"Was there no escape from the underground home?" little Thumbelina
wondered.
The wedding-day came. The mole arrived to fetch his little bride.
How could she say good-by for ever to the beautiful sunshine?
"Farewell, farewell!" she cried, and waved her little hands towards
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.
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