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 only know 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 store-room 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 stayed
away also; and then the Tree sighed and said:

"It was very nice when they sat round 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 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 now 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 round. The courtyard
was close to a garden, and here 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!" said 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 upon the branches till they cracked again under his boots.

And the Tree looked at all the blooming flowers and the splendor of 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