their own satisfaction, by dragging some logs of wood and
big stones from among the brushwood hard by, and filling the holes up
with bracken and furze.

"And if the fairies _do_ come here," said Phil, "they'll be very pleased
to find a house all ready, won't they?"

Then they had to gather flowers to ornament the house inside, and dry
leaves and twigs all ready for a fire in one corner. Altogether it was
quite a business, I can assure you, and when it was finished they were
very hot and very tired and _rather_ dirty. Suddenly a thought struck
Griselda.

"Phil," she said, "it must be getting late."

"Past tea-time?" he said coolly.

"I dare say it is. Look how low down the sun has got. Come, Phil, we
must be quick. Where is the place we came out of the wood at?"

"Here," said Phil, diving at a little opening among the bushes.

Griselda followed him. He had been a good guide hitherto, and she
certainly could not have found her way alone. They scrambled on for some
way, then the bushes suddenly seemed to grow less thick, and in a minute
they came out upon a little path.

"Phil," said Griselda, "this isn't the way we came."

"Isn't it?" said Phil, looking about him. "Then we must have comed the
wrong way."

"I'm afraid so," said Griselda, "and it seems to be so late already. I'm
so sorry, for Aunt Grizzel will be vexed, and I did so want to please
her. Will your nurse be vexed, Phil?"

"I don't care if she are," replied Phil valiantly.

"You shouldn't say that, Phil. You know we _shouldn't_ have stayed so
long playing."

"Nebber mind," said Phil. "If it was mother I would mind. Mother's so
good, you don't know. And she never 'colds me, except when I _am_
naughty--so I _do_ mind."

"She wouldn't like you to be out so late, I'm sure," said Griselda in
distress, "and it's most my fault, for I'm the biggest. Now, which way
_shall_ we go?"

They had followed the little path till it came to a point where two
roads, rough cart-ruts only, met; or, rather, where the path ran across
the road. Right, or left, or straight on, which should it be? Griselda
stood still in perplexity. Already it was growing dusk; already the
moon's soft light was beginning faintly to glimmer through the branches.
Griselda looked up to the sky.

"To think," she said to herself--"to think that I should not know my way
in a little bit of a wood like this--I that was up at the other side of
the moon last night."

The remembrance put ano