butlet'sseeifyouhavestillgotyourflower."

andtheoldmanopenedhisprayer-book;theelder-blossomwasstillinit,andasfreshasifithadonlyjustbeenputin.remembrancenodded,andthetwooldpeople,withthegoldencrownsontheirheads,satintheglowingeveningsun.theyclosedtheireyesand-and-

well,nowthestoryisended!thelittleboyinbeddidnotknowwhetherhehaddreamtitorheardittold;theteapotstoodonthetable,butnoelder-treewasgrowingoutofit,andtheoldmanwhohadtoldthestorywasonthepointofleavingtheroom,andhedidgoout.

"howbeautifulitwas!"saidthelittleboy."mother,ihavebeentowarmcountries!"

"ibelieveyou,"saidthemother;"ifonetakestwocupsofhotelder-teaitisquitenaturalthatonegetsintowarmcountries!"andshecoveredhimupwell,sothathemightnottakecold."youhavesleptsoundlywhileiwasarguingwiththeoldmanwhetheritwasastoryorafairytale!"

"andwhathasbecomeofthelittleelder-treemother?"askedtheboy.

"sheisintheteapot,"saidthemother;"andthereshemayremain."

theend.

1872

fairytalesofhanschristianandersen

thelittlematch-seller

byhanschristianandersen

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.

lightswereshiningfromeverywindow,andtherewasasavorysmellofroastgoose,foritwasnew-year'seve-yes,sherememberedthat.inacorner,betweentwohouses,oneofwhichprojectedbeyondtheother,shesankdownandhuddledherselftogether.shehaddrawnherlittlefeetunderher,butshecouldnotkeepoffthecold;andshedarednotgohome,forshehadsoldnomatches,andcouldnottakehomeevenapennyofmoney.herfatherwouldcertainlybeather;besides,itwasalmostascoldathomeashere,fortheyhadonlytherooftocoverthem,throughwhichthewindhowled,althoughthelargestholeshadbeenstoppedupwithstrawandrags.herlittlehandswerealmostfrozenwiththecold.ah!perhapsaburningmatchmightbesomegood,ifshecoulddrawitfromthebundleandstrikeitagainstthewall,justtowarmherfingers.shedrewoneout-"scratch!"howitsputteredasitburnt!itgaveawarm,brightlight,likealittlecandle,assheheldherhandoverit.itwasreallyawonderfullight.itseemedtothelittlegirlthatshewassittingbyalargeironstove,withpolishedbrassfeetandabrassornament.howthefireburned!