ream, and the butterfly with it, for he was fastened to the leaf and
could not get loose from it. Oh, dear! how terrified poor little
Thumbelina was when the cockchafer flew off with her to the tree! But
she was especially distressed on the beautiful white butterfly's
account, as she had tied him fast, so that if he could not get away he
must starve to death. But the cockchafer did not trouble himself about
that; he sat down with her on a large green leaf, gave her the honey
out of the flowers to eat, and told her that she was very pretty,
although she wasn't in the least like a cockchafer. Later on, all the
other cockchafers who lived in the same tree came to pay calls; they
examined Thumbelina closely, and remarked, 'Why, she has only two
legs! How very miserable!'

'She has no feelers!' cried another.

'How ugly she is!' said all the lady chafers--and yet Thumbelina was
really very pretty.

The cockchafer who had stolen her knew this very well; but when he
heard all the ladies saying she was ugly, he began to think so too,
and would not keep her; she might go wherever she liked. So he flew
down from the tree with her and put her on a daisy. There she sat and
wept, because she was so ugly that the cockchafer would have nothing
to do with her; and yet she was the most beautiful creature
imaginable, so soft and delicate, like the loveliest rose-leaf.

The whole summer poor little Thumbelina lived alone in the great wood.
She plaited a bed for herself of blades of grass, and hung it up under
a clover-leaf, so that she was protected from the rain; she gathered
honey from the flowers for food, and drank the dew on the leaves every
morning. Thus the summer and autumn passed, but then came winter--the
long, cold winter. All the birds who had sung so sweetly about her had
flown away; the trees shed their leaves, the flowers died; the great
clover-leaf under which she had lived curled up, and nothing remained
of it but the withered stalk. She was terribly cold, for her clothes
were ragged, and she herself was so small and thin. Poor little
Thumbelina! she would surely be frozen to death. It began to snow, and
every snow-flake that fell on her was to her as a whole shovelful
thrown on one of us, for we are so big, and she was only an inch high.
She wrapt herself round in a dead leaf, but it was torn in the middle
and gave her no warmth; she was trembling with cold.

Just outside the wood where she was now living lay a grea