Mr. and Mrs. Tom Thumb were not people who could be astonished.
Simple themselves, every thing appeared simple to them. Mrs.
Mignonette was at first a little disconcerted at finding that a
drawer of baby linen which she had taken so much pains to make was
of no use, and that one of the stockings which she had knit was big
enough for her child to get into. But, when she was convinced that
the baby could do just as well without stockings, and that the
cushions of thistle down were sufficient to keep it warm, she was no
longer troubled, and she said to her neighbors, who were eager to
see her little wonder, "It is very natural that the little one
should be so very delicate; from the first we called it
Piccolissima; then, neither Mr. Tom Thumb nor I are very large; and
I am told that our ancestors were still more delicately formed; what
then is more natural than that this little one should be such a wee
wee thing?"

The tranquillity of Mrs. Tom Thumb had this good effect; it appeased
the curiosity of the neighbors. At last, like her, they came to the
conclusion "that it was very natural that the child was smaller than
the mother." and all went on as usual around our heroine, while she
was quietly rocked by the passing hours, and was amused with the
sound of the silver clock bell. When, however, Piccolissima was two
inches high, and lively as a grasshopper, she became restless in her
cocoanut shell; she was desirous to get out of it, to walk, and to
jump, and she not only deranged the clock, but she was in real
danger.

She was now as much as seven years old, and she amused herself with
all sorts of little pranks, and loving ways, with one of her