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
in the oak tree, and was fond of talking of all the grand things he
had seen, and a great many he had not seen, for the cuckoo is a
bird of fine imagination; and at last, as I have already said,
three of the daffodils made up their minds that to be a flower and
live in a wood was a very dreadful thing, and not to be put up with
any longer.
Now the cuckoo had told many strange tales about creatures with two
legs and beautiful coloured leaves which grew in an odd way, and
feathers only on their heads. They could not fly, but they could
run about from place to place, and dance and sing; and at last the
daffodils decided that they wished to be like these curious
creatures, which the cuckoo called GIRLS.
Then there were sad times in that sweet little nook under the oak
tree.
The naughty daffodils cried and quarrelled and bewailed their lot
all day long, till they made themselves and everybody else
extremely wretched. Their little sister shook her head at them,
and scolded and said that for her part she was not meant to have
legs; but it was all no use, the daffodils would not be quiet.
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