onceuponatimealittlegirltriedtomakealivingbysellingmatchesinthe
streetitwasnewyearseveandthesnowedstreetsweredesertedfrombrightly
litwindowscamethetinkleoflaughterandthesoundofsingingpeoplewere
gettingreadytobringinthenewyearbutthepoorlittlematchsellersat
sadlybesidethefountainherraggeddressandwornshawldidnotkeepoutthe
coldandshetriedtokeepherbarefeetfromtouchingthefrozengroundshe
hadntsoldoneboxofmatchesalldayandshewasfrightenedtogohomefor
herfatherwouldcertainlybeangryitwouldntbemuchwarmeranywayinthe
draughtyatticthatwasherhomethelittlegirlsfingerswerestiffwithcold
ifonlyshecouldlightamatchbutwhatwouldherfathersayatsuchawaste
falteringlyshetookoutamatchandlititwhatanicewarmflamethelittle
matchsellercuppedherhandoveritandasshedidsoshemagicallysawinits
lightabigbrightlyburningstove