The Little Match-Filly
It was bitterly cold. The snow was falling; it was growing dark, and it was the evening of Hearth's Warming.
In the cold and darkness a poor little bareheaded and unclothed filly went along the street. When she left home she had a cape on; but little good had it done her. It was a very large old cape, which her mother, since dead, had worn; so large it was that the little filly had lost it as she was hurrying across the street to get out of the way of two cart-pulling stallions who galloped rapidly by.
She looked around and first it was nowhere to be found; then a wicked colt ran off with it. So the little filly went on, with bare body, while the snow fell thicker and faster. She carried a quantity of matches in a tray, and she held a bundle of them in her hoof.
High above her little head she had raised the bundle, time after time, and cried out that she had matches to sell! “Dear Sirs and Madams, it is a cold day, certainly you need matches to ignite a warming fire with, and the price is low!” she had yelled her weak puffs on all the streets and over the marketplace. But no heed did they pay to the filly and her matches.
One stallion; his bulging round stomach and the blonde mane, groomed to the finest, testifying great riches he possessed, even shoved the little seller out of the way as she offered the goods. Oh! what cruelty he had shown as he went his way and left her sitting on the snow; whimpering and rubbing her head that had thudded against a wall! Nobody had bought anything of her during that long day; nopony had given her a single copper bit.
Hungry, and shivering with the cold, the poor little thing crept along. The large flakes of snow covered her long fair mane, which fell in strains around her thin pale face; but little was she thinking of her appearance now. In a corner between two houses she at length sought what shelter she could from the storm; and, nestling down close to the wall, she pulled up, as well as she could with her tray full of matches, her poor little legs, which were red and blue with the cold. Trembling, she wrapped her front hooves around her legs in an attempt to warm them; while the tears ran down her reddened cheeks.
But she grew colder and colder; and she feared to go home, for, as she had sold no matches, and could carry home no bits to buy bread with, her father would beat her. Besides, it was cold at home; for she lived with her father up under the roof, where the wind and the snow came in, though the largest cracks had been stopped up with straw and rags.
Poor little thing! her hooves were already numb with cold. And she thought, oh, how much good one match would do her, if she might take one from the bundle, ignite it with her horn, and warm her hooves by the flame! She drew one out—“Whoosh!” how it sputtered! how it burned! It burned with a warm bright flame, like a candle; and she bent her hoof around it; it was a wonderful light!
It seemed to the little filly as if she were sitting before a large iron stove, in which the fire burned brightly, warming all around. She stretched forth her back hooves to warm them too; but the flame went out, the stove disappeared, and there she sat with a little piece of the burned-out match in her hoof.
Another match was lighted. It burned brightly, and the wall, where the light fell upon it, seemed to become like glass, so that she could see into the room beyond. And there was a table, on which was spread a snow-white cloth; and there were plates made of porcelain; and at one end of the table a double-baked pot pie was smoking. Oh! how delicious the fragrance!
But what was still more delightful, the pot pie grew tiny wings, and, flapping them steady, flew towards the little filly, when—the match went out, and nothing but the thick, cold wall and the drifting snow where to be seen.
She lighted another match; and, when it blazed forth, all at once she seemed to be sitting under the most splendid Hearth's Warming-tree. It was larger and more beautifully decorated than the one she had seen the Hearth's Warming before, through the window, in the rich merchant's house.
Thousands of little tapers were burning among the green branches, and beautiful pictures, such as she had seen in the shop-windows, looked down upon her. The little maiden stretched forth her front hooves toward them, when—the match went out. But the lights of the Hearth's Warming-tree rose higher and higher, until they seemed to be like stars: then one fell—down—down—leaving for a moment a long trail of light in the sky.
“Somepony is dying now,” said the little filly; for her old grandmother, who alone had loved her, but who was now no more, had told her that when a star falls a soul takes its flight into the afterlife.
She ignited another match with her horn, and in the light which it threw around her old grandmother seemed to stand before her; and oh! how bright! how mild was her countenance! and what an expression of love was there!
“Grandmother,” cried the little one, “oh, take me with you! I am afraid you will go away as soon as the match goes out, just like the warm stove, the delicious double-baked pot pie, and the Hearth's Warming-tree!” Then hastily she lighted the rest of the matches, for she wished to keep her grandmother with her as long as possible, and stuck them into the snow all around her.
And the matches burned so brightly that it was lighter than day. Never before had her grandmother appeared so beautiful and so tall. She took the little filly in her hooves; and, in brightness and joy, they flew high—high up into the sky, where they felt neither cold, nor hunger, nor fear,—for they became one with the stars!
But in the corner between the two houses, at the cold hour of dawn, sat the little match-filly, with rosy cheeks, and with a smiling mouth, leaning against the wall, half covered with snow, and frozen to death on that Hearth's Warming night. Of her matches, one bundle had been burned.
“She has been trying to warm herself,” ponies said. To her left, just far enough that the little match-filly had not noticed it during the night, a door opened. Out came the cruel blonde stallion and his eyes fell upon the meager cold body. “Why is she sitting behind your house?” the gathered ponies asked. “I do not know, never have I seen this filly before! She is just a poor foal from the streets,” the stallion answered with a straight face. But nopony knew what beautiful things she had seen, nor with what splendor she had entered, with her grandmother, into the joys of Hearth's Warming Morning.