absorbed in thought; the birds in the woods had never related the like
of this. "Klumpy-Dumpy fell downstairs, and yet he married the
princess! Yes! Yes! that's the way of the world!" thought the Fir-tree,
and believed it all, because the man who told the story was so
good-looking. "Well, well! who knows, perhaps I may fall downstairs,
too, and get a princess as wife!" And he looked forward with joy to the
morrow, when he hoped to be decked out again with lights, playthings,
fruits, and tinsel.

"I won't tremble to-morrow," thought the Fir-tree. "I will enjoy to the
full all my splendour. To-morrow I shall hear again the story of
Klumpy-Dumpy, and perhaps that of Ivedy-Avedy, too." And the whole
night the Tree stood still and in deep thought.

In the morning the servant and the housemaid came in.

"Now, then, the splendour will begin again," thought the Fir. But they
dragged him out of the room, and up the stairs into the loft; and here
in a dark corner, where no daylight could enter, they left him. "What's
the meaning of this?" thought the Tree. "What am I to do here? What
shall I hear now, I wonder?" And he leaned against the wall, lost in
reverie. Time enough had he, too, for his reflections; for days and
nights passed on, and nobody came up; and when at last somebody did
come, it was only to put some great trunks in a corner out of the way.
There stood the Tree quite hidden; it seemed as if he had been entirely
forgotten.

"'Tis now winter out of doors!" thought the Tree. "The earth is hard
and covered with snow; men cannot plant me now, and therefore I have
been put up here under shelter till the springtime comes! How