But the Tree had a backache from mere longing, and the backache is just as bad for a tree as the headache for a person.

At last the candles were lighted.  What a brilliance, what splendor!  The Tree trembled so in all its branches that one of the candles set fire to a green twig, and it was scorched, but one of the young ladies hastily put the fire out.

Now the Tree might not even tremble.  Oh, that was terrible!  It was so afraid of setting fire to some of its ornaments, and it was quite bewildered with all the brilliance.  And now the folding doors were thrown open, and a number of children rushed in as if they would have overturned the whole Tree, while the older people followed more deliberately.  The little ones stood quite silent, but only for a minute; then they shouted till the room rang; they danced gleefully round the Tree; and one present after another was plucked from it.

“What are they about?” thought the Tree.  “What’s going to be done?”

And the candles burned down to the twigs, and as they burned down they were extinguished, and then the children were given permission to plunder the Tree.  They rushed in upon it, so that every branch cracked again; if it had not been fastened by the top and by the golden star to the ceiling, the Tree certainly would have fallen down.

The children danced about with their pretty toys.  No one looked at the Tree except one old man, who came up and peeped among the branches, but only to see if a fig or an apple had not been forgotten.

“A story!  A story!” shouted the children, as they drew a little fat man toward the Tree.  He sat down just beneath it—­“for then we shall be in the green wood,” said he, “and the Tree may have the advantage of listening to my tale.  But I can tell only one.  Will you hear the story of Ivede-Avede, or of Klumpey-Dumpey, who fell downstairs, and still was raised up to honor and married the princess?”

“Ivede-Avede,” cried some; “Klumpey-Dumpey,” cried others, and there was a great crying and shouting.  Only the Fir Tree was silent, and thought, “Shall I not be in it?  Shall I have nothing to do in it?” But he had been in the evening’s amusement and had done what was required of him.

And the fat man told about Klumpey-Dumpey, who fell downstairs, and yet was raised to honor and married the princess.  And the children clapped their hands, and cried, “Tell another, tell another!” for they wanted to hear about Ivede-Avede; but they got only the story of Klumpey-Dumpey.

The Fir Tree stood quite silent and thoughtful; never had the birds in the wood told such a story as that.  Klumpey-Dumpey fell downstairs, and yet came to honor and married the princess!

“Yes, so it happens in the world!” thought the Fir Tree, and believed it must be true, because that was such a nice man who told it.  “Well, who can know?  Perhaps I shall fall downstairs, too, and marry a princess!” And it looked forward with pleasure to being adorned again, the next evening, with candles and toys, gold and fruit.  “To-morrow I shall not tremble,” it thought.  “I shall rejoice in all my splendor.  To-morrow I shall hear the story of Klumpey-Dumpey again, and perhaps that of Ivede-Avede, too.”