Then the
Tin Soldier melted down into a lump; and when the servant-maid took
the ashes out next day, she found him in the shape of a little tin
heart. But of the Dancer nothing remained but the tinsel rose, and
that was burned as black as a coal.
* * * * *
THE FIR TREE
BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
Out in the forest stood a pretty little Fir Tree. It had a good place;
it could have sunlight, air there was in plenty, and all around grew
many larger comrades--pines as well as firs. But the little Fir Tree
wished ardently to become greater. It did not care for the warm sun
and the fresh air; it took no notice of the peasant children, who
went about talking together, when they had come out to look for
strawberries and raspberries. Often they came with a whole pot-full,
or had strung berries on a straw; then they would sit down by the
little Fir Tree and say, "How pretty and small that one is!" and the
Fir Tree did not like to hear that at all.
Next year he had grown a great joint, and the following year he was
longer still, for in fir trees one can always tell by the number of
rings they have how many years they have been growing.
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