Flocks and flocks of butterflies were rising a short way into the air, and there arranging themselves in bands according to their colours.
"Come up to the bank," said the cuckoo to Griselda; "you'll see them better."
Griselda climbed up the bank, and as from there she could look down on the butterfly show, she saw it beautifully. The long strings of butterflies twisted in and out of each other in the most wonderful way, like ribbons of every hue plaiting themselves and then in an instant unplaiting themselves again. Then the king and queen placed themselves in the centre, and round and round in moving circles twisted and untwisted the brilliant bands of butterflies.
"It's like a kaleidoscope," said Griselda; "and now it's like those twisty-twirly dissolving
views that papa took me to see once. It's just like them. Oh, how pretty! Cuckoo, are they doing it all on purpose to please me?"
"A good deal," said the cuckoo. "Stand up and clap your hands loud three times, to show them you're pleased."
Griselda obeyed. "Clap" number one—all the butterflies rose up into the air in a cloud; clap number two—they all fluttered and twirled and buzzed about, as if in the greatest excitement; clap number three—they all turned in Griselda's direction with a rush.
"They're going to kiss you, Griselda," cried the cuckoo.
Griselda felt her breath going. Up above her was the vast feathery cloud of butterflies, fluttering, rushing down upon her.
"Cuckoo, cuckoo," she screamed, "they'll suffocate me. Oh, cuckoo!"