And she looked down into the well, and it was a happiness to see how one of them became a blessing to the world, how much joy and gladness she diffused around her.  And the woman looked at the life of the other, and it was made up of care and poverty, misery and woe.

“Both are the will of God,” said Death.

“Which of them is the flower of misfortune, and which the blessed one?” she asked.

“That I may not tell you,” answered Death; “but this much you shall hear, that one of these two flowers is that of your child.  It was the fate of your child that you saw—­the future of your own child.”

Then the mother screamed aloud for terror.

“Which of them belongs to my child?  Tell me that.  Release the innocent child!  Let my child free from all that misery!  Rather carry it away!  Carry it into God’s kingdom!  Forget my tears, forget my entreaties, and all that I have done!”

“I do not understand you,” said Death.  “Will you have your child back, or shall I carry it to that place that you know not?”

Then the mother wrung her hands, and fell on her knees, and prayed to the good God.

“Hear me not when I pray against Thy will, which is at all times the best!  Hear me not! hear me not!” And she let her head sink down on her bosom.

And Death went away with her child into the unknown land.

THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL

By HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

It was terribly cold; it snowed and was already almost dark, and evening came on, the last evening of the year.  In the cold and gloom a poor little girl, bareheaded and barefoot, was walking through the streets.  When she left her own house she certainly had had slippers on; but of what use were they?  They were very big slippers, and her mother had used them till then, so big were they.  The little maid lost them as she slipped across the road, where two carriages were rattling by terribly fast.  One slipper was not to be found again, and a boy had seized the other, and run away with it.  He thought he could use it very well as a cradle, some day when he had children of his own.  So now the little girl went with her little naked feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold.  In an old apron she carried a number of matches, and a bundle of them in her hand.  No one had bought anything of her all day, and no one had given her a farthing.

Shivering with cold and hunger she crept along, a picture of misery, poor little girl!  The snowflakes covered her long fair hair, which fell in pretty curls over her neck; but she did not think of that now.  In all the windows lights were shining, and there was a glorious smell of roast goose, for it was New Year’s Eve.  Yes, she thought of that!

In a corner formed by two houses, one of which projected beyond the other, she sat down, cowering.  She had drawn up her little feet, but she was still colder, and she did not dare to go home, for she had sold no matches, and did not bring a farthing of money.  From her father she would certainly receive a beating, and besides, it was cold at home, for they had nothing over them but a roof through which the wind whistled, though the largest rents had been stopped with straw and rags.