out in the woods stood such a pretty little fir tree. it grew in a good place, where it had plenty of sun and plenty of fresh air. around it stood many tall comrades, both fir trees and pines.
the little fir tree was in a headlong hurry to grow up. it didn't care a thing for the warm sunshine, or the fresh air, and it took no interest in the peasant children who ran about chattering when they came to pick strawberries or raspberries. often when the children had picked their pails full, or had gathered long strings of berries threaded on straws, they would sit down to rest near the little fir. "oh, isn't it a nice little tree?" they would say. "it's the baby of the woods." the little tree didn't like their remarks at all.
next year it shot up a long joint of new growth, and the following year another joint, still longer. you can always tell how old a fir tree is by counting the number of joints it has.
"i wish i were a grown-up tree, like my comrades," the little tree sighed. "then i could stretch out my branches and see from my top what the world is like. the birds would make me their nesting place, and when the wind blew i could bow back and forth with all the great trees."
it took no pleasure in the sunshine, nor in the birds. the glowing clouds, that sailed overhead at sunrise and sunset, meant nothing to it.
in winter, when the snow lay sparkling on the ground, a hare would often come hopping along and jump right over the little tree. oh, how irritating that was! that happened for two winters, but when the third winter came the tree was so tall that the hare had to turn aside and hop around it.
本文地址： 
文档为doc格式
