"But are we to go away and leave Phil here, all alone at the other side of the moon?" said Griselda, feeling ready to cry.
"Oh, you silly girl!" said the cuckoo. "Phil's all right, and in some ways he has a great deal more sense than you, I can tell you. Get into the boat and make yourself comfortable; lie down at the bottom and cover
yourself up with the mantle. You needn't be afraid of wetting your feet a little, moon water never gives cold. There, now."
Griselda did as she was told. She was beginning to feel rather tired, and it certainly was very comfortable at the bottom of the boat, with the nice warm feather-mantle well tucked round her.
"Who will row?" she said sleepily. "You can't, cuckoo, with your tiny little claws, you could never hold the oars, I'm——"
"Hush!" said the cuckoo; and whether he rowed or not Griselda never knew.
Off they glided somehow, but it seemed to Griselda that somebody rowed, for she heard the soft dip, dip of the oars as they went along, so regularly that she couldn't help beginning to count in time—one, two, three, four—on, on—she thought she had got nearly to a hundred, when——