Sylvia Long's Thumbelina (2 page)

A
fter a while, some other beetles joined them, but they turned up their antennae disagreeably.

“She has only two legs,” said one. “How repulsive!”

“She has no antennae at all,” said another, “and her waist is so slender. Pooh!”

“Oh, she is very ugly!” they all agreed.

Hearing this, the beetle who had grabbed Thumbelina from the lily pad would have nothing more to do with her and told her she could go where she liked.

Thumbelina was happy to be free of the beetle, but wept at the thought that she was so ugly that even the beetles didn't want her company. She had no way of knowing how lovely she was.

T
humbelina wandered for days before finding her way to a wild forest. She wove herself a bed out of blades of grass and hung it under clover leaves for protection from the rain. She sucked nectar from the flowers for food and drank dew from their leaves every morning.

So passed the summer and the autumn, but then came the cold, harsh winter. The birds who had sung to her so sweetly flew away. The flowers wilted, and the large leaves that had sheltered her for many months shriveled until nothing remained but withered yellow stalks.

W
hen the snow began to fall, Thumbelina wrapped herself in a dry leaf, but it cracked and could not keep her warm. So she set out to find shelter from the cold.

She soon came to a cornfield that had been harvested. Nothing remained but the dry stubble poking up out of the frozen ground. To Thumbelina, it was like making her way through a vast wilderness and she quickly became lost.

A
t last, Thumbelina came upon the den of a field mouse who lived under the cornfield.

“You poor little creature!” the field mouse exclaimed when she saw Thumbelina. “Come in out of the cold and dine with me.” The mouse had a snug kitchen and a whole roomful of corn stored away for the winter. She was happy for the company, so she invited Thumbelina to stay with her until spring.

“You must keep my rooms clean and neat and tell me stories.

I love to hear stories!”

Thumbelina did all that the field mouse asked of her and passed the rest of the winter very comfortably.

O
ne day, the field mouse said, “We shall have a visitor soon. My neighbor, the mole, wears a beautiful black velvet coat and his house is twenty times larger than mine. If he were your husband, you would be well provided for indeed.”

The mole was wealthy and knew many things, such as how to dig long tunnels through the earth and the best places to find juicy worms and insect grubs. But he did not enjoy sunshine or pretty flowers as Thumbelina did.

When he arrived, Thumbelina was polite and respectful, although she did not feel at all interested in him as a husband.

“Sing for our dear neighbor,” prodded the field mouse. And so Thumbelina sang “Ladybird, Ladybird, Fly Away Home” and many other songs. The mole was enchanted by her sweet voice.

The mole had dug a tunnel that led from the field mouse's home to his own. He invited Thumbelina to walk there whenever she liked but warned her not to be alarmed at the sight of a dead bird that lay in the passage.

Then the mole took a burning piece of wood from the field mouse's stove and offered to show them the way. He went before them through the winding tunnel. The wood glittered in the dark.

A
s the mole had said, in the middle of the tunnel lay a beautiful swallow. He must have died from the cold, thought Thumbelina with a shiver.

The mole brusquely pushed past the bird saying, “He will sing no more now. How miserable it must be to be born a bird! I am thankful that none of my children will be birds, for they can do nothing but whistle and chirp, then die of hunger in the winter.”

“Yes, you are wise,” the field mouse agreed. “What is the use of their song?”

Thumbelina said nothing, but when the others had turned their backs, she bent down to stroke the soft feathers that covered the bird's head and kissed his closed eyelids.

“Perhaps you were one who sang to me so sweetly in the summer,” she whispered.

T
hat night, Thumbelina could not stop thinking about the swallow. Unable to sleep, she got out of bed and gathered soft down, dried flowers, and strips of corn leaves, which she wove into a blanket as warm as wool.

Nervously, she carried the blanket through the long, dark passageway until she came to the spot where the swallow lay as still as stone. She gently tucked the blanket around the silent swallow.

“Good-bye, lovely bird,” she whispered as she bent to give the swallow a final hug farewell.

But when Thumbelina laid her head on the swallow's breast, she heard a faint sound:
thump
 . . . 
thump
. It was the swallow's heart, for he was not really dead, only numb from the cold. The warmth of Thumbelina's blanket had restored him.

The rest of the winter, the swallow remained in the tunnel and grew stronger with Thumbelina's tender care. She said nothing about it to the mole or the field mouse, for she knew that they would not approve.

S
oon spring came and the sun thawed the frozen earth once more.

One day, the swallow said to Thumbelina, “Because of your tender care, I shall soon regain my strength and be able to fly again.” He was very grateful for Thumbelina's kindness and asked if she would go with him.

Thumbelina thought of the green woods and meadows thick with spring flowers that the swallow would visit on his journey, but then she remembered how the field mouse had taken her in when she was cold and hungry.

“I would love to go with you, but I cannot,” she answered sadly.

“Farewell then,” replied the swallow, “I hope you find the happiness that you deserve.” Then he flew out into the brilliant light of day.

As Thumbelina watched him go, tears rose in her eyes. She had become very fond of the dear swallow and knew she would miss his company.

O
ne day the field mouse announced, “What good fortune. My neighbor has asked to marry you! We will make preparations for that special day when you will join the mole to live in his grand home.” And so the wedding day was set.

W
ith the help of four expert weavers hired by the field mouse, Thumbelina spent the following weeks gathering flax to spin into linen. They worked day and night, adding bits of wool to keep Thumbelina warm in the mole's chilly home.

Every evening, the mole visited and spoke with longing of the time when summer would be over and they would be married. Thumbelina was not pleased at the thought of spending her life with the tiresome mole, who loved the darkness of his deep hallways. She wished that the summer would never end.