The court
adjoined a garden, and all was in flower; the roses
hung over the fence, so fresh and smelling so
sweetly; the lindens were in blossom, the Swallows
flew by, and said, ``Quirre-virre-vit! my husband
is come!'' But it was not the Pine Tree that they
meant.
``Now, I shall really live,'' said he with joy, and
spread out his branches; dear! dear! they were all
dry and yellow. It was in a corner among weeds
and nettles that he lay. The golden star of tinsel
was still on top of the Tree, and shone in the
bright sunshine.
In the courtyard a few of the merry children
were playing who had danced at Christmas
round the Tree, and were so glad at the sight of
him. One of the littlest ran and tore off the golden
star.
``See what is still on the ugly old Christmas
Tree!'' said he, and he trampled on the branches,
so that they cracked under his feet.
And the Tree saw all the beauty of the flowers,
and the freshness in the garden; he saw himself,
and he wished he had stayed in his dark corner in
the attic: he thought of his fresh youth in the
wood, of the merry Christmas Eve, and of the
little Mice who had heard so gladly the story of
Klumpy-Dumpy.
``Gone! gone!'' said the poor Tree. ``Had I but
been happy when I could be. Gone! gone!''
And the gardener's boy came and chopped the
Tree into small pieces; there was a whole heap
lying there.
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