The little fir-tree thought she would die.
And then the Tree-master came walking around. “Hey, hey, what’s this?” he exclaimed, as he saw the sadness of the little fir-tree.
In a burst of woe, the fir-tree told him all her trials and sorrows.
“Oh, pooh, pooh,” said the old Tree-master, who was really most kind-hearted, “have you forgotten this? All through the winter the other trees will be shivering and shaking in bare boughs. They will have no beauty and they will be sad and forlorn. You will be green and handsome, and then you can ask them why they look so ugly and downcast.”
The fir-tree cheered up a little, for though not vindictive, she had been so scorned by the other trees that she was glad to look pretty in the winter when they were forlorn and bare.
And yet, somehow, she felt it was not enough. To be sure she was green and glossy and shapely, and all the other trees looked really ugly, but she had no gay-colored blossoms and no rich fruits or nuts.
The kind old Tree-master laughed when he heard this. He was not so busy now, and he could listen to the troubles of his little fir-tree.
“Ho! ho!” he said; “so you want fruit and flowers, do you? Well, I rather guess we can fix that! Hereafter you shall bear wonderful fruit and flowers and nuts every winter, when the other trees are impatiently waiting for spring. And the blossoms and fruits you show shall far, far excel anything they have ever flaunted in your face!”
The little fir-tree could scarcely believe this good news. But it was true.
The Tree-master ordered that she should be the Christmas Tree!