"What splendid stories you can tell," said the little mice. And the next
night four other mice came with them to hear what the tree had to tell. The more he talked the more he remembered, and then he thought to
himself: "Yes, those were happy days; but they may come again. Humpty
Dumpty fell downstairs, and yet he married the princess. Perhaps I may
marry a princess, too." And the fir tree thought of the pretty little
birch tree that grew in the forest; a real princess, a beautiful
princess, she was to him. "Who is Humpty Dumpty?" asked the little mice. And then the tree related
the whole story; he could remember every single word. And the little
mice were so delighted with it that they were ready to jump to the top
of the tree. The next night a great many more mice made their
appearance, and on Sunday two rats came with them; but the rats said it
was not a pretty story at all, and the little mice were very sorry, for
it made them also think less of it. "Do you know only that one story?" asked the rats. "Only that one," replied the fir tree. "I heard it on the happiest
evening in my life; but I did not know I was so happy at the time." "We think it is a very miserable story," said the rats. "Don't you know
any story about bacon or tallow in the storeroom?" "No," replied the tree. "Many thanks to you, then," replied the rats, and they went their ways. The little mice also kept away after this, and the tree sighed and said:
"It was very pleasant when the merry little mice sat round me and
listened while I talked. Now that is all past, too. However, I shall
consider myself happy when some one comes to take me out of this place." But would this ever happen? Yes; one morning people came to clear up the
garret; the boxes were packed away, and the tree was pulled out of the
corner and thrown roughly on the floor; then the servants dragged it out
upon the staircase, where the daylight shone. "Now life is beginning again," said the tree, rejoicing in the sunshine
and fresh air. Then it was carried downstairs and taken into the
courtyard so quickly that it forgot to think of itself and could only
look about, there was so much to be seen. The court was close to a garden, where everything looked blooming. Fresh
and fragrant roses hung over the little palings. The linden trees were
in blossom, while swallows flew here and there, crying, "Twit, twit,
twit, my mate is coming"; but it was not the fir tree they meant. "Now I shall live," cried the tree joyfully, spreading out its branches;
but alas! they were all withered and yellow, and it lay in a corner
among weeds and nettles. The star of gold paper still stuck in the top
of the tree and glittered in the sunshine. Two of the merry children who had danced round the tree at Christmas and
had been so happy were playing in the same courtyard. The youngest saw
the gilded star and ran and pulled it off the tree. "Look what is
sticking to the ugly old fir tree," said the child, treading on the
branches till they crackled under his boots. And the tree saw all the fresh, bright flowers in the garden and then
looked at itself and wished it had remained in the dark corner of the
garret. It thought of its fresh youth in the forest, of the merry
Christmas evening, and of the little mice who had listened to the story
of Humpty Dumpty. "Past! past!" said the poor tree. "Oh, had I but enjoyed myself while I
could have done so! but now it is too late." Then a lad came and chopped the tree into small pieces, till a large
bundle lay in a heap on the ground. The pieces were placed in a fire,
and they quickly blazed up brightly, while the tree sighed so deeply
that each sigh was like a little pistol shot. Then the children who were
at play came and seated themselves in front of the fire, and looked at
it and cried, "Pop, pop." But at each "pop," which was a deep sigh, the
tree was thinking of a summer day in the forest or of some winter night
there when the stars shone brightly, and of Christmas evening, and of
Humpty Dumpty,--the only story it had ever heard or knew how to
relate,--till at last it was consumed. The boys still played in the garden, and the youngest wore on his breast
the golden star with which the tree had been adorned during the happiest
evening of its existence. Now all was past; the tree's life was past and
the story also past--for all stories must come to an end at some time or
other. [Illustration]




LITTLE TUK


LITTLE TUK! An odd name, to be sure! However, it was not the little
boy's real name. His real name was Carl; but when he was so young that
he could not speak plainly, he used to call himself Tuk. It would be
hard to say why, for it is not at all like "Carl"; but the name does as
well as any, if one only knows it. Little Tuk was left at home to take care of his sister Gustava, who was
much younger than himself; and he had also to learn his lesson. Here
were two things to be done at the same time, and they did not at all
suit each other. The poor boy sat with his sister in his lap, singing to
her all the songs he knew, yet giving, now and then, a glance into his
geography, which lay open beside him. By to-morrow morning he must know
the names of all the towns in Seeland by heart, and be able to tell
about them all that could be told. His mother came at last, and took little Gustava in her arms. Tuk ran
quickly to the window and read and read till he had almost read his eyes
out--for it was growing dark, and his mother could not afford to buy
candles. "There goes the old washerwoman down the lane," said the mother, as she
looked out of the window. "She can hardly drag herself along, poor
thing; and now she has to carry that heavy pail from the pump. Be a good
boy, little Tuk, and run across to help the poor creature, will you
not?" And little Tuk ran quickly and helped to bear the weight of the
pail. But when he came back into the room, it was quite dark. Nothing
was said about a candle, and it was of no use to wish for one; he must
go to his little trundle-bed, which was made of an old settle. There he lay, still thinking of the geography lesson, of Seeland, and of
all that the master had said. He could not read the book again, as he
should by rights have done, for want of a light. So he put the
geography-book under his pillow. Somebody had once told him that would
help him wonderfully to remember his lesson, but he had never yet found
that one could depend upon it. There he lay and thought and thought, till all at once he felt as though
some one were gently sealing his mouth and eyes with a kiss. He slept
and yet did not sleep, for he seemed to see the old washerwoman's mild,
kind eyes fixed upon him, and to hear her say: "It would be a shame,
indeed, for you not to know your lesson to-morrow, little Tuk. You
helped me; now I will help you, and our Lord will help us both." All at once the leaves of the book began to rustle under little Tuk's
head, and he heard something crawling about under his pillow.