Part 6

“I am strong enough now to fly out into the sunshine,” said the swallow. “Sit on my back and let us fly far into the green wood.”

But Thumbelina would not do this; she knew that the old field-mouse would be lonely without her.

“No, I cannot,” said she.

“Farewell then, you pretty, good child,” said the swallow, and he flew off into the sunshine. Thumbelina looked after him, and the tears came into her eyes, she was so sorry to part with him.

“Tweet-tweet,” he sang, as she lost sight of him in the green wood.

THUMBELINA

HOW SHE IS HELPED BY THE SWALLOW

“My dear,” said the field-mouse one day after the mole had paid her a visit, “the mole has asked me to give you to him for his wife. You are very fortunate, a poor child like you. You must be ready to marry him as soon as possible. Set to work at once on your wedding-dress.”

So Thumbelina had to turn the spindle to make herself not only a wedding-dress but plenty of wool and linen, for the field-mouse said she would not have her go to the mole empty-handed, as if she were a beggar-girl. And the mole himself hired four spiders to weave her a beautiful cobweb veil. And every evening he paid her a visit, and said they must be married as soon as the summer was over.

Poor Thumbelina did not know what to do. She 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 Thumbelina, he was so glad. And Thumbelina told him how she was to marry the mole, and live deep under the earth, where the sun never shone. She could not help weeping as she told of it.

“Come with me,” said the swallow, “I am on my way far off to the warm countries. Sit on my back, and we will fly from the ugly mole and his dark room. Only fly with me, you dear little Thumbelina, who were so good to me when I lay frozen in the dark passage.”

“Yes,” cried Thumbelina, “I will go with you.” And she seated herself on the bird’s back, and bound her girdle to one of his strongest feathers. Then the swallow flew up into the air and away over forest and sea and great high mountains, where the snow always lies, and on, on, on to the beautiful warm countries.

THUMBELINA

WHAT BECAME OF HER AT LAST

In the warm countries the sun shone so bright that in the ditches and on the hedges grew big juicy blue and green grapes, lemons and oranges hung in the woods, and the loveliest children ran about the roads chasing gorgeous butterflies. The swallow flew on until he came to a great palace with dazzling white marble pillars.

“My house is at the top of one of those pillars,” said he, “but it is not good enough for you. It is not yet so well furnished as I should like it to be if you were to live in it. Pick out one of the splendid flowers you see down there, and I will set you down in it.”

“That will be a beautiful home,” cried Thumbelina, and clapped her hands. She chose a great white flower. The swallow flew down with her and set her on one of the broad leaves. What was Thumbelina’s surprise? There in the flower sat a little man, shining white, with a tiny gold crown on his head, and bright wings on his shoulders; and he wasn’t a bit bigger than Thumbelina herself.

“How handsome he is!” whispered she to the swallow.

“That is the king of all the flowers,” whispered the swallow back to her.

The little king was afraid of the big swallow, but he liked Thumbelina the minute he saw her. She was the prettiest maiden he had ever laid eyes on. Instantly he took off his golden crown and put it on her head, asked her name, and begged her to be his wife and queen of all the flowers.

Now of course such a husband was much better than the toad’s son who could say nothing from morning till night but “Croak, croak, brek-kek-brek;” and the field-mouse’s neighbor, the mole, who could do nothing from morning till night but talk of himself. So Thumbelina said “Yes,” with a right good will, to the charming Prince.

And out of every flower came a lady or lord, lovely to behold, and each brought Thumbelina a wedding present. But the best gift was a pair of beautiful wings that had once belonged to a great white fly. When these had been fastened on her by one of the lovely ladies, Thumbelina could fly from flower to flower, and visit everyone in her kingdom.

It was a joyful wedding. The little swallow sat above them in the nest,—he was to sing the marriage-song. And although his heart was sad to lose Thumbelina, he sang it sweetly.

So that is the end, and Thumbelina lived happy ever after.

—HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

A VISIT FROM AN ELF

One evening, as a farmer was crossing a field to his home, what should he see sitting on a stone in the middle of it but a tiny creature! The little thing looked something like a very, very, very small, teeny, weeny, tiny little child. And it was blue and shivering with cold. The farmer saw that it must be an elf.

He knew it would bring him good luck to be kind to it. Besides, he pitied it from his heart. So he took it home and placed it on a stool by the hearth, and fed it with sweet milk. Soon the bantling was warm and lively. He capered and sprang about the kitchen merrier than a cricket, and twice as light-footed.

Well, he didn’t go the next day nor the next nor the next. He stayed for many days. A curious thing about him was that he never spoke. But that did not matter, for he kept the farmer and the farmer’s wife laughing at his tricks.

He and they had many a play together. Sometimes, when the farmer’s wife was not looking, he would creep into the keyhole. Then the farmer would call out, “Find him, wife.”

At this the farmer’s wife would search all about the kitchen, under the chairs, in the closet, behind the wood box, even in the clock case. But she could not find him. Then she would cry out, “Where are you, Tinykins?”

The farmer would chuckle and hee-haw, and slap his knee, and wink, and say,

“He’s neither in, And he’s neither out; He’s where something goes in When the light goes out.”

Quick as the crow flies before the farmer’s empty gun the farmer’s wife would guess, “You’re in the keyhole, Tinykins, you rogue, come out.”

And out he would pop in high glee.

The way he went was as strange as the way he came. I’ll tell you about it

One evening as the little fellow was frisking about the farm kitchen, a shrill voice from the farmyard called three times, “Tolman Grig! Tolman Grig! Tolman Grig!”

“Ho! ho! ho! My daddy is come,” cried the elf, springing up and speaking for the first time.

With that, off he flew through the keyhole.

That was the last the farmer or his wife ever saw of him. But forever after they were happy and prosperous.

—ANGELA M. KEYES

HOW THE CAT GOT ALL THE GRAIN

Once upon a time a Cat and a Parrot owned a field together. One day the Cat said to the Parrot, “Come, friend, ’tis time to till the field.”

Said the Parrot, “I can’t come now, because I am whetting my bill on the branch of a mango-tree.”

So the Cat went alone and plowed the field. When it was plowed the Cat went again to the Parrot and said, “Come, friend, let us sow the corn.”

Said the Parrot, “I can’t come now, because I am whetting my bill on the branch of a mango-tree.”

So the Cat went alone and sowed the corn. The corn took root, and sprouted, and put forth the blade, and the ear, and the ripe corn in the ear. Then the Cat went again to the Parrot and said, “Come, friend, let us go and gather in the harvest.”

Said the Parrot, “I can’t come now, because I am whetting my bill on the branch of a mango-tree.”

So the Cat went alone and gathered in the harvest. She put it away in barns and made ready for the threshing. Then she went again to the Parrot and said, “Come, friend, let us winnow the grain from the chaff.”

Said the Parrot, “I can’t come now, because I am whetting my bill on the branch of a mango-tree.”

So the Cat went alone and winnowed the grain from the chaff. Then she went again to the Parrot and said, “Come, friend, the grain is all winnowed and sifted. Come and let us divide it between us.”

“I will,” shrieked the Parrot so loudly that he lost his balance, fell from the branch of the mango-tree, and cracked open his poll. That put an end to him. So the Cat had all the grain for herself.

—EASTERN FOLK TALE

THE TABLE AND THE CHAIR

Said the Table to the Chair, “You can hardly be aware How I suffer from the heat And from chilblains on my feet. If we took a little walk, We might have a little talk; Pray let us take the air,” Said the Table to the Chair.

Said the Chair unto the Table, “Now you _know_ we are not able; How foolishly you talk, When you know we _cannot_ walk!” Said the Table, with a sigh, “It can do no harm to try, I’ve as many legs as you, Why can’t we walk on two?”

So they both went slowly down And walked about the town With a cheerful bumpy sound As they toddled round and round; And all the people cried, As they hastened to their side, “See! the Table and the Chair Have come out to take the air!”

But in going down an alley To a castle in a valley, They completely lost their way And wandered all the day; Till, to see them safely back, They paid a Ducky-quack, And a Beetle and a Mouse Who took them to their house.

Then they whispered to each other, “O delightful little brother, What a lovely walk we’ve taken! Let us dine on beans and bacon.” So the Ducky and the leetle Browny-Mousy and the Beetle Dined and danced upon their heads Till they toddled to their beds.

—EDWARD LEAR

THE WONDERFUL SHIP

“Once upon a time,” said the stork, “and a very good time it was, there was a ship, a wonderful ship that could sail on land, dry land.”

“Oh!” said the chicks.

“I know what I tell,” Cried the stork, “I know it well, very well, I saw it with my own eyes.”

“This wonderful ship went on legs,” said the stork. “Long legs.”

“Oh!” said the chicks and the ducklings.

“I know what I tell, I know what I tell,” Shouted the stork, “I know it well, very well, I saw it with my own eyes.”

“It had a head, and a neck that came down and went up like a hook,” said the stork, “a big hook.”

“Oh!” said the chicks and the ducklings and the little turkeys.

“I know what I tell, I know what I tell,” Shrieked the stork, “I know it well, very well, I saw it with my own eyes.”

“It had a hump on its back,” said the stork, “a hump or two.”

“Oh!” said the chicks and the ducklings and the little turkeys and the goslings.

“I know what I tell, I know what I tell,” Cried the stork, “I know it well, very well, I saw it with my own eyes.”

“It was—alive!” said the stork, opening his eyes and his mouth up so high that he could hardly get them down again.

“Ah, it wasn’t a real ship at all,” whispered the chicks to the ducklings, and they whispered it to the little turkeys, and they whispered it to the goslings.

“It was a camel,” said the stork.

“What’s that?” asked the chicks, the ducklings, the little turkeys, and the goslings. And they crowded around him.

“He’s called the ship of the desert,” said the stork. And he drew back to see what they thought of it.

“Why?” asked the chicks, the ducklings, the little turkeys, and the goslings.

“Ask your teacher,” said he, flying off to his nest in the chimney top;

“I must attend to my babies. Go to school; If you don’t, You’ll turn out geese and gabies.”

At this minute, by great good luck, they heard Nan say to Ned, her brother, “Let’s play school. I’ll be the teacher.” So they went to school.

And by great good luck Ned’s lesson was about camels. “I’m not at all surprised,” whispered the smallest chick to the biggest gosling; “I found a four-leaf clover in the grass this morning. I knew then we should have good luck.”

They listened with all their might to the lesson, and when they found it too hard they stopped listening to talk it over. This was pretty often. So when they went home they knew as much about camels as the stork does, and maybe as much as you know.

—ANGELA M. KEYES

THE CLEVER GEESE

A long, long time ago when there were more foxes’ dens than cats’ cradles, there lived a very sly fox. Every evening this sly fox sneaked up through the tall grass and weeds and around the tree-trunks, pounced upon a plump young goose, and carried it off to his den.

First, he had one hidden away, then two, then three, then four, then five, then six, and by and by as many more.

Well, when he had a round dozen, he called them before him in a circle, fixed them with his bold sharp eyes, and said, “My dumplings, prepare to die. At moonlight, to-night, I dine on young goose.”

“You’ll surely give us time to say good-by,” cried the poor simpletons, who suddenly turned clever to save their necks. “We have become the dearest of friends.”

“With all my heart,” said the fox, with a bow. “Take as much time as you like, my dainties, for the sweet parting.” And off he went.

One silly goose began to giggle at their cleverness before he was out of earshot. But her sisters ran at her and pecked her into silence. They laughed with their eyes only, and so long as the fox kept walking away and not looking back that was perfectly safe.

Well, at moonlight, sure enough, the fox came home to dine. And at once the geese began to say good-by.

“Ga-ga-ga-ga-ga-” said one. And when he stopped for breath, “Ga-ga-ga-ga-” said another. And, when he stopped, another took it up. And after that, another and another.

So, for all I know, they are at it still. The fox has not yet dined, and the geese are alive and gabbling, though, as the story says at the beginning, it all happened a very long time ago, before any of us were born.

—ANGELA M. KEYES

THE HAPPY PRINCE

(_Especially suitable in winter season_)

High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince. He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt.

“Why can’t you be like the Happy Prince?” asked a mother of her little boy who was crying for the moon. “The Happy Prince never dreams of crying for anything.”

“I am glad there is some one in the world who is quite happy,” muttered a disappointed man as he gazed at the wonderful statue.

“He looks just like an angel,” said the Orphan Children, as they came out of the cathedral.

“How do you know?” said the Mathematical Master, “you have never seen one.”

“Ah! but we have, in our dreams,” answered the children; and the Mathematical Master frowned and looked very severe, for he did not approve of dreaming.

One night there flew over the city a little Swallow. His friends had gone away to Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind with the beautiful Reed. He had seen her early in the spring as he was flying down the river after a big yellow moth, and had stopped to talk to her.

“Shall I love you?” said he. “Shall I love you?” And the Reed made him a low bow. So he flew round and round her, touching the water with his wings, and making silver ripples. This lasted through the summer.

Then, when the autumn came, the other swallows all flew away. After they had gone he felt lonely.

“I am off to the Pyramids,” said he to the Reed. “Good-by!” and he flew after them.

All day long he flew, and at night-time he arrived at the city. “Where shall I put up?” he said; “I hope the town has made preparations.”

Then he saw the statue on the tall column.

“I will put up there,” he cried; “it is a high place with plenty of fresh air.” So he alighted just between the feet of the Happy Prince.

“I have a golden bedroom,” he said softly to himself as he looked round and prepared to go to sleep; but as he was putting his head under his wing a large drop of water fell on him. “What a curious thing!” he cried; “there is not a single cloud in the sky, the stars are quite clear and bright, and yet it is raining. The climate in the north of Europe is really dreadful.”

Then another drop fell.

“What is the use of a statue if it cannot keep the rain off?” he said; “I must look for a good chimney-pot,” and he made up his mind to fly away.

But before he had opened his wings, a third drop fell, and he looked up and saw—Ah! what did he see?

The eyes of the Happy Prince were filled with tears, and tears were running down his golden cheeks. His face was so beautiful in the moonlight that the little Swallow was filled with pity.

“Who are you?” he said.

“I am the Happy Prince.”

“Why are you weeping then?” asked the Swallow. “You have quite drenched me.”

“When I was alive and had a heart to feel,” answered the statue, “I lived in a palace. In the daytime I played with my companions in the garden, and in the evening I led the dance in the Great Hall. Round the garden ran a very lofty wall, but I never cared to ask what lay beyond it. My courtiers called me the Happy Prince. So I lived and died. And now that I am dead they have set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and all the misery of my city, and though my heart is made of lead, yet I cannot choose but weep.”

“What! is he not solid gold?” said the Swallow to himself. He was too polite to make any personal remarks out loud.

“Far away,” continued the statue, “far away in a little street there is a poor house. One of the windows is open, and through it I can see a woman seated at a table. Her face is thin and worn, and she has coarse, red hands, all pricked by the needle, for she is a seamstress. She is embroidering flowers on a satin gown for the loveliest of the queen’s maids-of-honor to wear at the next court-ball. In a bed in the corner of the room her little boy is lying ill. He has a fever, and is asking for oranges. His mother has nothing to give him but river water, so he is crying. Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow, will you not take her the ruby out of my sword-hilt? My feet are fastened to this pedestal and I cannot move.”

“I am waited for in Egypt,” said the Swallow. “My friends are flying up and down the Nile.”

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “will you not stay with me for one night, and be my messenger? The boy is so thirsty, and the mother so sad.”

“I don’t think I like boys,” answered the Swallow. “Last summer, when I was staying on the river, there were two rude boys, the miller’s sons, who were always throwing stones at me. They never hit me, of course; we swallows fly far too well for that, and besides, I come of a family famous for its swiftness; but still it was a mark of disrespect.”

But the Happy Prince looked so sad that the little Swallow was sorry. “It is very cold here,” he said; “but I will stay with you for one night and be your messenger.”

“Thank you, little Swallow,” said the Prince.

So the Swallow picked out the great ruby from the Prince’s sword, and flew away with it in his beak over the roofs of the town.

He passed by the cathedral tower, where the white marble angels were sculptured. He passed by the palace and heard a beautiful girl say, “I hope my dress will be ready in time for the State-ball. I have ordered flowers to be embroidered on it; but the seamstresses are so lazy.”

At last he came to the poor house and looked in. The boy was tossing feverishly on his bed, and the mother had fallen asleep, she was so tired. In he hopped, and laid the great ruby on the table beside the woman’s thimble. Then he flew gently round the bed, fanning the boy’s forehead with his wings. “How cool I feel,” said the boy, “I must be getting better;” and he sank into a delicious slumber.

Then the Swallow flew back to the Happy Prince. “It is strange,” he remarked, “but I feel quite warm now, although it is so cold.”

“That is because you have done a good action,” said the Prince. And the little Swallow began to think, and then he fell asleep. Thinking always made him sleepy.

When day broke he flew down to the river and had a bath. “What a remarkable phenomenon,” said the Bird Professor as he was passing over the bridge. “A swallow in winter!” And he wrote a long letter about it to the local newspaper.

“To-night I go to Egypt,” said the Swallow, and he was in high spirits. He visited all the public monuments, and sat a long time on top of the church steeple. Wherever he went the Sparrows chirruped, and said to each other, “What a distinguished stranger!” so he enjoyed himself very much.

When the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince. “Have you any commissions for Egypt?” he cried; “I am just starting.”

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “will you not stay with me one night longer?”

“I am waited for in Egypt,” answered the Swallow. “To-morrow my friends will fly up to the Second Cataract. The river-horse couches there among the bulrushes. At noon the lions come down to the water’s edge to drink. They have eyes like green beryls, and their roar is louder than the roar of the cataract.”

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “far away across the city I see a young man in a garret. He is leaning over a desk covered with papers. He is trying to finish a play, but he is too cold to write any more. There is no fire in the grate, and hunger has made him faint.”

“I will wait with you one night longer,” said the Swallow, who really had a good heart. “Shall I take him another ruby?”

“Alas!” said the Prince; “my eyes are all that I have left. But they are made of rare sapphires, brought out of India a thousand years ago. Pluck out one of them and take it to him. He will sell it to the jeweler, and buy food and firewood, and finish his play.”

“Dear Prince,” said the Swallow, “I cannot do that;” and he began to weep.

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “do as I command you.”

So the Swallow plucked out the Prince’s eye, and flew away to the student’s garret. It was easy enough to get in, as there was a hole in the roof. Through this he darted, and came into the room. The young man had his head buried in his hands, so he did not hear the flutter of the bird’s wings, and when he looked up he found the beautiful sapphire.

“Now I can finish my play,” he cried, and he looked quite happy.

The next day the Swallow flew down to the harbor. He sat on the mast of a large vessel and watched the sailors hauling big chests out of the hold with ropes. “Heave a-hoy!” they shouted as each chest came up. “I am going to Egypt,” cried the Swallow, but nobody minded, and when the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince.

“I am come to bid you good-by,” he cried.

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “will you not stay with me one night longer?”