The little carpet and the
covering the little maid had brought warmed the bird. He would get
well now.
What a big bird he seemed to Thumbelina! She was almost afraid now,
for she was so tiny. She was tiny, but she was brave. Drawing the
covering more closely round the poor swallow, she brought her own
little pillow, that the bird's head might rest softly.
Thumbelina stole out again the next night. "Would the swallow look at
her," she wondered.
Yes, he opened his eyes, and looked at little Thumbelina, who stood
there with a tiny torch of tinder-wood.
"Thanks, thanks, little Thumbelina," he twittered feebly. "Soon
I shall grow strong and fly out in the bright sunshine once more;
thanks, thanks, little maiden."
"Oh! but it is too cold, it snows and freezes, for now it is winter,"
said Thumbelina. "Stay here and be warm, and I will take care of you,"
and she brought the swallow water in a leaf.
And the little bird told her all his story,--how he had tried to fly
to the warm countries, and how he had torn his wing on a blackthorn
bush and fallen to the ground. But he could not tell her how he had
come to the underground passage.
All winter the swallow stayed there, and Thumbelina was often in the
long passage, with her little torch of tinder-wood.
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