That night the little maiden could not sleep. "I will go to see the poor swallow again," she thought. She got up out of her tiny bed. She wove a little carpet out of hay. Down the long underground passage little Thumbelina walked, carrying the carpet. She reached the bird at last, and spread the carpet gently round him. She fetched warm cotton and laid it over the bird.
"Even down on the cold earth he will be warm now," thought the gentle little maiden. "Farewell," she said sadly, "farewell, little bird! Did you sing to me through the long summer days, when the leaves were green and the sky was blue? Farewell, little swallow!" and she stooped to press her tiny cheeks against the soft feathers.
As she did so, she heard—what could it be? Pit, pat, pit, pat! Could the bird be alive? Little Thumbelina listened still. Yes, it was the beating of the little bird's heart that she heard. He had not been dead after all, only frozen with cold. The little carpet and the covering the little maid had brought warmed the bird. He would get well now.
What a big bird he seemed to Thumbelina! She was almost afraid now, for she was so tiny. She was tiny, but she was brave. Drawing the covering more closely round the poor swallow, she brought her own little pillow, that the bird's head might rest softly. Thumbelina stole out again the next night. "Would the swallow look at her," she wondered. Yes, he opened his eyes, and looked at little Thumbelina, who stood there with a tiny torch of tinder-wood.
"Thanks, thanks, little Thumbelina," he twittered feebly. "Soon I shall grow strong and fly out in the bright sunshine once more; thanks, thanks, little maiden." "Oh! but it is too cold, it snows and freezes, for now it is winter," said Thumbelina. "Stay here and be warm, and I will take care of you," and she brought the swallow water in a leaf. And the little bird told her all his story,—how he had tried to fly to the warm countries, and how he had torn his wing on a blackthorn bush and fallen to the ground. But he could not tell her how he had come to the underground passage.
All winter the swallow stayed there, and Thumbelina was often in the long passage, with her little torch of tinder-wood. But the mole and the field-mouse did not know how Thumbelina tended and cared for the swallow.
At last spring came, and the sun sent its warmth down where the swallow lay in the underground passage.
Little Thumbelina opened the hole which the mole had made in the ceiling, and the sunshine streamed down on the swallow and the little girl.
How the swallow longed to soar away, up and up, to be lost to sight in the blue, blue sky!
"Come with me, little Thumbelina," said the swallow, "come with me to the blue skies and the green woods." But Thumbelina remembered how kind the field-mouse had been to her when she was cold and hungry, and she would not leave her.
"Farewell! farewell! then, little maiden," twittered the swallow as he flew out and up, up into the sunshine. Thumbelina loved the swallow dearly. Her eyes were full of tears as she watched the bird disappearing till he was only a tiny speck of black.
And now sad days came to little Thumbelina.
The golden corn was once more waving in the sunshine above the house of the field-mouse, but Thumbelina must not go out lest she lose herself among the corn.
Not go out in the bright sunshine! Oh, poor little Thumbelina!
"You must get your wedding clothes ready this summer," said the field-mouse. "You must be well provided with linen and worsted. My neighbor the mole will wish a well-dressed bride." The mole had said he wished to marry little Thumbelina before the cold winter came again.
So Thumbelina sat at the spinning-wheel through the long summer days, spinning and weaving with four little spiders to help her.
In the evening the mole came to visit her. "Summer will soon be over," he said, "and we shall be married." But oh! little Thumbelina did not wish the summer to end.
Live with the dull old mole, who hated the sunshine, who would not listen to the song of the birds—live underground with him! Little Thumbelina wished the summer would never end.
The spinning and weaving were over now. All the wedding clothes were ready. Autumn was come.
"Only four weeks and the wedding-day will have come," said the field-mouse. And little Thumbelina wept.
"I will not marry the tiresome old mole," she said. "I shall bite you with my white tooth if you talk such nonsense," said the field-mouse. "Among all my friends not one of them has such a fine velvet coat as the mole. His cellars are full and his rooms are large. You ought to be glad to marry so well," she ended. "Was there no escape from the underground home?" little Thumbelina wondered.
The wedding-day came. The mole arrived to fetch his little bride.
How could she say good-by for ever to the beautiful sunshine?
"Farewell, farewell!" she cried, and waved her little hands towards the glorious sun.
"Farewell, farewell!" she cried, and threw her tiny arms round a little red flower growing at her feet.
"Tell the dear swallow, when he comes again," she whispered to the flower, "tell him I will never forget him." "Tweet, tweet!" what was that Thumbelina heard? "Tweet, tweet!" Could it be the swallow?
The flutter of wings was round her. Little Thumbelina looked. How glad she was, for there, indeed, was the little bird she had tended and cared for so long. She told him, weeping, she must not stay. She must marry the mole and live underground, and never see the sun, the glorious sun.
"Come with me, come with me, little Thumbelina," twittered the swallow. "You can sit on my back, and I will fly with you to warmer countries, far from the tiresome old mole. Over mountains and seas we will fly to the country where the summer never ends, and the sunlight always shines." Then little Thumbelina seated herself on her dear swallow's back, and put her tiny feet on his outstretched wing. She tied herself firmly with her little sash to the strongest feather of the bird.
And the swallow soared high into the air. High above forests and lakes, high above the big mountains that were crested with snow, he soared.
And little Thumbelina shivered as she felt the cold air, but soon she crept under the bird's warm feathers, and only pushed out her little head to see the beauty all around her. They had reached the warm countries now. The sun was more brilliant here, the flowers more radiant.
On and on flew the swallow, till he came to a white marble palace. Half-ruined it was, and vine leaves trailed up the long slender pillars. And among the broad, green leaves many a swallow had built his nest, and one of these nests belonged to Thumbelina's little swallow. "This is my home," said the bird, "but you shall live in one of these brilliant flowers, in the loveliest of them all'." And little Thumbelina clapped her hands with joy.
The swallow flew with her to a stately sunflower, and set her carefully on one of the broad yellow petals.
But think, what was her surprise! In the very heart of the flower stood a little Prince, fair and transparent as crystal. On his head he wore a crown of gold, on his shoulders a pair of delicate wings, and he was small, every bit as small as Thumbelina. He was the spirit of the flower.
For you know in each flower there is a spirit, a tiny little boy or girl, but this little Prince was King of all the flower spirits.
The little King thought Thumbelina the loveliest maiden he had ever seen. He took off his golden crown and placed it on the tiny head of the little maid, and in a silvery voice he asked, "Will you be my bride, little Thumbelina, and reign with me over the flower spirits?" How glad Thumbelina was!
The little King wished to marry her. Yes, she would be his little Queen.
Then out of each blossom stepped tiny little children. They came to pay their homage to little Thumbelina.
Each one brought her a present, and the most beautiful of all the presents was a pair of wings, delicate as gossamer. And when they were fastened on the shoulders of the little Queen, she could fly from flower to flower.
And the swallow sat on his nest above, and sang his sweetest bridal song for the wedding of little Thumbelina.
