In the evening the mole came to visit her. “Summer will soon be over,” he said, “and we shall be married.”
But oh! little Thumbelina did not wish the summer to end.
Live with the dull old mole, who hated the sunshine, who would not listen to the song of the birds—live underground with him! Little Thumbelina wished the summer would never end.
The spinning and weaving were over now. All the wedding clothes were ready. Autumn was come.
“Only four weeks and the wedding-day will have come,” said the field-mouse.
And little Thumbelina wept.
“I will not marry the tiresome old mole,” she said.
“I shall bite you with my white tooth if you talk such nonsense,” said the field-mouse. “Among all my friends not one of them has such a fine velvet coat as the mole. His cellars are full and his rooms are large. You ought to be glad to marry so well,” she ended.
“Was there no escape from the underground home?” little Thumbelina wondered.
The wedding-day came. The mole arrived to fetch his little bride.