She lighted another match. And now she was under a most beautiful
Christmas tree, larger and far more prettily trimmed than the one she
had seen through the glass doors at the rich merchant's. Hundreds of
wax tapers were burning on the green branches, and gay figures, such
as she had seen in the shop windows, looked down upon her. The child
stretched out her hands to them; then the match went out.
Still the lights of the Christmas tree rose higher and higher. She saw
them as stars in heaven, and one of them fell, forming a long trail of
fire.
"Now some one is dying," murmured the child softly; for her
grandmother, the only person who had loved her and who was now dead,
had told her that whenever a star falls a soul mounts up to God.
She struck yet another match against the wall, and again it was light;
and in the brightness there appeared before her the dear old
grandmother, bright and radiant, yet sweet and mild, and happy as she
had never looked on earth.
"Oh, grandmother," cried the child, "take me with you. I know you will
go away when the match burns out. You, too, will vanish, like the warm
stove, the splendid New Year's feast, the beautiful Christmas Tree."
And lest her grandmother should disappear, she rubbed the whole bundle
of matches against the wall.
And the matches burned with such a brilliant light that it became
brighter than noonday.
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