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The next morning, the little match girl died in the cold.

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Lighting the fourth match, I met my grandmother.

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 Then I lit the third match and the Christmas tree appeared. 

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I lit the second match, and a sumptuous table appeared.

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I didn't sell any matches all day. I did not dare to go home because I was afraid that my father would scold me, Cold and hungry, the little girl huddled in a corner of the wall and lit a match to warm herself up. I lit the first match and the fireplace appeared.

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In the snowy New Year's Eve, there was a poor girl who sold matches from a poor family, orphaned, bare-headed, barefoot, and hungry, groping in the dark.