“Oh, that I was as tall as the big trees I see near me!” sighed the little tree. “Then I should spread out my branches so far, and I could look over the wide world around. The birds would build their nests among my branches, and when the wind blew I would bend my head so grandly just as all the big trees do. Yes, I want to become tall and old. That is the only thing worth living for.”
Every autumn the woodcutters came and felled some of the largest trees. The young fir-tree shuddered when he saw the grand trees crash to the ground. He watched the men chop off all the boughs from the fallen trees, and how terribly naked and lanky and long they looked then. They could hardly be recognized. Finally they were loaded on wagons, and were drawn away from the forest. Where could they be going? What might be their fortunes?
When it was spring, and the swallows and the storks returned from the south, the tree called to them, and said: “Know you whither they have taken the great trees that have been cut? Have you met these friends of mine?”
The swallows knew nothing about the matter, but one of the storks looked thoughtful for a moment, nodded his head, and said: “Yes, I believe I have seen them. As I was flying from Egypt to this place I noticed several ships, and those ships had splendid masts. I have little doubt those masts were the trees of which you speak. They supported the sails so that the ships moved on gloriously.”
“Oh that I too were tall enough to be a mast, and journey on the sea!” exclaimed the fir-tree.
“Rejoice in your youth,” said the sunbeams. “Rejoice in the fresh life that is within you.” And the sunbeams caressed the tree, and the wind kissed him, but he understood them not.
Christmas was drawing near, after the little fir-tree had lived and grown for several years, and many small trees were felled by the woodmen. Some were no taller than the restless young fir-tree who was always longing to be away. The branches were not cut off, but the trees were put on wagons, green boughs and all. When the wagons had gone, the fir-tree asked where his companions were being taken.
“We know, we know,” twittered the sparrows. “They are on the way to the town. You cannot imagine what honor and glory they will receive. We have peeped through the house windows in years gone by, and we know. They will be planted in a warm room, and be decked with the most beautiful things—sweetmeats, playthings, and hundreds of bright candles.”
“And what happens afterward?” asked the fir-tree, quivering with excitement in every bough.