she kindled a third match. again shot up the flame; and now she was sitting under a most beautiful christmas tree ,far larger, and far more prettily decked out, than the one she had seen last christmas eve through the glass doors of the rich merchant's house. hundreds of wax-tapers lighted up the green branches, and tiny painted figures, such as she had seen in the shop-windows, looked down from the tree upon her. the child stretched out her hands towards them in delight, and in that moment the lights of the match warm quenched; still, however, the christmas candles burned higher and higher， she beheld them beaming like stars in heaven; one of them fell, the lights streaming behind it like a long, fiery tail.
“now some one is dying,” said the little girl, softly, for she had been told by her old grandmother， the only person who had ever been kind to her, and who was now dead that whenever a star falls an immortal spirit returns to the god who gave it.
she struck yet another match against the wall; it flamed up, and surrounded by its light, appeared before her that same dear grandmother, gentle and loving as always, but bright and happy as she had never looked during her lifetime.
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