This was evidently their dining-room, for no sooner were they in their place 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.