rtainly was a very different sort of husband to the son
of a toad, or the mole, with my black velvet and fur; so she said,
"Yes," to the handsome prince. Then all the flowers opened, and out of
each came a little lady or a tiny lord, all so pretty it was quite a
pleasure to look at them. Each of them brought Tiny a present; but the
best gift was a pair of beautiful wings, which had belonged to a large
white fly and they fastened them to Tiny's shoulders, so that she
might fly from flower to flower. Then there was much rejoicing, and
the little swallow who sat above them, in his nest, was asked to
sing a wedding song, which he did as well as he could; but in his
heart he felt sad for he was very fond of Tiny, and would have liked
never to part from her again.

"You must not be called Tiny any more," said the spirit of the
flowers to her. "It is an ugly name, and you are so very pretty. We
will call you Maia."

"Farewell, farewell," said the swallow, with a heavy heart as he
left the warm countries to fly back into Denmark. There he had a
nest over the window of a house in which dwelt the writer of fairy
tales. The swallow sang, "Tweet, tweet," and from his song came the
whole story.

LITTLE TUK

Yes, they called him Little Tuk, but it was not his real name;
he had called himself so before he could speak plainly, and he meant
it for Charles. It was all very well for those who knew him, but not
for strangers.

Little Tuk was left at home to take care of his little sister,
Gustava, who was much younger than himself, and he had to learn his
lessons at the same time, and the two things could not very well be
performed together. The poor boy sat there with his sister on his lap,
and sung to her all the songs he knew, and now and then he looked into
his geography lesson that lay open before him. By the next morning
he had to learn by heart all the towns in Zealand, and all that
could be described of them.

His mother came home at last, and took little Gustava in her arms.
Then Tuk ran to the window, and read so eagerly that he nearly read
his eyes out; for it had become darker and darker every minute, and
his mother had no money to buy a light.

"There goes the old washerwoman up the lane," said the mother,
as she looked out of the window; "the poor woman can hardly drag
herself along, and now she had to drag a pail of water from the
well. Be a good boy, Tuk, and run across and help the old woman, won't
you?"