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.