It was dreadfully cold, it was snowing fast, and almost dark； the evening----the last evening of the old year was drawing in. But, cold and dark as it was, a poor little girl, with bare head and feet, was still wandering about the streets. When she left her home she had slippers on, but they were much too large for her；
indeed, properly, they belonged to her mother, and had dropped off her feet whilst1 she was running very fast across the road, to get out of the way of two carriages. One of the slippers was not to be found, the other had been snatched up by a little boy, who ran off with it thinking it might serve him as a doll's cradle.
So the little girl now walked on, her bare feet quite red and blue with the cold. She carried a small bundle of matches in her hand, and a good many more in her tattered apron. No one had bought any of them the live long day； no one had given her a single penny. Trembling with cold and hunger crept she on, the picture of sorrow: poor little child!
The snow-flakes fell on her long, fair hair, which curled in such pretty ringlets over her shoulders； but she thought not of her own beauty, or of the cold. Lights were glimmering through every window, and the savoir of roast goose reached her from several houses； it was New Year's eve, and it was of this that she thought.
