Now this idea of a boy no bigger than a man’s thumb so tickled Wizard Merlin’s fancy that he promised straight away that such a son should come in due time to bring the good couple content.  This done, he went off at once to pay a visit to the Queen of the Fairies, since he felt that the little people would best be able to carry out his promise.  And, sure enough, the droll fancy of a mannikin no bigger than his father’s thumb tickled the Fairy Queen also, and she set about the task at once.

So behold the ploughman and his wife as happy as King and Queen over the tiniest of tiny babies; and all the happier because the Fairy Queen, anxious to see the little fellow, flew in at the window, bringing with her clothes fit for the wee mannikin to wear.

  An oak-leaf hat he had for his crown;
  His jacket was woven of thistle-down. 
  His shirt was a web by spiders spun;
  His breeches of softest feathers were done. 
  His stockings of red-apple rind were tyne
  With an eyelash plucked from his mother’s eyne. 
  His shoes were made of a mouse’s skin,
  Tanned with the soft furry hair within.

Dressed in this guise he looked the prettiest little fellow ever seen, and the Fairy Queen kissed him over and over again, and gave him the name of Tom Thumb.

Now as he grew older—­though, mind you, he never grew bigger—­he was so full of antics and tricks that he was for ever getting into trouble.  Once his mother was making a batter pudding, and Tom, wanting to see how it was made, climbed up to the edge of the bowl.  His mother was so busy beating the batter that she didn’t notice him; and when his foot slipped, and he plumped head and ears into the bowl, she just went on beating until the batter was light enough.  Then she put it into the pudding-cloth and set it on the fire to boil.

Now the batter had so filled poor Tom’s mouth that he couldn’t cry; but no sooner did he feel the hot water than he began to struggle and kick so much that the pudding bobbed up and down, and jumped about in such strange fashion that the ploughman’s wife thought it was bewitched, and in a great fright flung it to the door.

Here a poor tinker passing by picked it up and put it in his wallet.  But by this time Tom had got his mouth clear of the batter, and he began holloaing, and making such a to-do, that the tinker, even more frightened than Tom’s mother had been, threw the pudding in the road, and ran away as fast as he could run.  Luckily for Tom, this second fall broke the pudding string and he was able to creep out, all covered with half-cooked batter, and make his way home, where his mother, distressed to see her little dear in such a woeful state, put him into a teacup of water to clean him, and then tucked him up in bed.

Another time Tom’s mother went to milk her red cow in the meadow and took Tom with her, for she was ever afraid lest he should fall into mischief when left alone.  Now the wind was high, and fearful lest he should be blown away, she tied him to a thistle-head with one of her own long hairs, and then began to milk.  But the red cow, nosing about for something to do while she was being milked, as all cows will, spied Tom’s oak-leaf hat, and thinking it looked good, curled its tongue round the thistle-stalk and—­