One day when Thumbelina had tidied the house and made it look as neat as
a new pin, she sat down to chat with the field-mouse.
“My dear,” said the field-mouse, “we shall soon have a visit from my
neighbor, the mole. He comes to see me once a week. Do you know, he would
make you a good husband. He is rich. He lives in a much larger house than
mine, and wears beautiful black velvet fur. When he comes you must tell
him the prettiest stories you know.”
And, sure enough, the mole came to see them, dressed in his black velvet
fur. Thumbelina did not care for him at all. He talked about nothing but
himself. He told how rich he was and how large his rooms were, twenty
times larger than the field-mouse’s, and he said he didn’t like the sun
and flowers, just because he had never seen them.
“How can you talk so!” cried Thumbelina, indignantly.
“Sing us one of your sweet songs, Thumbelina, my dear,” said the
field-mouse.
So Thumbelina had to sing. She sang, “Ladybug, fly away.” She sang it so
sweetly that the mole fell in love with her. But he did not tell her so
yet. As for her, she was glad when his visit was over.