Next night she listened again, and it was quite living, but so weak that it could only open its eyes a very little, and see Tommelise, who stood with a piece of touchwood in her hand, for other light she had none.
"Thanks thou shalt have, thou pretty little child!" said the sick swallow to her; "I have been beautifully revived! I shall soon recover my strength, and be able to fly again out into the warm sunshine!"
"O," said she, "it is so cold out-of-doors! it snows and freezes! stop in thy warm bed, and I will nurse thee!"
She brought the swallow water, in a flower-leaf, and it drank it, and related to her how it had torn one of its wings upon a thorn-bush, and, therefore, had not been able to fly so well as the other swallows, who had flown far, far away, into the warm countries. It had, at last, fallen down upon the ground; but more than that it knew not, nor how it had come there.
During the whole winter it continued down here, and Tommelise was very kind to it, and became very fond of it; but neither the mole nor the fieldmouse knew any thing about it, for they could not endure swallows.
As soon as ever spring came, and the sun shone warm into the earth, the swallow bade farewell to Tommelise, who opened the hole which the mole had covered up. The sun shone so delightfully down into it, and the swallow asked whether she would not go with him; she might sit upon his back, and he would fly out with her far into the green-wood. But Tommelise knew that it would distress the old fieldmouse if she thus left her.
"No, I cannot," said Tommelise.
"Farewell, farewell, thou good, sweet little maiden!" said the swallow, and flew out into the sunshine. Tommelise looked after it, and the tears came into her eyes, for she was very fond of the swallow, and she felt quite forlorn now it was gone.
"Quivit! quivit!" sung the bird, and flew into the green-wood.