So the little girl now walked on, her bare feet quite red and blue with the cold. She carried a small bundle of matches in her hand, and a good many more in her tattered dress. No one had bought any of them the live long day; no one had given her a single penny. Trembling with cold and hunger crept she on, the picture of sorrow: poor little child! The snow-flakes fell on her long, fair hair, which curled in such pretty ringlets over her shoulders; but she thought not of her own beauty, or of the cold. Lights were glimmering through every window, and the savor of roast goose reached her from several houses;it was New Year's eve, and it was of this that she thought. 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; no, I call it rather a magic taper, _ , 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 disappeared, the little girl sat cold and comfortless, with the burnt match in her hand. Which below is not the reason why the little girl dared not go home?
She earned not a single penny. Her father would beat her. Her home was almost as cold as the street. She didn't finished selling her matches.