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Her little hands were almost numbed with cold. Oh! a match might afford her a world of comfort, if she only dared take a single one out of the bundle, draw it against the wall, and warm her ﬁngers by it. She drew one out. “Rischt!” how it blazed, how it burnt! It was a warm, bright ﬂame, like a candle, as she held her hands over it: it was a wonderful light. It seemed really to the little maiden as though she were sitting before a large iron stove, with burnished brass feet and a brass ornament at top. The ﬁre burned with such blessed inﬂuence; it warmed so delightfully. The little girl had already stretched out her feet to warm them too; but—the small ﬂame went out, the stove vanished: she had only the remains of the burnt-out match in her hand.
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