“This evening!” they all said.  “How it will shine this evening!”

“Oh!” thought the Tree.  “If the evening were but come!  If the tapers were but lighted!  And then I wonder what will happen!  Perhaps the other trees from the forest will come to look at me!  Perhaps the sparrows will beat against the windowpanes!  I wonder if I shall take root here, and winter and summer stand covered with ornaments!”

He knew very much about the matter—­but he was so impatient that for sheer longing he got a pain in his back, and this with trees is the same thing as a headache with us.

The candles were now lighted—­what brightness!  What splendor!  The Tree trembled so in every bough that one of the tapers set fire to the foliage.  It blazed up famously.

“Help!  Help!” cried the young ladies, and they quickly put out the fire.

Now the Tree did not even dare tremble.  What a state he was in!  He was so uneasy lest he should lose something of his splendor, that he was quite bewildered amidst the glare and brightness; when suddenly both folding-doors opened and a troop of children rushed in as if they would upset the Tree.  The older persons followed quietly; the little ones stood quite still.  But it was only for a moment; then they shouted that the whole place re-echoed with their rejoicing; they danced round the Tree, and one present after the other was pulled off.

“What are they about?” thought the Tree.  “What is to happen now!” And the lights burned down to the very branches, and as they burned down they were put out one after the other, and then the children had permission to plunder the Tree.  So they fell upon it with such violence that all its branches cracked; if it had not been fixed firmly in the ground, it would certainly have tumbled down.

The children danced about with their beautiful playthings; no one looked at the Tree except the old nurse, who peeped between the branches; but it was only to see if there was a fig or an apple left that had been forgotten.

“A story!  A story!” cried the children, drawing a little fat man towards the Tree.  He seated himself under it and said, “Now we are in the shade, and the Tree can listen too.  But I shall tell only one story.  Now which will you have; that about Ivedy-Avedy, or about Humpy-Dumpy, who tumbled downstairs, and yet after all came to the throne and married the princess?”

“Ivedy-Avedy,” cried some; “Humpy-Dumpy,” cried the others.  There was such a bawling and screaming—­the Fir Tree alone was silent, and he thought to himself, “Am I not to bawl with the rest?  Am I to do nothing whatever?” for he was one of the company, and had done what he had to do.