"What sort of Christmas tree is that, Grandfather? It's nothing but a long stick."
"Wait and see," said Grandfather.
Grandfather carried Verotchka into a tiny village almost buried in snow. Only the roofs and chimneys were visible. The country children were all waiting for the old grandfather. They jumped and shouted, when they saw him.
"Christmas tree! Christmas tree!"
They came to the first hut. Grandfather got an unbroken sheaf of oats, tied it to the end of the pole and stuck the pole on the roof. Immediately the tiny birds that do not go away for the winter flew upon it from all sides and began pecking the seeds.
"It is our Christmas tree," they shouted.
Suddenly, Verotchka felt very happy. That was the first time she had seen a Christmas tree made for the winter birds.
"What a kind old grandfather!"
One little Sparrow, bustling about more than the others, recognized Verotchka and called out!
"Why, this is Verotchka! I know her very well. Many, many times has she scattered crumbs for me."