“Squeak, squeak,” said a little mouse, creeping cautiously towards the tree; then came another, and they both sniffed at the fir tree, and crept in and out between the branches.

“Oh, it is very cold here,” said the little mouse.  “If it were not, we would be very comfortable here, wouldn’t we, old fir tree?”

“I am not old,” said the fir tree.  “There are many who are older than I am.”

“Where do you come from?” asked the mice, who were full of curiosity; “and what do you know?  Have you seen the most beautiful places in the world, and can you tell us all about them?  And have you been in the storeroom, where cheeses lie on the shelf and hams hang from the ceiling?  One can run about on tallow candles there; one can go in thin and come out fat.”

“I know nothing of that,” said the fir tree; “but I know the wood where the sun shines and the birds sing.”  And then the tree told the little mice all about its youth.  They had never heard such an account in their lives; and after they had listened to it attentively, they said, “What a number of things you have seen!  You must have been very happy.”

“Happy!” exclaimed the fir tree; and then, as he reflected on what he had been telling them, he said, “Ah, yes! after all, those were happy days.”  But when he went on and related all about Christmas eve, and how he had been dressed up with cakes and lights, the mice said, “How happy you must have been, you old fir tree.”

“I am not old at all,” replied the tree; “I only came from the forest this winter.  I am now checked in my growth.”

“What splendid stories you can tell,” said the little mice.  And the next night four other mice came with them to hear what the tree had to tell.  The more he talked, the more he remembered, and then he thought to himself, “Yes, those were happy days; but they may come again.  Humpty-Dumpty fell downstairs, and yet he married a princess.  Perhaps I may marry a princess too.”  And the fir tree thought of the pretty little birch tree that grew in the forest; a real princess, a beautiful princess, she was to him.

“Who is Humpty-Dumpty?” asked the little mice.  And then the tree related the whole story; he could remember every single word.  And the little mice were so delighted with it, that they were ready to jump to the top of the tree.  The next night a great many more mice made their appearance, and on Sunday two rats came with them; but they said it was not a pretty story at all, and the little mice were very sorry, for it made them also think less of it.

“Do you know only that one story?” asked the rats.

“Only that one,” replied the fir tree.  “I heard it on the happiest evening of my life; but I did not know I was so happy at the time.”

“We think it is a very miserable story,” said the rats.  “Don’t you know any story about bacon or tallow in the storeroom?”

“No,” replied the tree.