“This was all one could see in the valley; but the tall fir trees looked at long ranges of wooded hills and rocky cliffs, with the fiord in its further windings, and beyond all the snow mountains.
“‘How cold you must be up there!’ said a little pine who was nearly as high as the tall fir’s lower branches. But the fir did not hear him, or perhaps did not take notice, for he was looking off at the fine prospect.
“‘Yes, it is cold up here,’ answered one of the fir cones,—‘and windy—and there’s a great deal of sameness about it. It’s just snow and rain, and wind and sunshine, and then snow again.’
“‘That’s what it is everywhere,’ said the wind as he swept by.
“‘I can’t help it,’—said the cone—‘I am tired of it. I want to travel, and see the world, and be of some use to society. What can one do in the top of a fir tree?’
“‘Why, what can a pine cone do anywhere?’ said some of the beech mast.
“‘The end of a pine cone’s existence is not to be eaten up, however,’ retorted the cone, sharply. ‘Neither am I a pine cone—though people will call me so. We firs hold our heads pretty high, I can tell you. But I will throw myself into the fiord some day, and go to sea. I have no doubt I could sail as well as a boat. It would be a fine thing to discover new islands, and take possession.’
“‘It would be very lonely,’ said a squirrel who was gathering beech mast.
“‘Royally so—’ said the pine cone. ‘There one would be king of all the trees.’