But when at last they reached Phil’s favourite spot all their troubles were forgotten.  Oh, how pretty it was!  It was a sort of tiny glade in the very middle of the wood—­a little green nest enclosed all round by trees, and right through it the merry brook came rippling along as if rejoicing at getting out into the sunlight again for a while.  And all the choicest and sweetest of the early summer flowers seemed to be collected here in greater variety and profusion than in any other part of the wood.

“Isn’t it nice?” said Phil, as he nestled down beside Griselda on the soft, mossy grass.  “It must have been a fairies’ garden some time, I’m sure, and I shouldn’t wonder if one of the doors into fairyland is hidden somewhere here, if only we could find it.”

“If only!” said Griselda.  “I don’t think we shall find it, Phil; but, any way, this is a lovely place you’ve found, and I’d like to come here very often.”

Then at Phil’s suggestion they set to work to make themselves a house in the centre of this fairies’ garden, as he called it.  They managed it very much to their own satisfaction, by dragging some logs of wood and big stones from among the brushwood hard by, and filling the holes up with bracken and furze.

“And if the fairies do come here,” said Phil, “they’ll be very pleased to find a house all ready, won’t they?”

Then they had to gather flowers to ornament the house inside, and dry leaves and twigs all ready for a fire in one corner.  Altogether it was quite a business, I can assure you, and when it was finished they were very hot and very tired and rather dirty.  Suddenly a thought struck Griselda.

“Phil,” she said, “it must be getting late.”

“Past tea-time?” he said coolly.

“I dare say it is.  Look how low down the sun has got.  Come, Phil, we must be quick.  Where is the place we came out of the wood at?”

“Here,” said Phil, diving at a little opening among the bushes.

Griselda followed him.  He had been a good guide hitherto, and she certainly could not have found her way alone.  They scrambled on for some way, then the bushes suddenly seemed to grow less thick, and in a minute they came out upon a little path.

“Phil,” said Griselda, “this isn’t the way we came.”

“Isn’t it?” said Phil, looking about him.  “Then we must have comed the wrong way.”

“I’m afraid so,” said Griselda, “and it seems to be so late already.  I’m so sorry, for Aunt Grizzel will be vexed, and I did so want to please her.  Will your nurse be vexed, Phil?”

“I don’t care if she are,” replied Phil valiantly.

“You shouldn’t say that, Phil.  You know we shouldn’t have stayed so long playing.”

“Nebber mind,” said Phil.  “If it was mother I would mind.  Mother’s so good, you don’t know.  And she never ’colds me, except when I am naughty—­so I do mind.”