sat near and told her how
beautiful she looked.

But there were other chafers living in the tree, and when they came to
see little Thumbelina, they said, "She is not pretty at all."

"She has only two legs," said one.

"She has no feelers," said another.

Some said she was too thin, others that she was too fat, and then they
all buzzed and hummed together, "How ugly she is, how ugly she is!" But
all the time little Thumbelina was the prettiest little maiden that ever
lived.

And now the cockchafer who had flown off with little Thumbelina thought
he had been rather foolish to admire her.

He looked at her again. "Pretty? No, after all she was not very pretty."
He would have nothing to do with her, and away he and all the other
chafers flew. Only first they carried little Thumbelina down from the
tree and placed her on a daisy. She wept because she was so ugly--so
ugly that the chafers could not live with her. But all the time, you
know, she was the prettiest little maiden in the world.

She was living all alone in the wood now, but it was summer and she
could not feel sad or lonely while the warm golden sunshine touched her
so gently, while the birds sang to her, and the flowers bowed to her.

Yes, little Thumbelina was happy. She ate honey from the flowers, and
drank dew out of the golden buttercups and danced and sang the livelong
day.

But summer passed away and autumn came. The birds began to whisper of
flying to warmer countries, and the flowers began to fade and hang their
heads, and as autumn passed away, winter came, cold, dreary winter.

Thumbelina shivered with cold. Her little frock was thin and old. She
would certainly be frozen to death, she thought, as she wrapped herself
up in a withered leaf.

Then the snow began to fall, and each snow-flake seemed to smother her.
She was so very tiny.

Close to the wood lay a corn-field. The beautiful golden grain had been
carried away long ago, now there was only dry short stubble. But to
little Thumbelina the stubble was like a great forest.

She walked through the hard field. She was shaking with cold. All at
once she saw a little door just before her.

The field-mouse had made a little house under the stubble, and lived so
cozily there. She had a big room full of corn, and she had a kitchen and
pantry as well.

"Perhaps I shall get some food here," thought the cold and hungry little
maiden, as she stood knocking at the door, just like a tiny beggar