Neither the sunbeams, nor the birds, nor the red clouds which morning and evening sailed above him, gave the little Tree any pleasure. "Then I should be able to spread out my branches, and with the tops to look into the wide world! Then would the birds build nests among my branches: and when there was a breeze, I could bend with as much stateliness as the others!" "Oh! Were I but such a high tree as the others are," sighed he. The children often came with a whole pitcher full of berries, or a long row of them threaded on a straw, and sat down near the young tree and said, "Oh, how pretty he is! What a nice little fir!" But this was what the Tree could not bear to hear.Īt the end of a year he had shot up a good deal, and after another year he was another long bit taller for with fir trees one can always tell by the shoots how many years old they are. He did not think of the warm sun and of the fresh air he did not care for the little cottage children that ran about and prattled when they were in the woods looking for wild-strawberries.
But the little Fir wanted so very much to be a grown-up tree.
The place he had was a very good one: the sun shone on him: as to fresh air, there was enough of that, and round him grew many large-sized comrades, pines as well as firs. Out in the woods stood a nice little Fir Tree.
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