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.