"The fetch-and-carry butterflies know exactly where to go to for the tint the world-flower-painters want." "Who are the fetch-and-carry butterflies, and who are the world-flower-painters ?" asked Griselda.
"Wait a bit and you'll see, and use your eyes," answered the cuckoo.
"It'll do your tongue no harm to have a rest now and then." Griselda thought it as well to take his advice, though not particularly relishing the manner in which it was given.

She did use her eyes, and as she and the cuckoo made their way along the flower alleys, she saw that the butterflies were never idle.

They came regularly, in little parties of twos and threes, and nibbled away, as she called it, at flowers of the same colour but different shades, till they had got what they wanted.

Then off flew butterfly No.

1 with perhaps the palest tint of maize, or yellow, or lavender, whichever he was in quest of, followed by No.