“Fiddle-dee-dee,” said the field-mouse; “don’t be obstinate or I shall bite you with my white tooth. You are going to have a splendid husband; the queen herself hasn’t the equal of his black velvet coat; both his kitchen and his cellar are full. You should thank heaven for such a husband!”
So they were to be married; the mole had come to fetch Thumbeline; she was to live deep down under the ground with him, and never to go out into the warm sunshine, for he could not bear it. The poor child was very sad at the thought of bidding good-bye to the beautiful sun; while she had been with the field-mouse she had at least been allowed to look at it from the door.
“Good-bye, you bright sun,” she said as she stretched out her arms towards it and went a little way outside the field-mouse’s house, for now the harvest was over and only the stubble remained. “Good-bye, good-bye!” she said, and threw her tiny arms round a little red flower growing there. “Give my love to the dear swallow if you happen to see him.”
“Tweet, tweet,” she heard at this moment above her head. She looked up; it was the swallow just passing. As soon as it saw Thumbeline it was delighted; she told it how unwilling she was to have the ugly mole for a husband, and that she was to live deep down underground where the sun never shone. She could not help crying about it.
“The cold winter is coming,” said the swallow, “and I am going to fly away to warm countries. Will you go with me? You can sit upon my back! Tie yourself on with your sash, then we will fly away from the ugly mole and his dark cavern, far away over the mountains to those warm countries where the sun shines with greater splendour than here, where it is always summer and there are heaps of flowers. Do fly with me, you sweet little Thumbeline, who saved my life when I lay frozen in the dark earthy passage.”
“Yes, I will go with you,” said Thumbeline, seating herself on the bird’s back with her feet on its outspread wings. She tied her band tightly to one of the strongest feathers, and then the swallow flew away, high up in the air above forests and lakes, high up above the biggest mountains where the snow never melts; and Thumbeline shivered in the cold air, but then she crept under the bird’s warm feathers, and only stuck out her little head to look at the beautiful sights beneath her.
Then at last they reached the warm countries. The sun shone with a warmer glow than here; the sky was twice as high, and the most beautiful green and blue grapes grew in clusters on the banks and hedgerows. Oranges and lemons hung in the woods which were fragrant with myrtles and sweet herbs, and beautiful children ran about the roads playing with the large, gorgeously-coloured butterflies. But the swallow flew on and on, and the country grew more and more beautiful. Under magnificent green trees on the shores of the blue sea stood a dazzling white marble palace of ancient date; vines wreathed themselves round the stately pillars. At the head of these there were countless nests, and the swallow who carried Thumbeline lived in one of them.
“Here is my house,” said the swallow; “but if you will choose one of the gorgeous flowers growing down there I will place you in it, and you will live as happily as you can wish.”
“That would be delightful,” she said, and clapped her little hands.
A great white marble column had fallen to the ground and lay there broken in three pieces, but between these the most lovely white flowers grew. The swallow flew down with Thumbeline and put her upon one of the broad leaves; what was her astonishment to find a little man in the middle of the flower, as bright and transparent as if he had been made of glass. He had a lovely golden crown upon his head and the most beautiful bright wings upon his shoulders; he was no bigger than Thumbeline. He was the fairy of the flowers. There was a similar little man or woman in every flower, but he was the king of them all.