So he was unhappy and hung his head, and let the wind blow him further and further over toward the ground; and as he did not care for his rootlets, they lost their hold in the earth, and by and by he withered quite away.

But our brave little Fir-tree grew on; and when a long time had gone by, his head was on a level with his mother’s lowest branches, and he could listen and hear all the whispering and talking that went on among the great trees.  So he learned many things, for the trees were old and wise; and the birds, who are such great travelers, had told them many wonderful things that had happened in far-off lands.

And the Fir-tree asked his mother many, many questions.  “Dear mother-tree,” he said, “shall we always live here?  Shall I keep on growing until I am a grand tall tree like you?  And will you always be with me?”

“Who knows!” said the mother-tree, rustling in all her branches.  “If we are stout-hearted, and grow strong in trunk and perfect in shape, then perhaps we shall be taken away from the forest and made useful somewhere,—­and we want to be useful, little son.”

It was about this time that the young Fir-tree made himself some music that he used to whisper when the winds blew and rocked his branches.  This is the little song, but I cannot sing it as he did.

Song of the fir-tree.

Root grow thou long-er heart be thou strong-er;

Let the sun bless me, soft-ly ca-

ress me; Let rain-drops pat-ter,

wind, my leaves scat-ter.  My root must grow

long-er, my heart must grow stronger.

  “Root, grow thou longer,
   Heart, be thou stronger;
   Let the sun bless me,
   Softly caress me;
   Let raindrops patter,
   Wind, my leaves scatter. 
   My root must grow longer,
   My heart must grow stronger.”

And one day, when he was singing this song to himself, some birds fluttered near, pleased with the music, and as he seemed kind they began to build their nest in his branches,

Then what a proud Fir-tree, that the birds should choose him to take care of them!  He would not play now with the wind as it came frolicking by, but stood straight, that he might not shake the pretty soft nest.  And when the eggs were laid at last, all his leaves stroked each other for joy, and the noise they made was so sweet that the mother-tree bent over to see why he was so happy.

The mother-bird sat patiently on the nest all day, and when, now and then, she flew away to rest her tired little legs, the father-bird came to keep the eggs warm.

So the Fir-tree was never alone; and now he asked the birds some of the many questions he had once asked his mother, “Tell me, dear birdies,” he said, “what does the mother-tree mean?  She says if I grow strong, I shall be taken away to be useful somewhere.  How can a Fir-tree be useful if he is taken away from the forest where he was born?”