spoke.

"Well, Griselda" he said, "and how are you? It's a good while since we
have had any fun together."

"That's not _my_ fault," said Griselda sharply. She was not yet feeling
quite as amiable as might have been desired, you see. "That's
_certainly_ not my fault," she repeated.

"I never said it was," replied the cuckoo. "Why will you jump at
conclusions so? It's a very bad habit, for very often you jump _over_
them, you see, and go too far. One should always _walk_ up to
conclusions, very slowly and evenly, right foot first, then left, one
with another--that's the way to get where you want to go, and feel sure
of your ground. Do you see?"

"I don't know whether I do or not, and I'm not going to speak to you if
you go on at me like that. You might see I don't want to be lectured
when I am so unhappy."

"What are you unhappy about?"

"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?"

"Try," said the cuckoo.

Somehow Griselda had to try.

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, c