The Little Match Girl, Page 4
A classic tale by Hans Christian Anderson
She again rubbed a match
on the wall, and the light shone round her; in the brightness stood
her old grandmother, clear and shining, yet mild and loving in her appearance.
“Grandmother,” cried the little one, “O take me with
you; I know you will go away when the match burns out; you will vanish
like the warm stove, the roast goose, and the large, glorious Christmas-tree.”
And she made haste to light the whole bundle of matches, for she wished
to keep her grandmother there. And the matches glowed with a light that
was brighter than the noon day, and her grandmother had never appeared
so large or so beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms, and
they both flew upwards in brightness and joy far above the earth, where
there was neither cold nor hunger nor pain, for they were with God.
In the dawn of morning there lay the
poor little girl, with pale cheeks and smiling mouth, leaning against
the wall: she had been frozen to death on the last evening of the year.
The New Year’s sun rose and shone upon a little corpse! The child
still sat, in the stiffness of death, holding the matches in her hand,
one bundle of which was burnt. “She tried to warm herself,”
said some. No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen, nor into
what glory she had entered with her grandmother, on New Year’s
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