“There are none little enough,” they said.

Oh! how the Little Fir Tree pricked up his needles!

“Here is one,” said one of the men, “it is just little enough.”  And he touched the Little Fir Tree.

The Little Fir Tree was happy as a bird, because he knew they were about to cut him down.  And when he was being carried away on the sledge he lay wondering, so contentedly, whether he should be the mast of a ship or part of a fine city house.  But when they came to the town he was taken out and set upright in a tub and placed on the edge of a sidewalk in a row of other fir trees, all small, but none so little as he.  And then the Little Fir Tree began to see life.

People kept coming to look at the trees and to take them away.  But always when they saw the Little Fir Tree they shook their heads and said,—­

“It is too little, too little.”

Until, finally, two children came along, hand in hand, looking carefully at all the small trees.  When they saw the Little Fir Tree they cried out,—­

“We’ll take this one; it is just little enough!”

They took him out of his tub and carried him away, between them.  And the happy Little Fir Tree spent all his time wondering what it could be that he was just little enough for; he knew it could hardly be a mast or a house, since he was going away with children.

He kept wondering, while they took him in through some big doors, and set him up in another tub, on the table, in a bare little room.  Pretty soon they went away, and came back again with a big basket, carried between them.  Then some pretty ladies, with white caps on their heads and white aprons over their blue dresses, came bringing little parcels.  The children took things out of the basket and began to play with the Little Fir Tree, just as he had often begged the wind and the snow and the birds to do.  He felt their soft little touches on his head and his twigs and his branches.  And when he looked down at himself, as far as he could look, he saw that he was all hung with gold and silver chains!  There were strings of white fluffy stuff drooping around him; his twigs held little gold nuts and pink, rosy balls and silver stars; he had pretty little pink and white candles in his arms; but last, and most wonderful of all, the children hung a beautiful white, floating doll-angel over his head!  The Little Fir Tree could not breathe, for joy and wonder.  What was it that he was, now?  Why was this glory for him?

After a time every one went away and left him.  It grew dusk, and the Little Fir Tree began to hear strange sounds through the closed doors.  Sometimes he heard a child crying.  He was beginning to be lonely.  It grew more and more shadowy.

All at once, the doors opened and the two children came in.  Two of the pretty ladies were with them.  They came up to the Little Fir Tree and quickly lighted all the little pink and white candles.  Then the two pretty ladies took hold of the table with the Little Fir Tree on it and pushed it, very smoothly and quickly, out of the doors, across a hall, and in at another door.