In a classic meadow where wildflowers swayed and butterflies danced about, little Mia found a secret — she could talk to the animals! Alone on her way home, she was puzzled hearing a bird sing, not merely in chirps but clear words.
“Ah, little Mia,” the bird chirped, “why such a frown? Come up on the roof and sit down.” With a laugh, she climbed a tree to sit by her feathered friend.
The chatty magpie joined in, saying, “You shan’t regret it, child! Come open the door and see you won’t be dull.” And the thrush next declared, “May I come too?”
Delighted, little Mia bade all to fly, and a charming throng of quail, pigeons, squirrels, and an excited cuckoo soon gathered on her wrist and shoulders till she could hardly bear the weight!
Then off they all flew to the vast, enchanting woods. And when little Mia inquired whether she might visit these funny friends again, a proud peacock spread his tail and replied, “Don’t you worry! We’ll come when we’re called!”
So they played and played, till last little Mia gazed wide and anywhere, but our good, kind-hearted little girl wept to think she must home to dinner.
That evening before her little red shoes were off and while the cow was munching by the door, she whispered through to all her sisters, “That it was so sad staying away from home — for though just at first the animals were so busy chattering to be sure, still when they saw how pleased she was at hearing about them they all said weeping too, ‘Yes, home is best!’”
From that time forth her animal friends flocked to her in many different shapes and sizes — large and small. But I need not tell you their names — they always kept to themselves.
Now years passed away till little Mia became, you see, quite a nice young lady. Yes, indeed! And one day, as she was walking through a shady covert — up to her knees in daisies — the long grass all shivered and one trembled from side to side till it split in half, wide enough for a little manikin, less than from little finger to thumb, to come whisking along.
“Well! I wonder what he’s doing here?” and she stood right still so that he shouldn’t get frightened.
“Why this is Farmer Jones’s daughter!” and he bowed very low indeed with the daisies and buttercups sticking to his hair.
“Oh! Excellent! I’ll make. I’ll beg,” and he hopped and he skipped towards Mia.
“Little lady,” says he, “will you let me make a hat for you?”
“Thank you, little man. I should very much like one.”
And now woman-hands stopped moving, and I grew dim-eyed at the thought — what a horrible, a most degrading, poor life! An inner voice thrilled my being, “Yes! Not only human hands belong to me!” The whole world sounded dumb and for ages all was marred and blurred.
Till little Mia said, “Yes, if you please!” with a most eager, fluttering little heart, “But will it please you and make you as happy if I only ask for one for myself? Yours would make me twice as happy.”
“Lend me your brass pincushion, your thin yellow glove? Would you like to wear nothing, but do you know what we need for the favours? Why down at first!” and he put on the pointed little lids most carefully and ready we went both pen pincushion rubbing up and down.