Next night she crept out again to him. There he was alive, but very
weak; he could only open his eyes for a moment and look at Thumbelina,
who was standing in front of him with a piece of rotten wood in her
hand, for she had no other lantern.

'Thank you, pretty little child!' said the swallow to her. 'I am so
beautifully warm! Soon I shall regain my strength, and then I shall be
able to fly out again into the warm sunshine.'

'Oh!' she said, 'it is very cold outside; it is snowing and freezing!
stay in your warm bed; I will take care of you!'

Then she brought him water in a petal, which he drank, after which he
related to her how he had torn one of his wings on a bramble, so that
he could not fly as fast as the other swallows, who had flown far away
to warmer lands. So at last he had dropped down exhausted, and then he
could remember no more. The whole winter he remained down there, and
Thumbelina looked after him and nursed him tenderly. Neither the mole
nor the field-mouse learnt anything of this, for they could not bear
the poor swallow.

When the spring came, and the sun warmed the earth again, the swallow
said farewell to Thumbelina, who opened the hole in the roof for him
which the mole had made. The sun shone brightly down upon her, and the
swallow asked her if she would go with him; she could sit upon his
back. Thumbelina wanted very much to fly far away into the green wood,
but she knew that the old field-mouse would be sad if she ran away.
'No, I mustn't come!' she said.

'Farewell, dear good little girl!' said the swallow, and flew off into
the sunshine. Thumbelina gazed after him with the tears standing in
her eyes, for she was very fond of the swallow.

'Tweet, tweet!' sang the bird, and flew into the green wood.
Thumbelina was very unhappy. She was not allowed to go out into the
warm sunshine. The corn which had been sowed in the field over the
field-mouse's home grew up high into the air, and made a thick forest
for the poor little girl, who was only an inch high.

'Now you are to be a bride, Thumbelina!' said the field-mouse, 'for
our neighbour has proposed for you! What a piece of fortune for a poor
child like you! Now you must set to work at your linen for your dowry,
for nothing must be lacking if you are to become the wife of our
neighbour, the mole!'

Thumbelina had to spin all day long, and every evening the mole
visited her, and told her that when the summer was over the sun would