfaction to consult together about what we do.  I was only a little afraid of being hard upon the child, but as you agree with me, I have no longer any misgiving.”

“Any misgiving, oh dear, no!” said Miss Tabitha.  “You have no reason for any misgiving, I am sure, my dear Grizzel.”

So the note was written and despatched, and the next morning when, about twelve o’clock, Griselda made her appearance in the little drawing-room where her aunts usually sat, looking, it must be confessed, very plump and rosy for an invalid, Miss Grizzel broached the subject.

“I have written to request Mr. Kneebreeches to resume his instructions to-morrow,” she said quietly.  “I think you are quite well again now, so Dorcas must wake you at your usual hour.”

Griselda had been settling herself comfortably on a corner of the sofa.  She had got a nice book to read, which her father, hearing of her illness, had sent her by post, and she was looking forward to the tempting plateful of jelly which Dorcas had brought her for luncheon every day since she had been ill.  Altogether, she was feeling very “lazy-easy” and contented.  Her aunt’s announcement felt like a sudden downpour of cold water, or rush of east wind.  She sat straight up in her sofa, and exclaimed in a tone of great annoyance—­

“Oh, Aunt Grizzel!”