But all these beautiful things Griselda did not at first give as much attention to as they deserved; her eyes were so occupied with a quite unusual sight that met them.
This was butterflies! Not that butterflies are so very uncommon; but butterflies, as Griselda saw them, I am quite sure, children, none of you ever saw, or are likely to see.

There were such enormous numbers of them, and the variety of their colours and sizes was so great.

They were fluttering about everywhere; the garden seemed actually alive with them.
Griselda stood for a moment in silent delight, feasting her eyes on the lovely things before her, enjoying the delicious sunshine which kissed her poor little bare feet, and seemed to wrap her all up in its warm embrace.

Then she turned to her little friend.
"Cuckoo," she said, "I thank you _so_ much.

This _is_ fairyland, at last!" The cuckoo smiled, I was going to say, but that would be a figure of speech only, would it not?
He shook his head gently.
"No, Griselda," he said kindly; "this is only butterfly-land." "_Butterfly_-land!" repeated Griselda, with a little disappointment in her tone.
"Well," said the cuckoo, "it's where you were wishing to be yesterday, isn't it ?" Griselda did not particularly like these allusions to "yesterday." She thought it would be as well to change the subject.
"It's a beautiful place, whatever it is," she said, "and I'm sure, cuckoo, I'm _very_ much obliged to you for bringing me here.