"About Phil, of course. I won't tell you, for I believe you know," said Griselda. "Wasn't it you that sent him to play with me? I was so pleased, and I thought it was very kind of you; but it's all spoilt now."
"But I heard Dorcas saying that your aunt is going over to consult my Lady Lavander about it," said the cuckoo. "It'll be all right; you needn't be in such low spirits about nothing."
"Were you in the room _then_?" said Griselda. "How funny you are, cuckoo. But it isn't all right. Don't you see, poor little Phil will be coming up the wood-path to-morrow afternoon to meet me, and I won't be there! I can't bear to think of it."
"Is that all?" said the cuckoo. "It really is extraordinary how some people make troubles out of nothing! We can easily tell Phil not to come till the day after. Come along."
"Come along," repeated Griselda; "what do you mean?"
"Oh, I forgot," said the cuckoo. "You don't understand. Put out your hand. There, do you feel me?"
"Yes," said Griselda, stroking gently the soft feathers which seemed to be close under her hand. "Yes, I feel you."
"Well, then," said the cuckoo, "put your arms round my neck, and hold me firm. I'll lift you up."
"How _can_ you talk such nonsense, cuckoo?" said Griselda. "Why, one of my little fingers would clasp your neck. How can I put my arms round it?"
She held out her arms in the cuckoo's direction, as if she expected his neck to be about the size of a Shetland pony's, or a large Newfoundland dog's; and, to her astonishment, so it was! A nice, comfortable, feathery neck it felt--so soft that she could not help laying her head down upon it, and nestling in the downy cushion.
Then he seemed to give a little spring, and Griselda felt herself altogether lifted on to his back. She lay there as comfortably as possible--it felt so firm as well as soft. Up he flew a little way--then stopped short.
"Are you all right?" he inquired. "You're not afraid of falling off?"
"You needn't be," said the cuckoo, "for you couldn't if you tried. I'm going on, then."
"But there'll never be room," said Griselda. "I might _perhaps_ crawl up like a sweep, hands and knees, you know, like going up a ladder. But stretched out like this--it's just as if I were lying on a sofa--I _couldn't_ go up the chimney."