'Oh! it would take much too long to tell you all that,' said the
stork, and off he went.

'Rejoice in your youth,' said the sunbeams, 'rejoice in the sweet
growing time, in the young life within you.'

And the wind kissed it and the dew wept tears over it, but the
fir-tree did not understand.

Towards Christmas-time quite little trees were cut down, some not
as big as the young fir-tree, or just the same age, and now it
had no peace or rest for longing to be away. These little trees,
which were chosen for their beauty, kept all their branches; they
were put in carts and drawn out of the wood by horses.

'Whither are those going?' asked the fir-tree; 'they are no
bigger than I, and one there was much smaller even! Why do they
keep their branches? Where are they taken to?'

'We know! we know!' twittered the sparrows. 'Down there in the
city we have peeped in at the windows, we know where they go!
They attain to the greatest splendour and magnificence you can
imagine! We have looked in at the windows and seen them planted
in the middle of the warm room and adorned with the most
beautiful things-golden apples, sweet-meats, toys and hundreds of
candles.'

'And then?' asked the fir-tree, trembling in every limb with
eagerness, 'and then? what happens then?'