"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 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 so sleepy," he whispered, like a baby almost. Then he turned over and went to sleep more soundly than before. "That'll do," said the cuckoo. "Come along, Griselda." Griselda obediently made her way to the place whence the cuckoo's voice seemed to come. "Shut your eyes and put your arms round my neck again," said the cuckoo. She did not hesitate this time. It all happened just as before. There came the same sort of rushy sound; then the cuckoo stopped, and Griselda opened her eyes. They were up in the air again--a good way up, too, for some grand old elms that stood beside the farmhouse were gently waving their topmost branches a yard or two from where the cuckoo was poising himself and Griselda. "Where shall we go to now?" he said. "Or would you rather go home? Are you tired?" "Tired!" exclaimed Griselda. "I should rather think not. How could I be tired, cuckoo?" "Very well, don't excite yourself about nothing, whatever you do," said the cuckoo. "Say where you'd like to go." "How can I?" said Griselda. "You know far more nice places than I do."