for two days.

"You poor little creature," said the field mouse, for she was really a
good old mouse, "come into my warm room and dine with me."

She was pleased with Thumbelina, so she said, "You are quite welcome to
stay with me all the winter, if you like; but you must keep my rooms
clean and neat, and tell me stories, for I shall like to hear them very
much." And Thumbelina did all that the field mouse asked her, and found
herself very comfortable.

"We shall have a visitor soon," said the field mouse one day; "my
neighbor pays me a visit once a week. He is better off than I am; he has
large rooms, and wears a beautiful black velvet coat. If you could only
have him for a husband, you would be well provided for indeed. But he
is blind, so you must tell him some of your prettiest stories."

Thumbelina did not feel at all interested about this neighbor, for he
was a mole. However, he came and paid his visit, dressed in his black
velvet coat.

"He is very rich and learned, and his house is twenty times larger than
mine," said the field mouse.

He was rich and learned, no doubt, but he always spoke slightingly of
the sun and the pretty flowers, because he had never seen them.
Thumbelina was obliged to sing to him, "Ladybird, ladybird, fly away
home," and many other pretty songs. And the mole fell in love with her
because she had so sweet a voice; but he said nothing yet, for he was
very prudent and cautious. A short time before, the mole had dug a long
passage under the earth, which led from the dwelling of the field mouse
to his own, and here she had permission to walk with Thumbelina whenever
she liked. But he warned them not to be alarmed at the sight of a dead
bird which lay in the passage. It was a perfect bird, with a beak and
feathers, and could not have been dead long. It was lying just where the
mole had made his passage. The mole took in his mouth a piece of
phosphorescent wood, which glittered like fire in the dark. Then he went
before them to light them through the long, dark passage. When they came
to the spot where the dead bird lay, the mole pushed his broad nose
through the ceiling, so that the earth gave way and the daylight shone
into the passage.

In the middle of the floor lay a swallow, his beautiful wings pulled
close to his sides, his feet and head drawn up under his feathers--the
poor bird had evidently died of the cold. It made little Thumbelina very
sad to see it, she did so love the li