‘If the swallow would only come now,’ she said to herself, ‘I would go with him to the end of the world.’ But he never came!
‘Your outfit is all finished,’ said the field-mouse one day when the berries were red and the leaves yellow, ‘and the mole and I have decided that your wedding shall be in four weeks’ time.’
‘Oh, not so soon! not so soon!’ cried Maia, bursting into tears; which made the field-mouse very angry, and declare that Maia had no more sense than other girls, and did not know what was good for her. Then the mole arrived, and carried her on his back to see the new house he had dug for her, which was so very far under ground that Maia’s tiny legs could never bring her up even as high as the field-mouse’s dwelling, from which she might see the sunlight. Her heart grew heavier and heavier as the days went by, and in the last evening of all she crept out into the field among the stubble, to watch the sun set before she bade it good-bye for ever.
‘Farewell, farewell,’ she said ‘and farewell to my little swallow. Ah! if he only knew, he would come to help me.’
‘Twit! twit,’ cried a voice just above her; and the swallow fluttered to the ground beside her. ‘You look sad; are you really going to let that ugly mole marry you?’
‘I shall soon die, that is one comfort,’ she answered weeping. But the swallow only said: