Дюймовочка

           Inthemiddleofthefloorlayadeadswallow, withhislovelywingsfoldedathissidesandhisheadtuckedunderhisfeathers. Thepoorbirdmustcertainlyhavediedofthecold. Thumbelinafeltsosorryforhim.Shelovedallthelittlebirdswhohadsungandsweetlytwitteredtoherallthroughthesummer. Butthemolegavethebodyakickwithhisshortstumps,andsaid, "Nowhewon’tbechirpinganymore.Whatawretchedthingitistobebornalittlebird. Thankgoodnessnoneofmychildrencanbeabird, whohasnothingbuthis’chirp,chirp’,andmuststarvetodeathwhenwintercomesalong." 

           "Yes,youaresoright,yousensibleman,"thefieldmouseagreed. "Whatgoodisallhischirp-chirpingtoabirdinthewintertime,whenhestarvesandfreezes? Butthat’sconsideredverygrand,Iimagine." 

           Thumbelinakeptsilent,butwhentheothersturnedtheirbackonthebirdshebentover,smoothedasidethefeathersthathidthebird’shead,andkissedhisclosedeyes. 

           "Maybeitwashewhosangsosweetlytomeinthesummertime,"shethoughttoherself. "Whatpleasurehegaveme,thedear,prettybird." 

           Themolecloseduptheholethatletinthedaylight,andthenhetooktheladieshome. ThatnightThumbelinacouldnotsleepawink, soshegotupandwoveafinelargecoverletoutofhay. Shetookittothedeadbirdandspreaditoverhim,sothathewouldliewarminthecoldearth.Shetuckedhiminwithsomesoftthistledownthatshehadfoundinthefieldmouse’sroom. 

           "Good-by,youprettylittlebird,"shesaid.