Little Tiny or Thumbelina Page #2

In "Little Tiny or Thumbelina," author Hans Christian Andersen introduces readers to Tiny, a lovely girl no bigger than a thumb. She is brought into the world inside a barleycorn given to a woman by a witch. Thumbelina's adventures begin when she is kidnapped from her cozy home by an ugly toad, desiring her as a bride for her son. Thumbelina's journey takes her to many unknown, dangerous places, filled with monstrous creatures. Despite her trials, Thumbelina never loses her courage, for she is a kind-hearted creature. The tale underscores the classic theme of good triumphing over evil, ending with Thumbelina's reunion with loving, beautiful creatures just like her.

• Children

								

summer poor little Tiny lived quite alone in the wide forest. She wove
herself a bed with blades of grass, and hung it up under a broad leaf,
to protect herself from the rain. She sucked the honey from the
flowers for food, and drank the dew from their leaves every morning.
So passed away the summer and the autumn, and then came the winter,--the
long, cold winter. All the birds who had sung to her so sweetly
were flown away, and the trees and the flowers had withered. The large
clover leaf under the shelter of which she had lived, was now rolled
together and shrivelled up, nothing remained but a yellow withered
stalk. She felt dreadfully cold, for her clothes were torn, and she
was herself so frail and delicate, that poor little Tiny was nearly
frozen to death. It began to snow too; and the snow-flakes, as they
fell upon her, were like a whole shovelful falling upon one of us, for
we are tall, but she was only an inch high. Then she wrapped herself
up in a dry leaf, but it cracked in the middle and could not keep
her warm, and she shivered with cold. Near the wood in which she had
been living lay a corn-field, but the corn had been cut a long time;
nothing remained but the bare dry stubble standing up out of the
frozen ground. It was to her like struggling through a large wood. Oh!
how she shivered with the cold. She came at last to the door of a
field-mouse, who had a little den under the corn-stubble. There
dwelt the field-mouse in warmth and comfort, with a whole roomful of
corn, a kitchen, and a beautiful dining room. Poor little Tiny stood
before the door just like a little beggar-girl, and begged for a small
piece of barley-corn, for she had been without a morsel to eat for two
days.

"You poor little creature," said the field-mouse, who was really a
good old field-mouse, "come into my warm room and dine with me." She
was very pleased with Tiny, 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 Tiny did all 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."

But Tiny 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.
Tiny was obliged to sing to him, "Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away
home," and many other pretty songs. And the mole fell in love with her
because she had such a sweet voice; but he said nothing yet, for he
was very 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
Tiny 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, and
was lying just where the mole had made his passage. The mole took a
piece of phosphorescent wood in his mouth, and it 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 lay the dead
bird, the mole pushed his broad nose through the ceiling, the earth
gave way, so that there was a large hole, and the daylight shone
into the passage. In the middle of the floor lay a dead swallow, his
beautiful wings pulled close to his sides, his feet and his head drawn
up under his feathers; the poor bird had evidently died of the cold.
It made little Tiny very sad to see it, she did so love the little
birds; all the summer they had sung and twittered for her so
beautifully. But the mole pushed it aside with his crooked legs, and
said, "He will sing no more now. How miserable it must be to be born a
little bird! I am thankful that none of my children will ever be
birds, for they can do nothing but cry, 'Tweet, tweet,' and always die
of hunger in the winter."

"Yes, you may well say that, as a clever man!" exclaimed the
field-mouse, "What is the use of his twittering, for when winter comes
he must either starve or be frozen to death. Still birds are very high
bred."

Tiny said nothing; but when the two others had turned their
backs on the bird, she stooped down and stroked aside the soft
feathers which covered the head, and kissed the closed eyelids.
"Perhaps this was the one who sang to me so sweetly in the summer,"
she said; "and how much pleasure it gave me, you dear, pretty bird."

The mole now stopped up the hole through which the daylight shone,
and then accompanied the lady home. But during the night Tiny could
not sleep; so she got out of bed and wove a large, beautiful carpet of
hay; then she carried it to the dead bird, and spread it over him;
with some down from the flowers which she had found in the
field-mouse's room. It was as soft as wool, and she spread some of
it on each side of the bird, so that he might lie warmly in the cold
earth. "Farewell, you pretty little bird," said she, "farewell;
thank you for your delightful singing during the summer, when all
the trees were green, and the warm sun shone upon us." Then she laid
her head on the bird's breast, but she was alarmed immediately, for it
seemed as if something inside the bird went "thump, thump." It was the
bird's heart; he was not really dead, only benumbed with the cold, and
the warmth had restored him to life. In autumn, all the swallows fly
away into warm countries, but if one happens to linger, the cold
seizes it, it becomes frozen, and falls down as if dead; it remains
where it fell, and the cold snow covers it. Tiny trembled very much;
she was quite frightened, for the bird was large, a great deal
larger than herself,--she was only an inch high. But she took courage,
laid the wool more thickly over the poor swallow, and then took a leaf
which she had used for her own counterpane, and laid it over the
head of the poor bird. The next morning she again stole out to see
him. He was alive but very weak; he could only open his eyes for a
moment to look at Tiny, who stood by holding a piece of decayed wood
in her hand, for she had no other lantern. "Thank you, pretty little
maiden," said the sick swallow; "I have been so nicely warmed, that
I shall soon regain my strength, and be able to fly about again in the
warm sunshine."

"Oh," said she, "it is cold out of doors now; it snows and
freezes. Stay in your warm bed; I will take care of you."
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