ople think."

But aloud she only replied--

"It's Dorcas, missie. No fairy, only old Dorcas come to comfort you a
bit. Listen, missie. Your auntie is going over to Merrybrow Hall
to-morrow to inquire about this little Master Phil from my Lady
Lavander, for we think it's at one of her ladyship's farms that he and
his nurse are staying, and if she hears that he's a nice-mannered little
gentleman, and comes of good parents--why, missie, there's no saying but
that you'll get leave to play with him as much as you like."

"But not to-morrow, Dorcas," said Griselda. "Aunt Grizzel never goes to
Merrybrow till the afternoon. She won't be back in time for me to play
with Phil to-morrow."

"No, but next day, perhaps," said Dorcas.

"Oh, but that won't do," said Griselda, beginning to cry again. "Poor
little Phil will be coming up to the wood-path _to-morrow_, and if he
doesn't find me, he'll be _so_ unhappy--perhaps he'll never come again
if I don't meet him to-morrow."

Dorcas saw that the little girl was worn out and excited, and not yet
inclined to take a reasonable view of things.

"Go to sleep, missie," she said kindly, "and don't think anything more
about it till to-morrow It'll be all right, you'll see."

Her patience touched Griselda.

"You are very kind, Dorcas," she said. "I don't mean to be cross to
_you_; but I can't bear to think of poor little Phil. Perhaps he'll sit
down on my mossy stone and cry. Poor little Phil!"

But notwithstanding her distress, when Dorcas had left her she did feel
her heart a little lighter, and somehow or other before long she fell
asleep.

When she awoke it seemed to be suddenly, and she had the feeling that
something had disturbed her. She lay for a minute or two perfectly
still--listening. Yes; there it was--the soft, faint rustle in the air
that she knew so well. It seemed as if something was moving away from
her.

"Cuckoo," she said gently, "is that you?"

A moment's pause, then came the answer--the pretty greeting she
expected.

"Cuckoo, cuckoo," soft and musical. Then the cuckoo spoke.

"Well, Griselda," he said, "and how are you? It's a good while since we
have had any fun together."

"That's not _my_ fault," said Griselda sharply. She was not yet feeling
quite as amiable as might have been desired, you see. "That's
_certainly_ not my fault," she repeated.

"I never said it was," replied the cuckoo. "Why will you jump at
conclusions so? It's a very bad habit, f