TRUYỆN CỔ ANDERSEN - Trang 884

it lay in a corner amongst weeds and nettles. The star of gold paper still
stuck in the top of the tree and glittered in the sunshine. In the same
courtyard two of the merry children were playing who had danced round the
tree at Christmas, and had been so happy. The youngest saw the gilded star,
and ran and pulled it off the tree. “Look what is sticking to the ugly old fir-
tree,” said the child, treading on the branches till they crackled under his
boots. And the tree saw all the fresh bright flowers in 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 in the forest, of the merry Christmas evening,
and of the little mice who had listened to the story of “Humpty Dumpty.”
“Past! past!” said the old tree; “Oh, had I but enjoyed myself while I could
have done so! but now it is too late.” Then a lad came and chopped the tree
into small pieces, till a large bundle lay in a heap on the ground. The pieces
were placed in a fire under the copper, and they quickly blazed up brightly,
while the tree sighed so deeply that each sigh was like a pistol-shot. Then
the children, who were at play, came and seated themselves in front of the
fire, and looked at it and cried, “Pop, pop.” But at each “pop,” which was a
deep sigh, the tree was thinking of a summer day in the forest; and of
Christmas evening, and of “Humpty Dumpty,” the only story it had ever
heard or knew how to relate, till at last it was consumed. The boys still
played in the garden, and the youngest wore the golden star on his breast,
with which the tree had been adorned during the happiest evening of its
existence. Now all was past; the tree’s life was past, and the story also,-for
all stories must come to an end at last.