Still, birds are very high bred." Thumbelina said nothing, but when the two others had turned their backs
upon the bird, she stooped down and stroked aside the soft feathers
which covered his head, and kissed the closed eyelids. "Perhaps this was
the one who sang to me so sweetly in the summer," she said; "and how
much pleasure it gave me, you dear, pretty bird." The mole now stopped up the hole through which the daylight shone, and
then accompanied the ladies home. But during the night Thumbelina could
not sleep; so she got out of bed and wove a large, beautiful carpet of
hay. She carried it to the dead bird and spread it over him, with some
down from the flowers which she had found in the field mouse's room. It
was as soft as wool, and she spread some of it on each side of the bird,
so that he might lie warmly in the cold earth. "Farewell, pretty little bird," said she, "farewell. Thank you for your
delightful singing during the summer, when all the trees were green and
the warm sun shone upon us." Then she laid her head on the bird's
breast, but she was alarmed, for it seemed as if something inside the
bird went "thump, thump." It was the bird's heart; he was not really
dead, only benumbed with the cold, and the warmth had restored him to
life. In autumn all the swallows fly away into warm countries; but if
one happens to linger, the cold seizes it, and it becomes chilled and
falls down as if dead. It remains where it fell, and the cold snow
covers it. Thumbelina trembled very much; she was quite frightened, for the bird
was large, a great deal larger than herself (she was only an inch high). But she took courage, laid the wool more thickly over the poor swallow,
and then took a leaf which she had used for her own counterpane and laid
it over his head. The next night she again stole out to see him. He was alive, but very
weak; he could only open his eyes for a moment to look at Thumbelina,
who stood by, holding a piece of decayed wood in her hand, for she had
no other lantern. "Thank you, pretty little maiden," said the sick
swallow; "I have been so nicely warmed that I shall soon regain my
strength and be able to fly about again in the warm sunshine." "Oh," said she, "it is cold out of doors now; it snows and freezes. Stay
in your warm bed; I will take care of you." She brought the swallow some water in a flower leaf, and after he had
drunk, he told her that he had wounded one of his wings in a thornbush
and could not fly as fast as the others, who were soon far away on their
journey to warm countries. At last he had fallen to the earth, and could
remember nothing more, nor how he came to be where she had found him. All winter the swallow remained underground, and Thumbelina nursed him
with care and love. She did not tell either the mole or the field mouse
anything about it, for they did not like swallows. Very soon the
springtime came, and the sun warmed the earth. Then the swallow bade
farewell to Thumbelina, and she opened the hole in the ceiling which
the mole had made. The sun shone in upon them so beautifully that the
swallow asked her if she would go with him. She could sit on his back,
he said, and he would fly away with her into the green woods. But she
knew it would grieve the field mouse if she left her in that manner, so
she said, "No, I cannot." "Farewell, then, farewell, you good, pretty little maiden," said the
swallow, and he flew out into the sunshine. *       *       *       *       *

Thumbelina looked after him, and the tears rose in her eyes. She was
very fond of the poor swallow. "Tweet, tweet," sang the bird, as he flew out into the green woods, and
Thumbelina felt very sad. She was not allowed to go out into the warm
sunshine. The corn which had been sowed in the field over the house of
the field mouse had grown up high into the air and formed a thick wood
to Thumbelina, who was only an inch in height. [Illustration: Nothing must be wanting when you are the wife of the mole
...]

"You are going to be married, little one," said the field mouse. "My
neighbor has asked for you. What good fortune for a poor child like
you! Now we will prepare your wedding clothes. They must be woolen and
linen. Nothing must be wanting when you are the wife of the mole." Thumbelina had to turn the spindle, and the field mouse hired four
spiders, who were to weave day and night. Every evening the mole visited
her and was continually speaking of the time when the summer would be
over. Then he would keep his wedding day with Thumbelina; but now the
heat of the sun was so great that it burned the earth and made it hard,
like stone. As soon as the summer was over the wedding should take
place. But Thumbelina was not at all pleased, for she did not like the
tiresome mole. Every morning when the sun rose and every evening when it went down she
would creep out at the door, and as the wind blew aside the ears of corn
so that she could see the blue sky, she thought how beautiful and bright
it seemed out there and wished so much to see her dear friend, the
swallow, again. But he never returned, for by this time he had flown far
away into the lovely green forest. When autumn arrived Thumbelina had her outfit quite ready, and the field
mouse said to her, "In four weeks the wedding must take place." Then she wept and said she would not marry the disagreeable mole. "Nonsense," replied the field mouse. "Now don't be obstinate, or I shall
bite you with my white teeth. He is a very handsome mole; the queen
herself does not wear more beautiful velvets and furs. His kitchens and
cellars are quite full. You ought to be very thankful for such good
fortune." So the wedding day was fixed, on which the mole was to take her away to
live with him, deep under the earth, and never again to see the warm
sun, because _he_ did not like it. The poor child was very unhappy at
the thought of saying farewell to the beautiful sun, and as the field
mouse had given her permission to stand at the door, she went to look at
it once more. "Farewell, bright sun," she cried, stretching out her arm towards it;
and then she walked a short distance from the house, for the corn had
been cut, and only the dry stubble remained in the fields. "Farewell,
farewell," she repeated, twining her arm around a little red flower that
grew just by her side. "Greet the little swallow from me, if you should
see him again." "Tweet, tweet," sounded over her head suddenly. She looked up, and there
was the swallow himself flying close by. As soon as he spied Thumbelina
he was delighted. She told him how unwilling she was to marry the ugly
mole, and to live always beneath the earth, nevermore to see the bright
sun. And as she told him, she wept. "Cold winter is coming," said the swallow, "and I am going to fly away
into warmer countries. Will you go with me? You can sit on my back and
fasten yourself on with your sash.