in, slowly, majestically
circling downwards, till at length they alighted on Griselda's little
hands, the king on the right, the queen on the left, almost covering
her fingers with their great dazzling wings.

"You _do_ look nice now," said the cuckoo, hopping back a few steps and
looking up at Griselda approvingly; "but it's time for the feast to
begin, as it won't do for us to be late."

The king and queen appeared to understand. They floated away from
Griselda's hands and settled themselves, this time, at one end of a
beautiful little grass plot or lawn, just below the terrace where grew
the large-leaved plant. This was evidently their dining-room, for no
sooner were they in their places than butterflies of every kind and
colour came pouring in, in masses, from all directions. Butterflies
small and butterflies large; butterflies light and butterflies dark;
butterflies blue, pink, crimson, green, gold-colour--_every_ colour, and
far, far more colours than you could possibly imagine.

They all settled down, round the sides of the grassy dining-table, and
in another minute a number of small white butterflies appeared,
carrying among them flower petals carefully rolled up, each containing a
drop of liquid. One of these was presented to the king, and then one to
the queen, who each sniffed at their petal for an instant, and then
passed it on to the butterfly next them, whereupon fresh petals were
handed to them, which they again passed on.

"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.