Still the days grew colder, and often the Fir-tree wondered if the
children who had made a ring and danced about him would remember him
when Christmas time came.

He could not grow, for the weather was too cold, and so he had the
more time for thinking. He thought of the birds, of the mother-tree,
and, most of all, of the little girl who had lifted her finger, and
said, "Hush! hear the Fir-tree sing."

Sometimes the days seemed long, and he sighed in all his branches, and
almost thought he would never be a Christmas tree.

But suddenly, one day, he heard something far away that sounded like
the ringing of Christmas bells. It was the children laughing and
singing, as they ran over the snow.

Nearer they came, and stood beside the Fir. "Yes," said the little
girl, "it is my very tree, my very singing tree!"

"Indeed," said the father, "it will be a good Christmas tree. See how
straight and well shaped it is."

Then the tree was glad; not proud, for he was a good little Fir, but
glad that they saw he had tried his best.

[Illustration: Not all firs can be Christmas trees.]

So they cut him down and carried him away on a great sled; away from
the tall dark trees, from the white shining snow-carpet at their feet,