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Good evening, children.

It's Granny Mcduff, ready with a story.

So make yourselves comfy, and I'll begin.

Once upon a time there lived a pretty little fir tree in a vast forest.

It grew in a lovely spot where it had plenty of sunlight and fresh air.

And it was surrounded by many very tall trees, furs and pines alike. The little fir tree was in a rush to grow up.

He wanted to be big, just like those who live next to him. He didn't care about the sunshine,

the fresh air, or the little children who ran about the forest chattering and picking strawberries

and raspberries. They would often sit near the fir tree and remark,

Oh, isn't this a lovely little fir tree? It surely is the baby of the woods.

The little fir did not care for these comments in the slightest.

Huh, how these children bother me. They won't call me a baby once I'm triple their size.

Of that, I am certain. The following year,

the fir tree shot up a whole joint, and another the year after that, and another after that.

You can always tell how old a fir tree is by how many joints it has. I wish I were a grown-up tree like the others in this forest.

Then I could stretch out my branches and see from my top what the world looks like.

The birds would make me their nesting place, and I could sway with the wind just like the others do.

...