But Tommelise did not care at all about pleasing their neighbour Mr. Mole, nor did she wish to marry him. He came and paid a visit in his black-velvet suit, he was so rich and so learned, and the field-mouse declared his domestic offices were twenty times larger than hers, but the sun and the pretty flowers he could not endure, he was always abusing them, though he had never seen either. Tommelise was called upon to sing for his amusement, and by the time she had sung ‘Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home!’ and ‘The Friar of Orders Grey,’ the mole had quite fallen in love with her through the charm of her sweet voice; however, he said nothing, he was such a prudent, cautious animal. He had just been digging a long passage through the earth from their house to his, and he now gave permission to the field-mouse and Tommelise to walk in it as often as they liked; however, he bade them not be afraid of the dead bird that lay in the passage; it was a whole bird, with beak and feathers entire, and therefore he supposed it must have died quite lately, at the beginning of the winter, and had been buried just in the place where he had dug his passage. The mole took a piece of tinder, which shines like fire in the dark, in his mouth, and went on first to light his friends through the long dark passage, and when they came to the place where the dead bird lay, he thrust his broad nose up against the ceiling and pushed up the earth, so as to make a great hole for the light to come through. In the midst of the floor lay a swallow, his wings clinging firmly to his sides, his head and legs drawn under the feathers; the poor bird had evidently died of cold. Tommelise felt so very sorry, for she loved all the little birds, who had sung and chirped so merrily to her the whole summer long; but the mole kicked it with his short legs, saying, ‘Here’s a fine end to all its whistling! a miserable thing it must be to be born a bird. None of my children will be birds, that’s a comfort! Such creatures have nothing but their “quivit,” and must be starved to death in the winter.’ ‘Yes, indeed, a sensible animal like you may well say so,’ returned the field-mouse; ‘what has the bird got by all his chirping and chirruping? when winter comes it must starve and freeze; and it is such a great creature too!’ Tommelise said nothing, but when the two others had turned their backs upon the bird, she bent over it, smoothed down the feathers that covered its head, and kissed the closed eyes. ‘Perhaps it was this one that sang so delightfully to me in the summer-time,’ thought she; ‘how much pleasure it has given me, the dear, dear bird!’