How could she say good-by forever to the beautiful sunshine?
“Farewell, farewell!” she cried, and waved her little hands toward the glorious sun.
“Farewell, farewell!” she cried, and threw her tiny arms round a little red flower growing at her feet.
“Tell the dear swallow, when he comes again,” she whispered to the flower, “tell him I will never forget him.”
“Tweet, tweet!” What was that Thumbelina heard? “Tweet, tweet!” Could it be the swallow?
The flutter of wings was round her. Little Thumbelina looked. How glad she was, for there, indeed, was the little bird she had tended and cared for so long. She told him, weeping, she must not stay. She must marry the mole and live underground, and never see the sun, the glorious sun.
“Come with me, come with me, little Thumbelina,” twittered the swallow. “You can sit on my back, and I will fly with you to warmer countries, far from the tiresome old mole. Over mountains and seas we will fly to the country where the summer never ends, and the sunlight always shines.”
Then little Thumbelina seated herself on her dear swallow’s back, and put her tiny feet on his outstretched wing. She tied herself firmly with her little sash to the strongest feather of the bird.
And the swallow soared high into the air. High above forests and lakes, high above the big mountains that were crested with snow, he soared.
They had reached the warm countries now.