And next night they came with four other little Mice, to hear what the Tree had to relate; and the more it said, the more clearly did it remember everything, and thought, “Those were quite merry days.  But they may come again.  Klumpey-Dumpey fell downstairs, and yet he married the princess.  Perhaps I may marry a princess, too!” And then the Fir Tree thought of a pretty little Birch Tree that grew out in the forest; for the Fir Tree, that Birch was a real princess.

“Who’s Klumpey-Dumpey?” asked the little Mice.

And then the Fir Tree told the whole story.  It could remember every single word; and the little Mice were ready to leap to the very top of the tree with pleasure.  Next night a great many more Mice came, and on Sunday two Rats even appeared; but these thought the story was not pretty, and the little Mice were sorry for that, for now they also did not like it so much as before.

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

“Only that one,” replied the Tree.  “I heard that on the happiest evening of my life; I did not think then how happy I was.”

“That’s a very miserable story.  Don’t you know any about bacon and tallow candles—­a storeroom story?”

“No,” said the Tree.

“Then we’d rather not hear you,” said the Rats.  And they went back to their own people.  The little Mice at last also stayed away; and then the Tree sighed and said, “It was very nice when they sat around me, the merry little Mice, and listened when I spoke to them.  Now that’s past, too.  But I shall remember to be pleased when they take me out.”

But when did that happen?  Why, it was one morning that people came and rummaged in the garret; the boxes were put away, and the Tree was brought out; they certainly threw him rather roughly on the floor, but a servant dragged him away at once to the stairs, where the daylight shone.

“Now life is beginning again,” thought the Tree.

It felt the fresh air and the first sunbeams, and then it was out in the courtyard.  Everything passed so quickly that the Tree quite forgot to look at itself, there was so much to look at all around.  The courtyard was close to a garden, and there everything was blooming; the roses hung fresh and fragrant over the little paling, the linden trees were in blossom, and the swallows cried, “Quinze-wit! quinze-wit! my husband’s come!” But it was not the Fir Tree that they meant.

“Now I shall live!” cried the Tree, rejoicingly, and spread its branches far out; but, alas! they were all withered and yellow, and it lay in the corner among nettles and weeds.  The tinsel star was still upon it, and shone in the bright sunshine.

In the courtyard a couple of the merry children were playing who had danced round the Tree at Christmas time, and had rejoiced over it.  One of the youngest ran up and tore off the golden star.

“Look what is sticking to the ugly old Fir Tree!” said the child, and he trod on the branches till they cracked under his boots.