going pretty fast."

"Where to?" said Griselda.

"To Phil, of course," said the cuckoo. "What a bad memory you have! Are
you comfortable?"

"_Very_, thank you," replied Griselda, giving the cuckoo's neck an
affectionate hug as she spoke.

"That'll do, thank you. Don't throttle me, if it's quite the same to
you," said the cuckoo. "Here goes--one, two, three," and off he flew
again.

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 bed-room, 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 messa