“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.