“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.

She did not hesitate this time.  It all happened just as before.  There came the same sort of rushy sound; then the cuckoo stopped, and Griselda opened her eyes.

They were up in the air again—­a good way up, too, for some grand old elms that stood beside the farmhouse were gently waving their topmost branches a yard or two from where the cuckoo was poising himself and Griselda.

“Where shall we go to now?” he said.  “Or would you rather go home?  Are you tired?”

“Tired!” exclaimed Griselda.  “I should rather think not.  How could I be tired, cuckoo?”

“Very well, don’t excite yourself about nothing, whatever you do,” said the cuckoo.  “Say where you’d like to go.”

“How can I?” said Griselda.  “You know far more nice places than I do.”

“You don’t care to go back to the mandarins, or the butterflies, I suppose?” asked the cuckoo.

[Illustration:  “TIRED!  HOW COULD I BE TIRED, CUCKOO?”]

“No, thank you,” said Griselda; “I’d like something new.  And I’m not sure that I care for seeing any more countries of that kind, unless you could take me to the real fairyland.”

“I can’t do that, you know,” said the cuckoo.

Just then a faint “soughing” sound among the branches suggested another idea to Griselda.

“Cuckoo,” she exclaimed, “take me to the sea.  It’s such a time since I saw the sea.  I can fancy I hear it; do take me to see it.”

CHAPTER X.

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOON.

    “That after supper time has come,
      And silver dews the meadow steep. 
    And all is silent in the home,
      And even nurses are asleep,
    That be it late, or be it soon,
    Upon this lovely night in June
    They both will step into the moon.”

“Very well,” said the cuckoo.  “You would like to look about you a little on the way, perhaps, Griselda, as we shall not be going down chimneys, or anything of that kind just at present.”

“Yes,” said Griselda.  “I think I should.  I’m rather tired of shutting my eyes, and I’m getting quite accustomed to flying about with you, cuckoo.”

“Turn on your side, then,” said the cuckoo, “and you won’t have to twist your neck to see over my shoulder.  Are you comfortable now?  And, by-the-by, as you may be cold, just feel under my left wing.  You’ll find the feather mantle there, that you had on once before.  Wrap it round you.  I tucked it in at the last moment, thinking you might want it.”