off when I was much littler than you," she went on, unconsciously
speaking as Phil would best understand her. "My mother died."
"I'm werry sorry," said Phil; and the way in which he said it quite
overcame Griselda's unfriendliness. "But perhaps you've a nice nurse. My
nurse is rather nice; but she _will_ 'cold me to-day, won't she?" he
added, laughing, pointing to the terrible rents in his garments. "These
are my very oldestest things; that's a good thing, isn't it? Nurse says
I don't look like Master Phil in these, but when I have on my blue
welpet, then I look like Master Phil. I shall have my blue welpet when
mother comes."
"Is your mother away?" said Griselda.
"Oh yes, she's been away a long time; so nurse came here to take care of
me at the farm-house, you know. Mother was ill, but she's better now,
and some day she'll come too."
"Do you like being at the farm-house? Have you anybody to play with?"
said Griselda.
Phil shook his curly head. "I never have anybody to play with," he said.
"I'd like to play with you if you're not too big. And do you think you
could help me to find the cuckoo?" he added insinuatingly.
"What do you know about the cuckoo?" said Griselda.
[Illustration: "BUT I MAY SEE YOU AGAIN," SAID PHIL]
"He called me," said Phil, "he called me lots of times; and to-day nurse
was busy, so I thought I'd come. And do you know," he added
mysteriously, "I do believe the cuckoo's a fairy, and when I find him
I'm going to ask him to show me the way to fairyland."
"He says we must all find the way ourselves," said Griselda, quite
forgetting to whom she was speaking.
"_Does_ he?" cried Phil, in great excitement. "Do you know him, then?
and have you asked him? Oh, do tell me."
Griselda recollected herself. "You couldn't understand," she said. "Some
day perhaps I'll tell you--I mean if ever I see you again."
"But I may see you again," said Phil, settling himself down comfortably
beside Griselda on her mossy stone. "You'll let me come, won't you? I
like to talk about fairies, and nurse doesn't understand. And if the
cuckoo knows you, perhaps that's why he called me to come to play with
you."
"How did he call you?" asked Griselda.
"First," said Phil gravely, "it was in the night. I was asleep, and I
had been wishing I had somebody to play with, and then I d'eamed of the
cuckoo--such a nice d'eam. And when I woke up I heard him calling me,
and I wasn't d'eaming then. And then when I was in the field he called
me, but I _couldn't_ find him, and nurse said 'Nonsense.' And to-day he
called me again, so I camed up through the bushes. And mayn't I come
again? Perhaps if we both tried together we could find the way to
fairyland. Do you think we could?"
"I don't know," said Griselda, dreamily. "There's a great deal to learn
first, the cuckoo says."
"Have you learnt a great deal?" (he called it "a gate deal") asked Phil,
looking up at Griselda with increased respect. "_I_ don't know scarcely
nothing. Mother was ill such a long time before she went away, but I
know she wanted me to learn to read books. But nurse is too old to teach
me."
"Shall I teach you?" said Griselda. "I can bring some of my old books
and teach you here after I have done my own lessons."
"And then mother _would_ be surprised when she comes back," said Master
Phil, clapping his hands. "Oh, _do_. And when I've learnt to read a
great deal, do you think the cuckoo would show us the way to fairyland?"
"I don't think it was that sort of learning he meant," said Griselda.
"But I dare say that would help. I _think_," she went on, lowering her
voice a little, and looking down gravely into Phil's earnest eyes, "I
_think_ he means mostly learning to be very good--very, _very_ good, you
know."
"Gooder than you?" said Phil.
"Oh dear, yes; lots and lots gooder than me," replied Griselda.
"_I_ think you're very good," observed Phil, in a parenthesis. Then he
went on with his cross-questioning.
"Gooder than mother?"
"I don't know your mother, so how can I tell how good she is?" said
Griselda.
"_I_ can tell you," said Phil, importantly. "She is just as good as--as
good as--as good as _good_. That's what she is."
"You mean she couldn't be better," said Griselda, smiling.
"Yes, that'll do, if you like. Would that be good enough for us to be,
do you think?"
"We must ask the cuckoo," said Griselda. "But I'm sure it would be a
good thing for you to learn to read. You must ask your nurse to let you
come here every afternoon that it's fine, and I'll ask my aunt."
"I needn't ask nurse," said Phil composedly; "she'll never know where I
am, and I needn't tell her. She doesn't care what I do, except tearing
my clothes; and when she scolds me, _I_ don't care."
"_That_ isn't good, Phil," said Griselda gravely. "You'll never be as
good as good if you speak like that."
"What should I say, then? Tell me," said the little boy submissively.
"You should ask nurse to let you come to play with me, and tell her I'm
much bigger than you, and I won't let you tear your clothes. And you
should tell her you're very sorry you've torn them to-day."
"Very well," said Phil, "I'll say that. But, oh see!" he exclaimed,
darting off, "there's a field mouse! If only I could catch him!"
Of course he couldn't catch him, nor could Griselda either; very ready,
though, she was to do her best. But it was great fun all the same, and
the children laughed heartily and enjoyed themselves tremendously. And
when they were tired they sat down again and gathered flowers for
nosegays, and Griselda was surprised to find how clever Phil was about
it. He was much quicker than she at spying out the prettiest blossoms,
however hidden behind tree, or stone, or shrub. And he told her of all
the best places for flowers near by, and where grew the largest
primroses and the sweetest violets, in a way that astonished her.
"You're such a little boy," she said; "how do you know so much about
flowers?"
"I've had no one else to play with," he said innocently. "And then, you
know, the fairies are so fond of them."
When Griselda thought it was time to go home, she led little Phil down
the wood-path, and through the door in the wall opening on to the lane.
"Now you can find your way home without scrambling through any more
bushes, can't you, Master Phil?" she said.
"Yes, thank you, and I'll come again to that place to-morrow afternoon,
shall I?" asked Phil. "I'll know when--after I've had my dinner and
raced three times round the big field, then it'll be time. That's how it
was to-day."
"I should think it would do if you _walked_ three times--or twice if you
like--round the field. It isn't a good thing to race just when you've
had your dinner," observed Griselda sagely. "And you mustn't try to come
if it isn't fine, for my aunts won't let me go out if it rains even the
tiniest bit. And of course you must ask your nurse's leave."
"Very well," said little Phil as he trotted off. "I'll try to remember
all those things. I'm so glad you'll play with me again; and if you see
the cuckoo, please thank him."
[Illustration]
IX
UP AND DOWN THE CHIMNEY
[Illustration]
"_Helper._ Well, but if it was all dream, it would be the same as
if it was all real, would it not?
_Keeper._ Yes, I see. I mean, Sir, I do _not_ see."--_A Liliput
Revel._
_Not_ having "just had her dinner," and feeling very much inclined for
her tea, Griselda ran home at a great rate.
She felt, too, in such good spirits; it had been so delightful to have a
companion in her play.
"What a good thing it was I didn't make Phil run away before I found out
what a nice little boy he was," she said to herself. "I must look out my
old reading books to-night. I shall so like teaching him, poor little
boy, and the cuckoo will be pleased at my doing something useful, I'm
sure."
Tea was quite ready, in fact waiting for her, when she came in. This was
a meal she always had by herself, brought up on a tray to Dorcas's
little sitting-room, where Dorcas waited upon her. And sometimes when
Griselda was in a particularly good humour she would beg Dorcas to sit
down and have a cup of tea with her--a liberty the old servant was far
too dignified and respectful to have thought of taking, unless specially
requested to do so.
This evening, as you know, Griselda was in a very particularly good
humour, and besides this, so very full of her adventures, that she would
have been glad of an even less sympathising listener than Dorcas was
likely to be.
"Sit down, Dorcas, and have some more tea, do," she said coaxingly. "It
looks ever so much more comfortable, and I'm sure you could eat a
little more if you tried, whether you've had your tea in the kitchen or
not. I'm _fearfully_ hungry, I can tell you. You'll have to cut a whole
lot more bread and butter and not 'ladies' slices' either."
"How your tongue does go, to be sure, Miss Griselda," said Dorcas,
smiling, as she seated herself on the chair Griselda had drawn in for
her.
"And why shouldn't it?" said Griselda saucily. "It doesn't do it any
harm. But oh, Dorcas, I've had such fun this afternoon--really, you
couldn't guess what I've been doing."
"Very likely not, missie," said Dorcas.
"But you might try to guess. Oh no, I don't think you need--guessing
takes such a time, and I want to tell you. Just fancy, Dorcas, I've been
playing with a little boy in the wood."
"Playing with a little boy, Miss Griselda!" exclaimed Dorcas, aghast.
"Yes, and he's coming again to-morrow, and the day after, and every
day, I dare say," said Griselda. "He _is_ such a nice little boy."
"But, missie," began Dorcas.
"Well? What's the matter? You needn't look like that--as if I had done
something naughty," said Griselda sharply.
"But you'll tell your aunt, missie?"
"Of course," said Griselda, looking up fearlessly into Dorcas's face
with her bright grey eyes. "Of course; why shouldn't I? I must ask her
to give the little boy leave to come into _our_ grounds; and I told the
little boy to be sure to tell his nurse, who takes care of him, about
his playing with me."
"His nurse," repeated Dorcas, in a tone of some relief. "Then he must be
quite a little boy, perhaps Miss Grizzel would not object so much in
that case."
"Why should she object at all? She might know I wouldn't want to play
with a naughty rude boy," said Griselda.
"She thinks all boys rude and naughty, I'm afraid, missie," said
Dorcas. "All, that is to say, excepting your dear papa. But then, of
course, she had the bringing up of _him_ in her own way from the
beginning."
"Well, I'll ask her, any way," said Griselda, "and if she says I'm not
to play with him, I shall think--I know what I shall _think_ of Aunt
Grizzel, whether I _say_ it or not."
And the old look of rebellion and discontent settled down again on her
rosy face.
"Be careful, missie, now do, there's a dear good girl," said Dorcas
anxiously, an hour later, when Griselda, dressed as usual in her little
white muslin frock, was ready to join her aunts at dessert.
But Griselda would not condescend to make any reply.
"Aunt Grizzel," she said suddenly, when she had eaten an orange and
three biscuits and drunk half a glass of home-made elder-berry wine,
"Aunt Grizzel, when I was out in the garden to-day--down the wood-path,
I mean--I met a little boy, and he played with me, and I want to know
if he may come every day to play with me."
Griselda knew she was not making her request in a very amiable or
becoming manner; she knew, indeed, that she was making it in such a way
as was almost certain to lead to its being refused; and yet, though she
was really so very, very anxious to get leave to play with little Phil,
she took a sort of spiteful pleasure in injuring her own cause.
How _foolish_ ill-temper makes us! Griselda had allowed herself to get
so angry at the _thought_ of being thwarted that had her aunt looked up
quietly and said at once, "Oh yes, you may have the little boy to play
with you whenever you like," she would really, in a strange distorted
sort of way, have been _disappointed_.
But, of course, Miss Grizzel made no such reply. Nothing less than a
miracle could have made her answer Griselda otherwise than as she did.
Like Dorcas, for an instant, she was utterly "flabbergasted," if you
know what that means. For she was really quite an old lady, you know,
and sensible as she was, things upset her much more easily than when she
was younger.
Naughty Griselda saw her uneasiness, and enjoyed it.
"Playing with a boy!" exclaimed Miss Grizzel. "A boy in my grounds, and
you, my niece, to have played with him!"
"Yes," said Griselda coolly, "and I want to play with him again."
"Griselda," said her aunt, "I am too astonished to say more at present.
Go to bed."
"Why should I go to bed? It is not my bedtime," cried Griselda, blazing
up. "What have I done to be sent to bed as if I were in disgrace?"
"Go to bed," repeated Miss Grizzel. "I will speak to you to-morrow."
"You are very unfair and unjust," said Griselda, starting up from her
chair. "That's all the good of being honest and telling everything. I
might have played with the little boy every day for a month and you
would never have known, if I hadn't told you."
She banged across the room as she spoke, and out at the door, slamming
it behind her rudely. Then upstairs like a whirlwind; but when she got
to her own room, she sat down on the floor and burst into tears, and
when Dorcas came up, nearly half an hour later, she was still in the
same place, crouched up in a little heap, sobbing bitterly.
"Oh, missie, missie," said Dorcas, "it's just what I was afraid of!"
As Griselda rushed out of the room Miss Grizzel leant back in her chair
and sighed deeply.
"Already," she said faintly. "She was never so violent before. Can one
afternoon's companionship with rudeness have already contaminated her?
Already, Tabitha--can it be so?"
"Already," said Miss Tabitha, softly shaking her head, which somehow
made her look wonderfully like an old cat, for she felt cold of an
evening and usually wore a very fine woolly shawl of a delicate grey
shade, and the borders of her cap and the ruffles round her throat and
wrists were all of fluffy, downy white--"already," she said.
"Yet," said Miss Grizzel, recovering herself a little, "it is true what
the child said. She might have deceived us. Have I been hard upon her,
Sister Tabitha?"
"Hard upon her! Sister Grizzel," said Miss Tabitha with more energy than
usual; "no, certainly not. For once, Sister Grizzel, I disagree with
you. Hard upon her! Certainly not."
But Miss Grizzel did not feel happy.
When she went up to her own room at night she was surprised to find
Dorcas waiting for her, instead of the younger maid.
"I thought you would not mind having me, instead of Martha, to-night,
ma'am," she said, "for I did so want to speak to you about Miss
Griselda. The poor, dear young lady has gone to bed so very unhappy."
"But do you know what she has done, Dorcas?" said Miss Grizzel.
"Admitted a _boy_, a rude, common, impertinent _boy_, into my precincts,
and played with him--with a _boy_, Dorcas."
"Yes, ma'am," said Dorcas. "I know all about it, ma'am. Miss Griselda
has told me all. But if you would allow me to give an opinion, it isn't
quite so bad. He's quite a little boy, ma'am--between five and six--only
just about the age Miss Griselda's dear papa was when he first came to
us, and, by all I can hear, quite a little gentleman."
"A little gentleman," repeated Miss Grizzel, "and not six years old!
That is less objectionable than I expected. What is his name, as you
know so much, Dorcas?"
"Master Phil," replied Dorcas. "That is what he told Miss Griselda, and
she never thought to ask him more. But I'll tell you how we could get to
hear more about him, I think, ma'am. From what Miss Griselda says, I
believe he is staying at Mr. Crouch's farm, and that, you know, ma'am,
belongs to my Lady Lavander, though it is a good way from Merrybrow
Hall. My lady is pretty sure to know about the child, for she knows all
that goes on among her tenants, and I remember hearing that a little
gentleman and his nurse had come to Mr. Crouch's to lodge for six
months."
Miss Grizzel listened attentively.
"Thank you, Dorcas," she said, when the old servant had left off
speaking. "You have behaved with your usual discretion. I shall drive
over to Merrybrow to-morrow, and make inquiry. And you may tell Miss
Griselda in the morning what I purpose doing; but tell her also that, as
a punishment for her rudeness and ill-temper, she must have breakfast in
her own room to-morrow, and not see me till I send for her. Had she
restrained her temper and explained the matter, all this distress might
have been saved."
Dorcas did not wait till "to-morrow morning"; she could not bear to
think of Griselda's unhappiness. From her mistress's room she went
straight to the little girl's, going in very softly, so as not to
disturb her should she be sleeping.
"Are you awake, missie?" she said gently.
Griselda started up.
"Yes," she exclaimed. "Is it you, cuckoo? I'm quite awake."
"Bless the child," said Dorcas to herself, "how her head does run on
Miss Sybilla's cuckoo. It's really wonderful. There's more in such
things than some people think."
But aloud she only replied--
"It's Dorcas, missie. No fairy, only old Dorcas come to comfort you a
bit. Listen, missie. Your auntie is going over to Merrybrow Hall
to-morrow to inquire about this little Master Phil from my Lady
Lavander, for we think it's at one of her ladyship's farms that he and
his nurse are staying, and if she hears that he's a nice-mannered little
gentleman, and comes of good parents--why, missie, there's no saying
but that you'll get leave to play with him as much as you like."
"But not to-morrow, Dorcas," said Griselda. "Aunt Grizzel never goes to
Merrybrow till the afternoon. She won't be back in time for me to play
with Phil to-morrow."
"No, but next day, perhaps," said Dorcas.
"Oh, but that won't do," said Griselda, beginning to cry again. "Poor
little Phil will be coming up to the wood-path _to-morrow_, and if he
doesn't find me, he'll be _so_ unhappy--perhaps he'll never come again
if I don't meet him to-morrow."
Dorcas saw that the little girl was worn out and excited, and not yet
inclined to take a reasonable view of things.
"Go to sleep, missie," she said kindly, "and don't think anything more
about it till to-morrow. It'll be all right, you'll see."
Her patience touched Griselda.
"You are very kind, Dorcas," she said. "I don't mean to be cross to
_you_; but I can't bear to think of poor little Phil. Perhaps he'll sit
down on my mossy stone and cry. Poor little Phil!"
But notwithstanding her distress, when Dorcas had left her she did feel
her heart a little lighter, and somehow or other before long she fell
asleep.
When she awoke it seemed to be suddenly, and she had the feeling that
something had disturbed her. She lay for a minute or two perfectly
still--listening. Yes; there it was--the soft, faint rustle in the air
that she knew so well. It seemed as if something was moving away from
her.
"Cuckoo," she said gently, "is that you?"
A moment's pause, then came the answer--the pretty greeting she
expected.
"Cuckoo, cuckoo," soft and musical. Then the cuckoo 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, comfortable,
feathery neck it felt--so soft that she could not help laying her head
down upon it, and nestling in the downy cushion.
"That's right," said the cuckoo.
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?"
"Oh no," said Griselda; "not a bit."
"You needn't be," said the cuckoo, "for you couldn't if you tried. I'm
going on, then."
"Where to?" said Griselda.
"Up the chimney first," said the cuckoo.
"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."
"Couldn't you?" said the cuckoo. "We'll see. _I_ intend to go, any way,
and to take you with me. Shut your eyes--one, two, three--here
goes--we'll be up the chimney before you know."
It was quite true. Griselda shut her eyes tight. She felt nothing but a
pleasant sort of rush. Then she heard the cuckoo's voice, saying--
"Well, wasn't that well done? Open your eyes and look about you."
Griselda did so. Where were they?
They were floating about above the top of the house, which Griselda saw
down below them, looking dark and vast. She felt confused and
bewildered.
"Cuckoo," she said, "I don't understand. Is it I that have grown little,
or you that have grown big?"
"Whichever you please," said the cuckoo. "You have forgotten. I told you
long ago it is all a matter of fancy."
"Yes, if everything grew little _together_," persisted Griselda; "but it
isn't everything. It's just you or me, or both of us. No, it can't be
both of us. And I don't think it can be me, for if any of me had grown
little all would, and my eyes haven't grown little, for everything looks
as big as usual, only _you_ a great deal bigger. My eyes can't have
grown bigger without the rest of me, surely, for the moon looks just the
same. And I must have grown little, or else we couldn't have got up the
chimney. Oh, cuckoo, you have put all my thinking into such a muddle!"
"Never mind," said the cuckoo. "It'll show you how little consequence
big and little are of. Make yourself comfortable all the same. Are you
all right? Shut your eyes if you like. I'm going pretty fast."
"Where to?" said Griselda.
"To Phil, of course," said the cuckoo. "What a bad memory you have! Are
you comfortable?"
"_Very_, thank you," replied Griselda, giving the cuckoo's neck an
affectionate hug as she spoke.
"That'll do, thank you. Don't throttle me, if it's quite the same to
you," said the cuckoo. "Here goes--one, two, three," and off he flew
again.