As it shone so brightly the Darning-needle spoke to
it, introducing herself as a breastpin. "You are a diamond, I suppose," she said. "Why, yes, something of the sort." So each believed the other to be some rare and costly trinket; and they
began to converse together upon the world, saying how very conceited it
was. "Yes," said the Darning-needle, "I have lived in a young lady's box; and
the young lady happened to be a cook. She had five fingers upon each of
her hands, and anything more conceited and arrogant than those five
fingers, I never saw. And yet they were only there that they might take
me out of the box or put me back again." "Were they of high descent?" asked the Bit of Bottle. "Did they shine?" "No, indeed," replied the Darning-needle; "but they were none the less
haughty. There were five brothers of them--all of the Finger family. And
they held themselves so proudly side by side, though they were of quite
different heights. The outermost, Thumbling he was called, was short and
thick set; he generally stood out of the rank, a little in front of the
others; he had only one joint in his back, and could only bow once; but
he used to say that if he were cut off from a man, that man would be cut
off from military service. Foreman, the second, put himself forward on
all occasions, meddled with sweet and sour, pointed to sun and moon, and
when the fingers wrote, it was he who pressed the pen. Middleman, the
third of the brothers, could look over the others' heads, and gave
himself airs for that. Ringman, the fourth, went about with a gold belt
about his waist; and little Playman, whom they called Peter Spielman,
did nothing at all and was proud of that, I suppose. There was nothing
to be heard but boasting, and that is why I took myself away." "And now we sit here together and shine," said the Bit of Bottle. At that very moment some water came rushing along the gutter, so that it
overflowed and carried the glass diamond along with it. "So he is off," said the Darning-needle, "and I still remain. I am left
here because I am too slender and genteel. But that's my pride, and
pride is honorable." And proudly she sat, thinking many thoughts. "I could almost believe I had been born of a sunbeam, I'm so fine. It
seems as if the sunbeams were always trying to seek me under the water. Alas, I'm so delicate that even my own mother cannot find me. If I had
my old eye still, which broke off, I think I should cry--but no, I would
not; it's not genteel to weep." One day a couple of street boys were paddling about in the gutter,
hunting for old nails, pennies, and such like. It was dirty work, but
they seemed to find great pleasure in it. "Hullo!" cried one of them, as he pricked himself with the
Darning-needle; "here's a fellow for you!" "I'm not a fellow! I'm a young lady!" said the Darning-needle, but no
one heard it. The sealing wax had worn off, and she had become quite black; "but black
makes one look slender, and is always becoming." She thought herself
finer even than before. "There goes an eggshell sailing along," said the boys; and they stuck
the Darning-needle into the shell. "A lady in black, and within white walls!" said the Darning-needle;
"that is very striking. Now every one can see me. I hope I shall not be
seasick, for then I shall break." But the fear was needless; she was not seasick, neither did she break. "Nothing is so good to prevent seasickness as to have a steel stomach
and to bear in mind that one is something a little more than an ordinary
person. My seasickness is all over now. The more genteel and honorable
one is, the more one can endure." Crash went the eggshell, as a wagon rolled over both of them. It was a
wonder that she did not break. "Mercy, what a crushing weight!" said the Darning-needle. "I'm growing
seasick, after all. I'm going to break!" But she was not sick, and she did not break, though the wagon wheels
rolled over her. She lay at full length in the road, and there let her
lie. [Illustration]




THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL


IT was dreadfully cold; it was snowing fast, and was almost dark, as
evening came on--the last evening of the year. In the cold and the
darkness, there went along the street a poor little girl, bareheaded and
with naked feet. When she left home she had slippers on, it is true; but
they were much too large for her feet--slippers that her mother had used
till then, and the poor little girl lost them in running across the
street when two carriages were passing terribly fast. When she looked
for them, one was not to be found, and a boy seized the other and ran
away with it, saying he would use it for a cradle some day, when he had
children of his own. So on the little girl went with her bare feet, that were red and blue
with cold. In an old apron that she wore were bundles of matches, and
she carried a bundle also in her hand. No one had bought so much as a
bunch all the long day, and no one had given her even a penny. Poor little girl! Shivering with cold and hunger she crept along, a
perfect picture of misery. The snowflakes fell on her long flaxen hair, which hung in pretty curls
about her throat; but she thought not of her beauty nor of the cold. Lights gleamed in every window, and there came to her the savory smell
of roast goose, for it was New Year's Eve. And it was this of which she
thought. In a corner formed by two houses, one of which projected beyond the
other, she sat cowering down. She had drawn under her her little feet,
but still she grew colder and colder; yet she dared not go home, for she
had sold no matches and could not bring a penny of money. Her father
would certainly beat her; and, besides, it was cold enough at home, for
they had only the house-roof above them, and though the largest holes
had been stopped with straw and rags, there were left many through which
the cold wind could whistle. [Illustration: Where the light fell upon the wall it became
transparent.] And now her little hands were nearly frozen with cold. Alas! a single
match might do her good if she might only draw it from the bundle, rub
it against the wall, and warm her fingers by it. So at last she drew one
out. Whisht! How it blazed and burned! It gave out a warm, bright flame
like a little candle, as she held her hands over it. A wonderful little
light it was. It really seemed to the little girl as if she sat before a
great iron stove with polished brass feet and brass shovel and tongs. So
blessedly it burned that the little maiden stretched out her feet to
warm them also. How comfortable she was! But lo! the flame went out, the
stove vanished, and nothing remained but the little burned match in her
hand. She rubbed another match against the wall. It burned brightly, and where
the light fell upon the wall it became transparent like a veil, so that
she could see through it into the room.