“Because we have nothing to give them,” replied his wife. “We have nothing for them to eat, nothing to put on the tree, and no money to buy anything. What would be the good of their coming when we have nothing at all for them?”
“But we must have something,” said the Count. “Think of all the years that we have had these Christmas gatherings, and then think how hard it would be, both for us and the little ones, to give them up now we are growing old; and we may not be with the children another year. There are yet several days before Christmas; I can sell something to-morrow, and we can have the tree and everything prepared in time. There will not be so much to eat as usual, and the presents will be smaller, but it will be our good old Christmas in spite of that.”
“I should like very much to know what you are going to sell,” asked the Countess. “I thought we had already parted with everything that we could possibly spare.”
“Not quite,” said the Count. “There is our old family bedstead. It is very large; it is made of the most valuable woods, and it is inlaid with gold and silver. It will surely bring a good price.”
“Sell the family bedstead!” cried the Countess. “The bedstead on which your ancestors, for generations, have slept and died! How could you even think of such a thing! And what are we going to sleep on, I’d like to know?”
“Oh, we can get along very well,” said the Count. “There is a small bedstead which you can have, and I will sleep on the floor. I would much rather do that than have the children disappointed at Christmas-time.”
“On the floor! at your age!” exclaimed the Countess. “It will be the death of you! But if you have made up your mind, I suppose there is no use in my saying anything more about it.”
“Not the least in the world,” replied her husband, with a smile; and so she said no more.
It was on the morning of the next day that there came through the forest, not very far from the Count Cormo’s castle, a tall young giant. As he strode along, he appeared to be talking to the forefinger of his right hand, which he held up before him. He was not, however, talking to his forefinger, but to a little fairy who was sitting on it, chatting away in a very lively manner.