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.”
Then she brought the swallow some water in a flower-leaf, and after he
had drank, he told her that he had wounded one of his wings in a thorn-
bush, and could not fly as fast as the others, who were soon far away on
their journey to warm countries. Then at last he had fallen to the earth, and
could remember no more, nor how he came to be where she had found him.
The whole winter the swallow remained underground, and Tiny nursed him
with care and love. Neither the mole nor the field-mouse knew anything
about it, for they did not like swallows. Very soon the spring time came, and
the sun warmed the earth. Then the swallow bade farewell to Tiny, and she
