The little match girl was out in the snowstorm. Her feet were like ice cubes and her fingertips had frostbite. She hadn’t sold any matches since daybreak, and she had a stomachache from the hunger pangs, but her stepmother would beat her with a broomstick if she came home with an empty coin purse. Looking into the bright living rooms, she saw Christmas trees and warm fireplaces. Out on the snowbank, she lit a match and saw the image of a grand dinner table of food before her. As the matchstick burned, the illusion slowly faded. She lit another one and saw a room full of family members. On the last match, her grandmother came down and carried her home. In the morning, the passersby saw the little match girl. She had frozen during the nighttime, but she had a smile on her face.