“Squeak! squeak!” said a little Mouse at the same moment, peeping out of his hole.  And then another little one came.  They sniffed about the Fir-tree, and rustled among the branches.

“It is dreadfully cold,” said the Mouse.  “But for that, it would be delightful here, old Fir, wouldn’t it?”

“I am by no means old,” said the Fir-tree.  “There’s many a one considerably older than I am.”

“Where do you come from,” asked the Mice; “and what can you do?” They were so extremely curious.  “Tell us about the most beautiful spot on the earth.  Have you never been there?  Were you never in the larder, where cheeses lie on the shelves, and hams hang from above; where one dances about on tallow-candles; that place where one enters lean, and comes out again fat and portly?”

“I know no such place,” said the Tree, “but I know the woods, where the sun shines, and where the little birds sing.”  And then he told all about his youth; and the little Mice had never heard the like before; and they listened and said: 

“Well, to be sure!  How much you have seen!  How happy you must have been!”

“I?” said the Fir-tree, thinking over what he had himself related.  “Yes, in reality those were happy times.”  And then he told about Christmas Eve, when he was decked out with cakes and candles.

“Oh,” said the little Mice, “how fortunate you have been, old Fir-tree!”

“I am by no means old,” said he.  “I came from the woods this winter; I am in my prime, and am only rather short for my age.”

“What delightful stories you know!” said the Mice:  and the next night they came with four other little Mice, who were to hear what the tree recounted; and the more he related, the more plainly he remembered all himself; and it appeared as if those times had really been happy times.  “But they may still come—­they may still come.  Klumpy-Dumpy fell downstairs and yet he got a princess,” and he thought at the moment of a nice little Birch-tree growing out in the woods; to the Fir, that would be a real charming princess.

“Who is Klumpy-Dumpy?” asked the Mice.  So then the Fir-tree told the whole fairy tale, for he could remember every single word of it; and the little Mice jumped for joy up to the very top of the Tree.  Next night two more Mice came, and on Sunday two Rats, even; but they said the stories were not interesting, which vexed the little Mice; and they, too, now began to think them not so very amusing either.

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

“Only that one,” answered the Tree.  “I heard it on my happiest evening; but I did not then know how happy I was.”

“It is a very stupid story.  Don’t you know one about bacon and tallow candles?  Can’t you tell any larder stories?”

“No,” said the Tree.

“Then good-bye,” said the Rats; and they went home.

At last the little Mice stayed away also; and the Tree sighed:  “After all, it was very pleasant when the sleek little Mice sat around me and listened to what I told them.  Now that too is over.  But I will take good care to enjoy myself when I am brought out again.”