sound; then the cuckoo stopped, and Griselda opened her eyes.
They were up in the air again—a good way up, too, for some grand old elms that stood beside the farmhouse were gently waving their topmost branches a yard or two from where the cuckoo was poising himself and Griselda.
"Where shall we go to now?" he said. "Or would you rather go home? Are you tired?"
"Tired!" exclaimed Griselda. "I should rather think not. How could I be tired, cuckoo?"
"Very well, don't excite yourself about nothing, whatever you do," said the cuckoo. "Say where you'd like to go."
"How can I?" said Griselda. "You know far more nice places than I do."
"You don't care to go back to the mandarins, or the butterflies, I suppose?" asked the cuckoo.
"No, thank you," said Griselda; "I'd like something new. And I'm not sure that I care for seeing
