"How well you can talk!" said the little Mice; and the next night they came again, and brought with them four other little Mice, who wanted also to hear the Tree's history; and the more the Tree spoke of his youth in the forest, the more vividly he remembered it, and said, "Yes, those were pleasant times! but they may come again, they may come again! Humpty Dumpty fell downstairs, and for all that he won the Princess; perhaps I, too, may win a Princess;" and then the Fir Tree thought of a pretty little delicate Birch Tree that grew in the forest,—a real Princess, a very lovely Princess, was she to the Fir Tree.
"Who is this Humpty Dumpty?" asked the little Mice. Whereupon he related the tale; he could remember every word of it perfectly: and the little Mice were ready to jump to the top of the Tree for joy. The night following several more Mice came, and on Sunday came also two Rats; they, however, declared that the story was not at all amusing, which much vexed the little Mice, who, after hearing their opinion, could not like it so well either.
"Do you know only that one story?" asked the Rats.
"Only that one!" answered the Tree; "I heard it on the happiest evening of my life, though I did not then know how happy I was."
"It is a miserable story! Do you know none about pork and tallow?—no store-room story?"
"No," said the Tree.
"Well, then, we have heard enough of it!" returned the Rats, and they went their ways.
The little Mice, too, never came again. The Tree sighed. "It was pleasant when they sat round me, those busy little Mice, listening to my words. Now that, too, is all past! however, I shall have pleasure in remembering it, when I am taken away from this place."
But when would that be? One morning, people came and routed out the lumber room; the trunks were taken away, the Tree, too, was dragged out of the corner; they threw him carelessly on the floor, but one of the servants picked him up and carried him downstairs. Once more he beheld the light of day.
"Now life begins again!" thought the Tree; he felt the fresh air, the warm sunbeams—he was out in the court. All happened so quickly that the Tree quite forgot to look at himself,—there was so much to look at all around. The court joined a garden, everything was so fresh and blooming, the roses clustered so bright and so fragrant round the trellis-work, the lime-trees were in full blossom, and the swallows flew backwards and forwards, twittering, "Quirri-virri-vit, my beloved is come!" but it was not the Fir Tree whom they meant.