"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.
