But they did notice her. The springtime came, and all the fruit-trees put on their beautiful blossom-frocks, and they jeered at the forlorn little fir-tree.
“Ho!” said the apple-tree, “look at my pink and white garb. Is it not exquisite? Don’t you wish you could be dressed like this?”
The poor little fir-tree looked on with longing eyes, but she was too crushed to reply.
“And see mine!” vaunted the peach-tree. “Was there ever such a perfect shade of color as I wear? How it is set off by my green leaves!”
The little fir-tree, though tempted to envy them, had a generous heart, and she said, “Your clothes are indeed beautiful, O Apple-tree and Peach-tree! I never saw more delicate and lovely coloring. Indeed, I wish I might dress like that! I have my old dull needles!”
“And see me!” cried the cherry-tree; “after all, there’s nothing more beautiful than my pure white with touches of feathery green.”
“True, true,” agreed the little fir-tree. “The colors are all so lovely, I scarce know which to choose.”
The fruit-trees tossed their blossomy branches, and showers of dainty petals fell all around.
“Oh!” cried the little fir-tree, enraptured, “I never saw anything so wonderful! If only I had been made like that!”
But the fruit-trees paid little heed to the fir-tree’s lament, they were so busy admiring themselves and flaunting their glories to the breeze.