Deep in the forest there stood such a pretty little fir tree.It grew in a nice spot；the sun could reach it，there was fresh air in abundance，and all around it were many taller comrades，firs as well as pines.But the little fir tree was in a great hurry to grow up.It paid no attention to the warm sunshine or the fresh air，and it took no notice of the farmers'children who went about chattering，and picking strawberries or raspberries.Often they would sit down by the little tree，with whole jugfuls of raspberries，or holding strawberries threaded on long straws，and exclaim，“Isn't that baby tree the sweetest thing you ever saw！”But the fir tree did not like to hear that at all.
The next year it had added a long section to its growth，and the following year one still longer.You can tell a fir tree's age by the number of new sections it has.
“Oh，I wish I were as tall as the others！”sighed the little tree.“Then I could spread my branches far and wide，and from my top see what the world looks like.The birds would build their nests in my branches，and when the wind was blowing，I should be able to nod with as much dignity as the others.”
It found no pleasure in the sunshine，nor in the birds，nor in the rosy clouds that went sailing over it morning and evening.
In winter，when the ground was covered with glistening white snow，a hare would often come hopping along，and jump right over it.How annoying that was！But two winters passed by，and in the third it was so tall that the hare was obliged to run round it.
“Oh，if I could but grow and grow，become tall and old！That's the only thing worth living for，”thought the tree.
In the autumn the woodcutters would come and fell a few of the tallest trees；this happened every year，and the young fir，which was now quite grown up，trembled with fear when it saw the splendid big trees fall to the ground with a crash.Their branches were lopped off so that they looked all naked and thin；one could hardly recognize them.They were loaded on to timber-wagons，and horses dragged them away out of the forest.
Where were they going？What would happen to them？
In the spring，when the swallows and the stork arrived，the tree asked them，“Do you know where the other trees were taken？Did you meet them？”
The swallows knew nothing about it，but the stork looked thoughtful，nodded his head，and said，“Yes，I think I did meet them.Coming away from Egypt，I saw many new ships with splendid new masts.I daresay those were the trees you mean；they had a smell of fir about them.They wanted to be remembered to you；they looked grand，very grand.”
“If only I too were big enough to fly over the sea！Tell me，what is this sea really，and what does it look like？”
“That would take too long to explain，”said the stork，and he walked away.
“Enjoy your youth！Rejoice in your healthy growth，and in the young life that is within you！”said the sunbeams.
And the wind kissed the tree，and the dew wept tears over it，but the fir tree did not understand.
With the coming of Christmas，quite a number of very young firs were chopped down，some of them neither so tall nor so old as our tree，which was still restless and impatient to get away.These young firs，just the most beautiful ones，were not stripped of their branches—they were loaded on to timber-wagons and horses dragged them away out of the forest.
“Where are they going？”asked the fir tree.“They are no taller than I am，in fact one of them was much smaller—why were they allowed to keep all their branches？Where are they going？”
“We know！We know！”chirped the sparrows.“We've peeped in at the windows down in the town.We know where they're going to.The greatest pomp and splendor imaginable awaits them there！We've peeped in at the windows，and we've seen them planted in the middle of a nice warm room，and decorated with the most beautiful things—gilded apples，gingerbread，toys，and many hundreds of bright candles！”
“And then？”asked the fir tree，quivering through all its branches.“And then？What happens then？”
“We haven't seen anything more than that，but it was too wonderful for words！”
“Was I born for such a glorious destiny，I wonder？”exclaimed the tree，trembling with delight.“That is even better than crossing the sea.I'm sick with longing.If it were only Christmas now！I'm as tall and well-grown as those trees which were taken away last year.Oh，if I were only loaded on to the wagon！Oh，that I were in that warm room in the midst of so much pomp and splendor！And then—？Then something still better，still more beautiful will happen，or why should they take such trouble to decorate me？Something still greater，still more splendid is bound to happen—but what？Oh，how I ache，how I yearn！I don't know myself what is wrong with me.”
“Rejoice in me，”said both the air and the sunshine.“Rejoice in your fresh youth out here in the open！”
But it did hot rejoice at all.It grew and grew；winter and summer it stood there，ever green，dark green.The people who looked at it said，“What a beautiful tree！”And the following Christmas it was the first to be felled.The ax struck deep into its marrow，and with a profound sigh the tree fell to the ground.It suffered pain，it felt faint，and could not think of any happiness，for it was sad at parting from its home，from the place where it had grown up；it knew that it would never again see its dear old friends，the little bushes and flowers round about—perhaps not even the birds.It was anything but pleasant to say good-by.
The tree did not recover until it found itself unloaded in a yard with other firs and heard a man say，“This one's a beauty.This is the one we want.”
Then two servants in smart livery arrived，and carried the fir tree into a beautiful great reception room.All round the walls hung portraits，and beside the tiled stove stood big Chinese jars with lions on their covers.There were rocking chairs，silk-covered sofas，large tables littered with picture books，and toys worth loads and loads of money—at least so the children said.