Our Winnie, and The Little Match GirlEverett-Green, Evelyn
General
Our Winnie, and The Little Match Girl
Everett-Green, Evelyn
Girls -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction
It was before the days of School Boards, and Allumette had no chance
of learning except at a ragged school which she frequented as often as
she could in the evenings. But if she had been unlucky with her matches
by day, she was always sent out again to dispose of her stock later
on, and then she was too late and too tired ever to think of learning
anything.
And yet the child was not altogether unhappy in her life. She made
interests for herself, and sometimes friends too. Had she not several
customers who showed her kindness in a fitful way? and was there not,
above all, “her gentleman,” as she called him, who was more to her than
all the rest put together? And was there not the old cobbler and his
wife at the end of the alley, who were always glad to see her when she
came? She did not like to go too often, because Mrs. Gregg would give
her bread and treacle, and she did not think they always had enough to
eat themselves; but it was always pleasant to sit by their little fire
and hear the old man’s stories; and to-day she bent her steps there
with great eagerness, for she meant to spend her own two pennies (given
by the gentleman) on some herrings for them, and then she would not
mind sharing the frugal meal, and could tell them about her wonderful
windfall, and ask their advice as to what she could do with her
treasure.
Allumette’s home was up a number of rickety stairs in a narrow court,
and when she arrived there she found her stepmother in the midst of a
Saturday clean, and by no means prepared to welcome anybody. The child
only paused to hand in her money, and then disappeared down the stairs
with alacrity; for one of the most valued privileges which had been
accorded her was that her time was her own when she had disposed of her
stock of matches.
Her bare feet went pattering up the alley, which grew darker and
narrower towards the end. At the end stood a tall, grim-looking
house, let out in rooms to a poor class of tenants, the lowest floor,
comprising two rooms and a tiny kitchen beyond, being rented to the
cobbler, whose front room was a sort of workshop where he was always to
be seen cobbling and patching old boots, many of which seemed almost
past the skill of even his dexterous fingers.
Sometimes Allumette picked up old boots in rubbish heaps and brought
them to him, and often she found bits of leather which were useful to
him in patching. The little girl was fond of the old couple, and they
of her. It was always a treat to her to go and sit in the quiet of
their room.
The herrings were bought at a shop in the alley, where they were to
be had cheaper than anywhere else; and with her odorous burden she
hastened to the little house at the end, where her old friends received
her with smiles and kind words.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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