Only the cuckoo would not eat any, which rather distressed Griselda.

He walked about among the dancers, apparently quite at home; and the mandarins did not seem at all surprised to see him, though he did look rather odd, being nearly, if not quite, as big as any of them.

Griselda hoped he was enjoying himself, considering that she had to thank him for all the fun _she_ was having, but she felt a little conscience-stricken when she saw that he wouldn't eat anything.
"Cuckoo," she whispered; she dared not talk out loud--it would have seemed so remarkable, you see.

"Cuckoo," she said, very, very softly, "I wish you would eat something.

You'll be so tired and hungry." "No, thank you," said the cuckoo; and you can't think how pleased Griselda was at having succeeded in making him speak.