Griselda did so. Where were they?
They were floating about above the top of the house, which Griselda saw down below them, looking dark and vast. She felt confused and bewildered.
"Cuckoo," she said, "I don't understand. Is it I that have grown little, or you that have grown big?"
"Whichever you please," said the cuckoo. "You have forgotten. I told you long ago it is all a matter of fancy."
"Yes, if everything grew little together," persisted Griselda; "but it isn't everything. It's just you or me, or both of us. No, it can't be both of us. And I don't think it can be me, for if any of me had grown little all would, and my eyes haven't grown little, for everything looks as big as usual, only you a great deal bigger. My eyes can't have grown bigger without the rest of me, surely, for the moon looks just the same. And I
must have grown little, or else we couldn't have got up the chimney. Oh, cuckoo, you have put all my thinking into such a muddle!"
"Never mind," said the cuckoo. "It'll show you how little consequence big and little are of. Make yourself comfortable all the same. Are you all right? Shut your eyes if you like. I'm going pretty fast."
"Where to?" said Griselda.
"To Phil, of course," said the cuckoo. "What a bad memory you have! Are you comfortable?"
"Very, thank you," replied Griselda, giving the cuckoo's neck an affectionate hug as she spoke.