And the Tree stood all night quiet and thoughtful.

In the morning the servants and the chambermaid came in.

“Now my splendor will begin afresh,” thought the Tree.

But they dragged him out of the room and up-stairs to the garret, and there they put him in a dark corner where no daylight shone.

“What’s the meaning of this?” thought the Tree.  “What am I to do here?  What is to happen?”

And he leaned against the wall, and thought, and thought.  And he had time enough, for days and nights went by, and nobody came up; and when at length some one came, it was only to put some great boxes in a corner.  Now the Tree stood quite hidden away, and the supposition is that it was quite forgotten.

[Illustration:  The fat man told about Klumpey-Dumpey]

“Now it’s winter outside,” thought the Tree.  “The earth is hard and covered with snow, and people cannot plant me; therefore I suppose I’m to be sheltered here until spring comes.  How considerate that is!  How good people are!  If it were only not so dark here, and so terribly solitary!  Not even a little hare!  It was pretty out there in the wood, when the snow lay thick and the hare sprang past; yes, even when he jumped over me; but then I did not like it.  It is terribly lonely up here!”

“Piep!  Piep!” said a little Mouse, and crept forward, and then came another little one.  They smelt at the Fir Tree, and then slipped among the branches.

“It’s horribly cold,” said the two little Mice, “or else it would be comfortable here.  Don’t you think so, you old Fir Tree?”

“I’m not old at all,” said the Fir Tree.  “There are many much older than I.”

“Where do you come from?” asked the Mice.  “And what do you know?” They were dreadfully inquisitive.

“Tell us about the most beautiful spot on the earth.  Have you been there?  Have you been in the storeroom, where cheeses lie on the shelves, and hams hang from the ceiling; where one dances on tallow candles, and goes in thin and comes out fat?”

“I don’t know that,” replied the Tree; “but I know the wood, where the sun shines and the birds sing.”  And then it told all about its youth.

And the little Mice had never heard anything of the kind; and they listened, and said: 

“What a number of things you have seen!  How happy you must have been!”

“I?” replied the Fir Tree; and it thought about what it had told.  “Yes, those were really quite happy times.”  But then he told of the Christmas Eve, when he had been hung with sweatmeats and candles.

“Oh!” said the little Mice, “how happy you have been, you old Fir Tree!”

“I’m not old at all,” said the Tree.  “I came out of the wood only this winter.  I’m only rather backward in my growth.”

“What splendid stories you can tell!” said the little Mice.