He kept wondering, while they took him
in through some big doors, and set him up
in another tub, on the table, in a bare little
room. Pretty soon they went away, and
came back again with a big basket, carried
between them. Then some pretty ladies,
with white caps on their heads and white
aprons over their blue dresses, came bringing
little parcels. The children took things
out of the basket and began to play with
the Little Fir Tree, just as he had often
begged the wind and the snow and the
birds to do. He felt their soft little touches
on his head and his twigs and his branches.
And when he looked down at himself, as
far as he could look, he saw that he was
all hung with gold and silver chains! There
were strings of white fluffy stuff drooping
around him; his twigs held little gold nuts
and pink, rosy balls and silver stars; he
had pretty little pink and white candles in
his arms; but last, and most wonderful of
all, the children hung a beautiful white,
floating doll-angel over his head! The
Little Fir Tree could not breathe, for joy
and wonder. What was it that he was,
now? Why was this glory for him?
After a time every one went away and
left him. It grew dusk, and the Little Fir
Tree began to hear strange sounds through
the closed doors. Sometimes he heard a
child crying.
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