The Little Match Girl a personalised book with your child as the hero

It was bitterly cold. Snow was falling, and it was getting dark, for it was the last evening of the year, New Year's Eve. In the cold and the dark, a little girl was walking through the streets of the old town. She had nothing on her head, and her feet were bare, because the slippers she had been wearing that morning were far too big and had slipped off in the snow.

In her old apron she carried a bundle of matches, and she held another bundle in her hand. She had not sold a single match all day, and her fingers were so cold that she could hardly feel them.

"Matches!" she called, in a small voice. "Who will buy my matches?"

But the people hurrying past were wrapped up in their scarves and coats, and they were busy with their own evening. The snowflakes settled on her long fair hair, and nobody noticed the little match seller at all.

From every window the candles were shining, and there was a delicious smell of roast goose in the street, for it was New Year's Eve. The little girl found a narrow doorway between two tall old houses, where the wind could not reach her quite so badly, and she sat down there and tucked her feet up under her.

Her hands were nearly frozen. "If I lit just one match," she thought, "it might warm my fingers a little." So she took one out of the bundle and struck it against the wall. Scratch!

How it sparkled and blazed! It burned with a warm, bright flame, like a little candle, and as she held her hand around it, the little girl saw something wonderful. She seemed to be sitting in front of a big iron stove with shining brass feet, and the fire inside it glowed so warmly that she could feel it. She stretched out her feet to warm them too, and then the flame went out. The stove was gone, and she was sitting in the cold doorway with the burnt-out match in her hand.

She struck another match. It flared up, and where its light fell on the wall, the wall became as clear as glass, and she could see right into the room beyond. There was a table spread with a snow-white cloth and fine china, and on it was a whole feast, roast goose and apples and plums, with steam still rising from every dish. Then the match went out, and there was only the thick, cold wall.

She lit a third match. And now she was sitting under the most beautiful Christmas tree she had ever seen, taller than any house, and glittering with a hundred candles. She lifted her hands up towards it, and the match went out. But the candles of the Christmas tree went up and up, higher and higher, until she saw that they were the bright stars in the sky. One of them fell, leaving a long trail of light behind it.

"Somebody is thinking of me," said the little girl. Her grandmother, who had loved her more than anyone in the world, used to say that.

She struck the fourth match against the wall. And there in the glow stood her grandmother, so clear and so bright, with her gentle, smiling face, just as she used to be.

"Grandmother!" cried the little girl. "Oh, don't go away!"

Her grandmother smiled at her lovingly. "My brave little one," she said. "You mustn't sit out here alone in the cold. Do you remember what I always told you? When you need help, you must ask for it. There are kind people in the world. Go and find them."

Then the match went out. But the grandmother's smile stayed with the little girl, warm and bright, even in the dark.

She got up, stiff with cold, and walked along the street on her bare feet until she came to a window still glowing with light. It was the baker's shop. The little girl took a deep breath and knocked on the glass.

The baker came to the door at once. He was a big man with flour on his arms, and when he saw the little girl standing in the snow, he cried out, "Bless me, child, you're frozen! Come in, come in!" And he wrapped her in a blanket he brought from behind the counter, and sat her down by his own big oven.

Soon she was sitting with a warm loaf of bread in both hands, the snow melting from her hair, and the warmth creeping back into her fingers and toes, just like in her first vision, only this time it was real.

Word travels fast in an old town. The baker's wife ran next door, and the neighbours came one by one. One brought a pair of warm stockings, another brought a coat, and the old lady from across the street brought a pair of boots that had belonged to her own granddaughter. And the baker's wife made up a bed by the oven, so that the little girl had a safe, warm place to spend the night.

At midnight, all the bells of the town rang in the New Year, and the little girl fell asleep, warm and full and safe.

The next morning came clear and bright. The sun sparkled on the new snow, and the bakery smelt of fresh bread. The baker and his wife asked the little girl if she would like to stay and help them in the shop, and she said yes. And for the first time in a very long while, there was warmth and friendship, and a hopeful new year ahead.

Sometimes, on clear nights, she still looked up at the stars and thought of her grandmother. And she was quite sure that her grandmother was smiling.