It seemed to come from a little way up the chimney.
"Don't wake him," said the cuckoo, "but whisper what you want to say into his ear, as soon as I have called him.

He'll understand; he's accustomed to my ways." Then came the old note, soft and musical as ever-- "Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo.

Listen, Phil," said the cuckoo, and without opening his eyes a change passed over the little boy's face.

Griselda could see that he was listening to hear her message.
"He thinks he's dreaming, I suppose," she said to herself with a smile.
Then she whispered softly-- "Phil, dear, don't come to play with me to-morrow, for I can't come.

But come the day after.