Thelittlematch-seller》

　　ITwasterriblycoldandnearlydarkonthelasteveningoftheoldyear,andthesnowwasfallingfast.Inthecoldandthedarkness,apoorlittlegirl,withbareheadandnakedfeet,roamedthroughthestreets.Itistrueshehadonapairofslipperswhenshelefthome,buttheywerenotofmuchuse.Theywereverylarge,solarge,indeed,thattheyhadbelongedtohermother,andthepoorlittlecreaturehadlosttheminrunningacrossthestreettoavoidtwocarriagesthatwererollingalongataterriblerate.Oneoftheslippersshecouldnotfind,andaboyseizedupontheotherandranawaywithit,sayingthathecoulduseitasacradle,whenhehadchildrenofhisown.Sothelittlegirlwentonwithherlittlenakedfeet,whichwerequiteredandbluewiththecold.Inanoldapronshecarriedanumberofmatches,andhadabundleoftheminherhands.Noonehadboughtanythingofherthewholeday,norhadanyonegivenhereevenapenny.Shiveringwithcoldandhunger,shecreptalong;poorlittlechild,shelookedthepictureofmisery.Thesnowflakesfellonherlong,fairhair,whichhungincurlsonhershoulders,butsheregardedthemnot.