But we have seen one side of the picture only.  We have been looking in the sunlight; let us peer into the shadows.  There was a reverse side.  A girl of about thirteen years of age was standing at the corner of Hastings and Granville offering matches for sale to the stony world.  She was bareheaded, thinly clad, shivering.  Her clothing was tattered and torn.  Her shoes were several sizes too large, and were some person’s cast-off ones.  It was Christmas, and no one was seeking for matches.  They were all in search of gold and silverware, furs and fancies, to give away to people who did not require them.

“Matches, sir?” The solicitous question was addressed to a medium-sized, moderately dressed man who was gliding around the corner and whistling some impromptu Christmas carol; and she touched the hem of his garment.  This unit of the big world paused, took the matches, and began to explore his hemisphere for five cents.  In the meantime he surveyed the little girl from head to foot, and then he glanced at the big world rushing by in two great streams.

“Give me them all!” he said with an impulse that surprised him, and he handed her one dollar.  “Now, go home and dry yourself and go to bed,” he continued.  He did not stop to consider that she might not have a home and a bed, but continued on his way with his superfluity of matches.  His home was bright, and warm, and cheery when he arrived there, and his wife welcomed him.  “I have brought you a Christmas present,” he said, and he handed her the matches.  When she opened the package he found it necessary to explain.

II.

CHRISTMAS

It was Christmas, and the snow was still falling in large, soft flakes.  It was about ten inches deep out on the hills, among the trees out along Capilano and Lynn Creeks, but it had been churned into slush on the streets and pavements of Vancouver.  The church bells were ringing, and our gaily clad and happy acquaintances of the evening before were again thronging the streets; but to-day they were on their way to church to praise the One whose birthday they were observing.  Our friend of the large heart was also there, and so was his wife—­two tiny drops in that great bucketful of humanity.  The match vendor was also there—­another very tiny drop in that great bucketful.  “What!  Selling matches on Christmas day?” remarked a passer-by.  “You should be taken in charge by the Inquisition.”

“Matches, sir?” said the tiny voice, and she again touched the hem of our hero’s garment.  The big-hearted man looked at his tender-hearted wife, and the tender-hearted wife looked at her big-hearted man.  “Yes, give me them all,” he said again, and he handed her another dollar.  He was evidently trying to buy up all the available matches so that he could have a corner on the commodity.  “Here,” he continued, “take this dollar also.  Buy yourself something good for Christmas, and go home and enjoy yourself.”