had she not lost her little friend the butterfly?

Would he fly away, she wondered, or would her sash hold him fast?

The cockchafer was charmed with the little maiden. He placed her
tenderly on the largest leaf he could find. He gathered honey for her
from the flowers, and as she sipped it, he 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, daintiest 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 snowflake 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