"What are they about?" thought the Tree. "What is to happen now?" And
the lights burned down to the very branches, and as they burned down
they were put out, one after the other, and then the children had
permission to plunder the tree. So they fell upon it with such violence
that all its branches cracked; if it had not been fixed firmly in the
cask, it would certainly have tumbled down.

The children danced about with their beautiful playthings: no one
looked at the Tree except the old nurse, who peeped between the
branches; but it was only to see if there was a fig or an apple left
that had been forgotten.

"A story! a story!" cried the children, drawing a little fat man toward
the tree. He seated himself under it, and said: "Now we are in the
shade, and the Tree can listen, too. But I shall tell only one story.
Now which will you have: that about Ivedy-Avedy, or about Klumpy-Dumpy
who tumbled downstairs, and yet after all came to the throne and
married the princess?"

"Ivedy-Avedy!" cried some; "Klumpy-Dumpy" cried the others. There was
such a bawling and screaming--the Fir-tree alone was silent, and he
thought to himself, "Am I not to bawl with the rest?--am I to do
nothing whatever?" for he was one of the company, and had done what he
had to do.

And the man told about Klumpy-Dumpy that tumbled down, who
notwithstanding came to the throne, and at last married the princess.
And the children clapped their hands, and cried out, "Oh, go on! Do go
on!" They wanted to hear about Ivedy-Avedy, too, but the little man
only told them about Klumpy-Dumpy. The Fir-tree stood quite still and