CHAPTER IX.

UP AND DOWN THE CHIMNEY.

     “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?”