did not wish to marry the mole, and live under the ground, where the sun never shone. The first thing every morning and the last every evening, she crept outdoors, and when the wind blew the corn leaves apart, she looked up at the sky and wished the swallow would come to her. But he did not.
When autumn came, Thumbelina had everything ready.
"Only four weeks more for the wedding," cried the mole.
But when he had gone home Thumbelina wept and said she could not marry the ugly mole, who talked about nothing but himself.
"Nonsense!" said the field-mouse, "don't be obstinate, or I'll bite you with my sharp teeth. The Queen herself has not such black velvet fur. And his kitchen and cellar are full. Be thankful for your good fortune."
Well, the wedding day arrived. The mole, dressed in his best black velvet, came to fetch Thumbelina to his house.
"Farewell, thou bright sun!" she cried, running out of the house a little way. "Farewell," she cried, twining her arms around a little red flower still blooming there; "say farewell to the little swallow for me, if you see him again."
"Tweet-tweet! tweet-tweet!" suddenly sounded over her head. She looked up; it was the little swallow, just flying by. He stopped when he saw
