Of course all firs understand German, and our little friend knew the child said, “O, little sister, look here! It’s a fir-tree!”
The next word it heard filled it with delight. It was the girl who spoke this time, hardly above her breath, “Weihnachtsbaum!” which was only a queer way of saying, “Christmas-tree!”
They were, in fact, the children of a German peasant, who lived in a small hut far down the mountain-side.
The Fir did not know it, but in reality the peasant had been unfortunate of late, and had grown so cross and surly that he declared he would have no Christmas in his house that year. And Hans and Gretchen had wandered away mournfully on the mountain-side to talk it over.
The Fir was so glad they talked German! If it had been French, now, I don’t believe it could have understood them at all.
“It is such a little one!” said Hans.
“And it has such lovely crosses at the end of its boughs!” said Gretchen.
(The Fir never knew before that it had crosses. But there they were, sure enough.)
“Let’s cut it down and try,” said both together.