bleached and had their tails crimped and their whiskers starched;
and they danced at the wedding, and everybody lived happily ever
after.



The Discontented Daffodils.



They had the very loveliest home you can imagine, with beautiful
soft moss and grass to grow in, trees to form a cosy shelter from
the wind, and a dear little babbling stream to water them.

There were lots of daffodils in this pretty place, and nobody ever
discovered the nook to gather them. They rejoiced in the spring
sunshine and gentle breezes, the greeting of the birds, and the
musical chatter of the brook; then when their brief visit to the
upper world was over they nestled happily down in their warm mossy
beds and slept till April came again to wake them.

A little apart from the rest were four daffodils growing at the
root of a gnarled oak tree, and one fine sunshiny morning three of
them took it into their silly little heads that they were dull, the
place was dull, the other daffodils were dull, and they wanted a
change.

It was mainly the fault of the cuckoo, for he was a grumbling,
mischief-making bird and used to spend a good deal of time talking
to the daffodils. This particular spring he had taken up his abode