So the wedding-day was fixed,on which the mole was to fetch Tiny away to live with him,deep under the earth,and never again to see the warm sun,because he did not like it.The poor child was very unhappy at the thought of saying farewell to the beautiful sun,and as the field-mouse had given her permission to stand at the door,she went to look at it once more.
“Farewell bright sun,”she cried,stretching out her arm towards it;and then she walked a short distance from the house;for the corn had been cut,and only the dry stubble remained in the fields.“Farewell,farewell,”she repeated,twining her arm round a little red flower that grew just by her side.“Greet the little swallow from me,if you should see him again.”
“Tweet,tweet,”sounded over her head suddenly.She looked up,and there was the swallow himself flying close by.As soon as he spied Tiny,he was delighted;and then she told him how unwilling she felt to marry the ugly mole,and to live always beneath the earth,and never to see the bright sun any more.And as she told him she wept.
“Cold winter is coming,”said the swallow,“and I am going to fly away into warmer countries.Will you go with me?You can sit on my back,and fasten yourself on with your sash.Then we can fly away from the ugly mole and his gloomy rooms—far away,over the mountains,into warmer countries,where the sun shines more brightly—than here;where it is always summer,and the flowers bloom in greater beauty.Fly now with me,dear little Tiny;you saved my life when I lay frozen in that dark passage.”
“Yes,I will go with you,”said Tiny;and she seated herself on the bird's back,with her feet on his outstretched wings,and tied her girdle to one of his strongest feathers.
Then the swallow rose in the air,and flew over forest and over sea,high above the highest mountains,covered with eternal snow.Tiny would have been frozen in the cold air,but she crept under the bird's warm feathers,keeping her little head uncovered,so that she might admire the beautiful lands over which they passed.
At length they reached the warm countries,where the sun shines brightly,and the sky seems so much higher above the earth.Here,on the hedges,and by the wayside,grew purple,green,and white grapes;lemons and oranges hung from trees in the woods;and the air was fragrant with myrtles and orange blossoms.Beautiful children ran along the country lanes,playing with large gay butterflies;and as the swallow flew farther and farther,every place appeared still more lovely.
At last they came to a blue lake,and by the side of it,shaded by trees of the deepest green,stood a palace of dazzling white marble,built in the olden times.Vines clustered round its lofty pillars,and at the top were many swallows'nests,and one of these was the home of the swallow who carried Tiny.
“This is my house,”said the swallow;“but it would not do for you to live there—you would not be comfortable.You must choose for yourself one of those lovely flowers,and I will put you down upon it,and then you shall have everything that you can wish to make you happy.”
“That will be delightful,”she said,and clapped her little hands for joy.
A large marble pillar lay on the ground,which,in falling,had been broken into three pieces.Between these pieces grew the most beautiful large white flowers;so the swallow flew down with Tiny,and placed her on one of the broad leaves.But how surprised she was to see in the middle of the flower,a tiny little man,as white and transparent as if he had been made of crystal!He had a gold crown on his head,and delicate wings at his shoulders,and was not much larger than Tiny herself.He was the angel of the flower;for a tiny man and a tiny woman dwell in every flower;and this was the king of them all.
“Oh,how beautiful he is!”whispered Tiny to the swallow.
The little prince was at first quite frightened at the bird,who was like a giant,compared to such a delicate little creature as himself;but when he saw Tiny,he was delighted,and thought her the prettiest little maiden he had ever seen.He took the gold crown from his head,and placed it on hers,and asked her name,and if she would be his wife,and queen over all the flowers.
This certainly was a very different sort of husband to the son of a toad,or the mole,with my black velvet and fur;so she said,“Yes,”to the handsome prince.Then all the flowers opened,and out of each came a little lady or a tiny lord,all so pretty it was quite a pleasure to look at them.Each of them brought Tiny a present;but the best gift was a pair of beautiful wings,which had belonged to a large white fly and they fastened them to Tiny's shoulders,so that she might fly from flower to flower.Then there was much rejoicing,and the little swallow who sat above them,in his nest,was asked to sing a wedding song,which he did as well as he could;but in his heart he felt sad for he was very fond of Tiny,and would have liked never to part from her again.
“You must not be called Tiny any more,”said the spirit of the flowers to her.“It is an ugly name,and you are so very pretty.We will call you Maia.”
“Farewell,farewell,”said the swallow,with a heavy heart as he left the warm countries to fly back into Denmark.There he had a nest over the window of a house in which dwelt the writer of fairy tales.The swallow sang,“Tweet,tweet,”and from his song came the whole story.
