In a corner formed by two houses, one of which projected beyond the other. She sat down, drawing her little feet close under her, but in vain, she could not warm them. She dared not go home, she had sold no matches, earned not a single penny, and perhaps her father would beat her， besides her home was almost as cold as the street， it was an attic；and although the larger of the many chinks in the roof were stopped up with straw and rags. The wind and snow often penetrated through. Her hands were nearly dead with cold；one little match from her bundle would warm them. Perhaps, if she dared light it, she drew one out, and struck it against the wall, bravo！ It was a bright, warm flame, and she held her hands over it. It was quite an illumination for that poor little girl；nay,1 call it rather a magic taper, for it seemed to her as though she was sitting before a large iron-stove with brass ornaments, so beautifully blazed the fire within！ The child stretched out her feet to warm them also；alas, in an instant the flame had died away, the stove vanished, the little girl sat cold and comfortless, with the burnt match in her hand.
A second match was struck against the wall；it kindles and blazed, and wherever its light fell the wall became transparent as a veil. The little girl could see into the room within. She saw the table spread with a snow-white damask cloth, whereon were ranged shining china-dishes；the roast goose stuffed with apples and dried plums stood at one end, smoking hot, and which was pleasantest of all to see；the goose, with knife and fork still in her breast, jumped down from the dish, and waddled along the floor right up to the poor child. The match was burnt out, and only the thick, hard wall was beside her.
She kindled a third match. Again shot up the flame； and now she was sitting under a most beautiful Christmas tree ,far larger, and far more prettily decked out, than the one she had seen last Christmas eve through the glass doors of the rich merchant's house. Hundreds of wax-tapers lighted up the green branches, and tiny painted figures, such as she had seen in the shop-windows, looked down from the tree upon her. The child stretched out her hands towards them in delight, and in that moment the lights of the match warm quenched； still, however, the Christmas candles burned higher and higher， she beheld them beaming like stars in heaven； one of them fell, the lights streaming behind it like a long, fiery tail.
“Now some one is dying,” said the little girl, softly, for she had been told by her old grandmother， the only person who had ever been kind to her, and who was now dead that whenever a star falls an immortal spirit returns to the God who gave it.
She struck yet another match against the wall； it flamed up, and surrounded by its light, appeared before her that same dear grandmother, gentle and loving as always, but bright and happy as she had never looked during her lifetime.
