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!"
"Shut your eyes, and clap your hands loud, very loud," called out the cuckoo.
And just as Griselda clapped her hands, holding her precious handkerchief between her teeth, she heard him give his usual cry, "Cuckoo, cuckoo."
Clap—where were they all?
Griselda opened her eyes—garden, butterflies,
