She forgot everything, and knew nothing more of what was passing till--till she heard the cuckoo again.
"Cuckoo, cuckoo; wake up, Griselda," he said.
Griselda sat up.
Where was she?
Not certainly where she had been when she went to sleep.

Not on the cuckoo's back, for there he was standing beside her, as tiny as usual.
Either he had grown little again, or she had grown big--which, she supposed, it did not much matter.

Only it was very queer! "Where am I, cuckoo ?" she said.
"Where you wished to be," he replied.

"Look about you and see." Griselda looked about her.

What did she see?
Something that I can only give you a faint idea of, children; something so strange and unlike what she had ever seen before, that only in a dream could you see it as Griselda saw it.