“What are they doing, cuckoo?” said Griselda; “that’s not eating.”

“It’s their kind of eating,” he replied.  “They don’t require any other kind of food than a sniff of perfume; and as there are perfumes extracted from every flower in butterfly-land, and there are far more flowers than you could count between now and Christmas, you must allow there is plenty of variety of dishes.”

“Um-m,” said Griselda; “I suppose there is.  But all the same, cuckoo, it’s a very good thing I’m not hungry, isn’t it?  May I pour the scent on my pocket-handkerchief when it comes round to me?  I have my handkerchief here, you see.  Isn’t it nice that I brought it?  It was under my pillow, and I wrapped it round my hand to open the shutter, for the hook scratched it once.”

“You may pour one drop on your handkerchief,” said the cuckoo, “but not more.  I shouldn’t like the butterflies to think you greedy.”

But Griselda grew very tired of the scent feast long before all the petals had been passed round.  The perfumes were very nice, certainly, but there were such quantities of them—­double quantities in honour of the guest, of course!  Griselda screwed up her handkerchief into a tight little ball, so that the one drop of scent should not escape from it, and then she kept sniffing at it impatiently, till at last the cuckoo asked her what was the matter.

“I am so tired of the feast,” she said.  “Do let us do something else, cuckoo.”

“It is getting rather late,” said the cuckoo.  “But see, Griselda, they are going to have an air-dance now.”

“What’s that?” said Griselda.

“Look, and you’ll see,” he replied.

Flocks and flocks of butterflies were rising a short way into the air, and there arranging themselves in bands according to their colours.

“Come up on to the bank,” said the cuckoo to Griselda; “you’ll see them better.”

Griselda climbed up the bank, and as from there she could look down on the butterfly show, she saw it beautifully.  The long strings of butterflies twisted in and out of each other in the most wonderful way, like ribbons of every hue plaiting themselves and then in an instant unplaiting themselves again.  Then the king and queen placed themselves in the centre, and round and round in moving circles twisted and untwisted the brilliant bands of butterflies.

“It’s like a kaleidoscope,” said Griselda; “and now it’s like those twisty-twirly dissolving views that papa took me to see once.  It’s just like them.  Oh, how pretty!  Cuckoo, are they doing it all on purpose to please me?”

“A good deal,” said the cuckoo.  “Stand up and clap your hands loud three times, to show them you’re pleased.”

Griselda obeyed.  “Clap” number one—­all the butterflies rose up into the air in a cloud; clap number two—­they all fluttered and twirled and buzzed about, as if in the greatest excitement; clap number three—­they all turned in Griselda’s direction with a rush.