Griselda shut her eyes and lay still. It was delicious--the gliding, yet
darting motion, like nothing she had ever felt before. It did not make
her the least giddy, either; but a slightly sleepy feeling came over
her. She felt no inclination to open her eyes; and, indeed, at the rate
they were going, she could have distinguished very little had she done
so.

Suddenly the feeling in the air about her changed. For an instant it
felt more _rushy_ than before, and there was a queer, dull sound in her
ears. Then she felt that the cuckoo had stopped.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"We've just come _down_ a chimney again," said the cuckoo. "Open your
eyes and clamber down off my back, but don't speak loud, or you'll waken
him, and that wouldn't do. There you are--the moonlight's coming in
nicely at the window--you can see your way."

Griselda found herself in a little bedroom, quite a tiny one, and by the
look of the simple furniture and the latticed window, she saw that she
was not in a grand house. But everything looked very neat and nice, and
on a little bed in one corner lay a lovely sleeping child. It was Phil!
He looked so pretty asleep--his shaggy curls all tumbling about, his
rosy mouth half open as if smiling, one little hand tossed over his
head, the other tight clasping a little basket which he had insisted on
taking to bed with him, meaning as soon as he was dressed the next
morning to run out and fill it with flowers for the little girl he had
made friends with.

Griselda stepped up to the side of the bed on tiptoe. The cuckoo had
disappeared, but Griselda heard his voice. It seemed to come from a
little way up the chimney.

"Don't wake him," said the cuckoo, "but whisper what you want to say
into his ear, as soon as I have called him. He'll understand; he's
accustomed to my ways."

Then came the old note, soft and musical as ever--

"Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo. Listen, Phil," said the cuckoo, and without
opening his eyes a change passed over the little boy's face. Griselda
could see that he was listening to hear her message.

"He thinks he's dreaming, I suppose," she said to herself with a smile.
Then she whispered softly--

"Phil, dear, don't come to play with me to-morrow, for I can't come. But
come the day after. I'll be at the wood-path then."

"Welly well," murmured Phil. Then he put out his two arms towards
Griselda, all without opening his eyes, and she, bending down, kissed
him softly.

"Phil's