STORY-TELLING 



5579 



STORY-TELLING 



"Piepl Piep !" said a little Mouse, and crept 

 forward, and then came another little one. They 

 smelt at the Fir Tree, and then slipped among 

 the branches. 



"It's horribly cold," said the two little Mice, 

 "or else it would be comfortable here. Don't you 

 think so, old Fir Tree?" . 



"I'm not old at all," said the Fir Tree. "There 

 are many much older than I." 



"Where do you come from?" asked the Mice. 

 "And what do you know?" They were dread- 

 fully inquisitive. 



"Tell us about the most beautiful spot on the 

 earth. Have you been there? Have you been in 

 the storeroom, where cheeses lie on the shelves, 

 and hams hang from the ceiling; where one 

 dances on tallow candles, and goes in thin and 

 comes out fat?" 



"I don't know that," replied the Tree ; "but I 

 know the wood, where the sun shines and the 

 birds sing." 



And then it told all about its youth. 



And' the little Mice had never heard anything 

 of the kind ; and they listened, and said : 



"What a number of things you have seen ! 

 How happy you must have been !" 



"I?" replied the Fir Tree ; and it thought about 

 what it had told. "Yes, those were really quite 

 happy times." But then he told of the Christ- 

 mas Eve, when he had been hung with sweet- 

 meats and candles. 



"Oh !" said the little Mice, "how happy you 

 have been, you old Fir Tree !" 



"I'm not old at all," said the Tree. "I came 

 out of the wood only this winter. I'm only rather 

 backward in my growth." 



"What splendid stories you can tell !" said the 

 little Mice. 



And next night they came with four other little 

 Mipe, to hear what the Tree had to relate: and 

 the more it said, the more clearly did it remem- 

 ber everything, and thought, "Those were quite 

 merry days. But they may come again. Klum- 

 pey-Dumpey fell downstairs, and yet he married 

 the princess. Perhaps I may marry a princess, 

 too !" And then the Fir Tree thought of a pretty 

 little Birch Tree that grew out in the forest; for 

 the Fir Tree, that Birch was a real' princess. 



"Who's Klumpey-Dumpey?" asked the little 

 Mice. 



A.nd then the Fir Tree told the whole story. 

 It could remember every single word; and the 

 little Mice were ready to leap to the very top of 

 the tree with pleasure. Next night a great many 

 more Mice came, and on Sunday two Rats even 

 appeared ; but these thought the story was not 

 pretty, and the little Mice were sorry for that, 

 for now they also did not like it so much as be- 

 fore. 



"Do you know only one story?" asked the 

 Rats. 



"Only that one," replied the Tree. "I heard 

 that on the happiest evening of my life ; I did 

 not think then how happy I was." 



"That's a very miserable story. Don't you 

 know any about bacon and tallow candles a 

 storeroom story?" 



"No," said the Tree. 



"Then we'd rather not hear you," said the 

 Rats. 



And they went back to their own people. The 

 little Mice at last also stayed away ; and then 

 the Tree sighed and said, "It was very nice 

 when they sat around me, the merry little Mice, 

 and listened when I spoke to them. Now that's 

 past, too. But I shall remember to be pleased 

 when they take me out." 



But when did that happen? Why, it was one 

 morning that people came and rummaged in the 

 garret ; the boxes were put away, and the Tree 

 was brought out; they certainly threw him 

 rather roughly on the floor, but a servant 

 dragged him away at once to the stairs, where 

 the daylight shone. 



"Now life is beginning again," thought the 

 Tree. 



It felt the fresh air and the first sunbeams, 

 and then it was out in the courtyard. Every- 

 thing passed so quickly that the Tree quite 

 forgot to look at itself, there was so much to 

 look at all around. The courtyard was close to a 

 garden, and there everything was blooming ; the 

 roses hung fresh and fragrant over the little pal- 

 ing, the linden trees were in blossom, and the 

 swallows cried, "Quinze-wit ! quinze-wit ! my 

 husband's come !" But it was not the Fir Tree 

 that they meant. 



"Now I shall live !" cried the Tree, rejoicingly, 

 and spread its branches far out ; but, alas ! they 

 were all withered and yellow, and it lay in the 

 corner among nettles and weeds. The tinsel star 

 was still upon it, and shone in the bright sun- 

 shine. 



In the courtyard a couple of the merry chil- 

 dren were playing who had danced round the 

 Tree at Christmas time, and had rejoiced over 

 it. One of the youngest ran up and tore off the 

 golden star. 



"Look at what is sticking to the ugly old Fir 

 Tree !" said the child, and he trod on the branches 

 till they cracked under his boots. 



And the Tree looked at all the blooming flow- 

 ers and the splendor of the garden, then looked 

 at itself, and wished it had remained in the dark 

 corner of the garret ; it thought of its fresh youth 

 in the wood, of the merry Christmas Eve, and of 

 the little Mice which had listened so pleasantly to 

 the story of Klumpey-Dumpey. 



"Past ! past !" said the old Tree. "Had I but 

 rejoiced when I could have done so ! Past : 

 past !" 



And the servant came and chopped the Tree 

 into little pieces ; a whole bundle lay there ; it 

 blazed brightly under the great brewing copper, 

 and it sighed deeply, and each sigh was like -a 

 little shot ; and the children, who were at play 

 there, ran up, seated themselves by the fire, 

 looked into it, and cried "Puff ! puff !" But at 

 each explosion, which was a deep sigh, the Tree 

 thought of a summer day in the woods, or of a 

 winter night there, when the stars beamed ; he 

 thought of Christmas Eve and of Klumpey- 

 Dumpey, the only story he had ever heard or 

 knew how to tell ; and thus the Tree was burned. 



The boys played in the garden, and the young- 

 est had on his breast a golden star, which the 

 Tree had worn on its happiest evening. Now 

 that was past, and the Tree's life was past, and 

 the story is past, too : past ! past ! and that's 

 the way with all stories. 



