To grow and grow, to get older and be tall, thought the tree, that after all is the most delightful thing in the world. In autumn the woodcutters always came and felled some of the largest trees. This happened every year, and the young fir tree that had now grown to a very comely size trembled at the sight. For the magnificent great trees fell to the earth with noise and cracking. The branches were lopped off, and the trees looked long and bare. They were hardly to be recognized, and then they were laid in carts, and the horses dragged them out of the wood. Have you not met them anywhere? Rejoice in thy growth, said the sunbeams. And then what happens then? I would fain know if I am destined for so glorious a career, cried the tree, rejoicing. I am now tall, and my branches spread like the others that were carried off last year. Oh, were I but already on the cart, were I in the warm room with all the splendor and magnificence! Yes, and something better, something still grander, will surely follow. Or wherefore should they thus ornament me? Something better, something still grander, must follow. But what rejoice in our presence, said the air and the sunlight? Rejoice in thy own fresh youth. But the tree did not rejoice at all. He grew and grew and was green both winter and summer.