When the Scandinavian dwarf ceased speaking there was murmuring all over the circle at the meannesses of Loki, and everyone felt glad that Thor had been so well served by the dwarfs and hoped that the mischief-maker, though he escaped that time after all, later met with the reward which he deserved. I think that if the Scandinavian dwarf had chosen to do so he might have told a very grim story of how it was that the wicked Loki came to his fate at last, but there were so many fairies, dwarfs, fays, gnomes, trolls, pucks, and other little people who were ready to tell stories that I don’t think that they would have let the Scandinavian dwarf tell another story if he had wanted to. When he went back to his place in the great circle, the little fairy prince of a bright warm country sprang on to the stool in front of Oberon’s throne and said that he would be glad to tell the story of his wife’s life, and how it was that she came to marry him.
“And what is your wife’s name?” said Oberon.
“Her name,” answered the little prince, “is
Thumbeline
There was once a woman who had the greatest longing for a little tiny child, but she had no idea where to get one; so she went to an old witch and said to her, “I do so long to have a little child, will you tell me where I can get one?”
“Oh, we shall be able to manage that,” said the witch. “Here is a barley corn for you; it is not at all the same kind as that which grows in the peasant’s field, or with which chickens are fed; plant it in a flower-pot and you will see what will appear.”
“Thank you, oh, thank you!” said the woman, and she gave the witch twelve pennies, then went home and planted the barley corn, and a large, handsome flower sprang up at once; it looked exactly like a tulip, but the petals were tightly shut up, just as if they were still in bud. “That is a lovely flower,” said the woman, and she kissed the pretty red and yellow petals; as she kissed it the flower burst open with a loud snap. It was a real tulip, you could see that; but right in the middle of the flower on the green stool sat a little tiny girl, most lovely and delicate; she was not more than an inch in height, so she was called Thumbeline.
Her cradle was a smartly varnished walnut shell, with the blue petals of violets for a mattress and a rose-leaf to cover her; she slept in it at night, but during the day she played about on the table where the woman had placed a plate, surrounded by a wreath of flowers on the outer edge with their stalks in water. A large tulip petal floated on the water, and on this little Thumbeline sat and sailed about from one side of the plate to the other; she had two white horse hairs for oars. It was a pretty sight. She could sing, too, with such delicacy and charm as was never heard before.