TOMMELISE
turned their backs upon the bird, she bent over it, smoothed down the feathers that covered its head, and kissed the closed eyes. 'Perhaps it was this one that sang so delightfully to me in the summer-time,' thought she; 'how much pleasure it has given me, the dear, dear bird!'
The mole now stopped up the hole through which the daylight had pierced, and then followed the ladies home. But Tommelise could not sleep that night, so she got out of her bed, and wove a carpet out of hay, and then went out and spread it round the dead bird; she also fetched some soft cotton from the field-mouse's room, which she laid over the bird, that it might be warm amid the cold earth.
'Farewell, thou dear bird,' said she; 'farewell, and thanks for thy beautiful song in the summer-time, when all the trees were green, and the sun shone so warmly upon us!' And she pressed her head against the bird's breast, but was terrified to feel something beating within it. It was the bird's heart. The bird was not dead; it had lain in a swoon, and now that it was warmer its life returned.
Every autumn all the swallows fly away to warm countries; but if one of them linger behind, it freezes and falls down as though dead, and the cold snow covers it.
Tommelise trembled with fright, for the bird was very large compared with her, who was only an inch in length. However, she took courage, laid the cotton more closely round the poor swallow, and fetching a leaf which had served herself as a coverlet, spread it over the bird's head.
The next night she stole out again, and found that the bird's life had quite returned, though it was so feeble that only for one short moment could it open its eyes to look at Tommelise, who stood by with a piece of tinder in her hand she had no other lantern.
