ise
gardens, in the unknown land. But how they will flourish there, and how
it is there, I may not tell you."

"Give me back my child," said the mother; and she implored and wept. All
at once she grasped two pretty flowers with her two hands, and called to
Death, "I'll tear off all your flowers, for I am in despair."

"Do not touch them," said Death. "You say you are so unhappy, and now
you would make another mother just as unhappy!"

"Another mother?" said the poor woman; and she let the flowers go.

"There are your eyes for you," said Death. "I have fished them up out of
the Lake; they gleamed up quite brightly. I did not know that they were
yours. Take them back--they are clearer now than before--and then look
down into the deep well close by. I will tell you the names of the two
flowers you wanted to pull up, and you will see what you were about to
frustrate and destroy."

And she looked down into the well, and it was a happiness to see how one
of them became a blessing to the world, how much joy and gladness she
diffused around her. And the woman looked at the life of the other, and
it was made up of care and poverty, misery and woe.

"Both are the will of God," said Death.

"Which of them is the flower of misfortune, and which the blessed one?"
she asked.

"That I may not tell you," answered Death; "but this much you shall
hear, that one of these two flowers is that of your child. It was the
fate of your child that you saw--the future of your own child."

Then the mother screamed aloud for terror.

"Which of them belongs to my child? Tell me that. Release the innocent
child! Let my child free from all that misery! Rather carry it away!
Carry it into God's kingdom! Forget my tears, forget my entreaties, and
all that I have done!"

"I do not understand you," said Death. "Will you have your child back,
or shall I carry it to that place that you know not?"

Then the mother wrung her hands, and fell on her knees, and prayed to
the good God.

"Hear me not when I pray against Thy will, which is at all times the
best! Hear me not! hear me not!" And she let her head sink down on her
bosom.

And Death went away with her child into the unknown land.

THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL

By HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

It was terribly cold; it snowed and was already almost dark, and evening
came on, the last evening of the year. In the cold and gloom a poor
little girl, bareheaded and barefoot, was walking through