"Rejoice in thy fresh youth
here in the woodland."
But the Fir Tree did not rejoice at all, but it grew and grew; winter
and summer it stood there, green, dark green. The people who saw it
said, "That's a handsome tree!" and at Christmas time it was felled
before any one of the others. The axe cut deep into its marrow, and
the tree fell to the ground with a sigh; it felt a pain, a sensation
of faintness, and could not think at all of happiness, for it was sad
at parting from its home, from the place where it had grown up; it
knew that it should never again see the dear old companions, the
little bushes and flowers all around--perhaps not even the birds. The
parting was not at all agreeable.
The Tree only came to itself when it was unloaded in a yard, with
other trees, and heard a man say:
"This one is famous; we only want this one!"
Now two servants came in gay liveries, and carried the Fir Tree into
a large, beautiful parlor. All around the walls hung pictures, and by
the great stove stood large Chinese vases with lions on the covers;
there were rocking-chairs, silken sofas, great tables covered with
picture books, and toys worth a hundred times a hundred dollars, at
least the children said so.
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