here 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 draw