The Poor Girl and the Christmas Tree

The snow is falling and the winds are fierce with a biting, bitter frost, and the people come and go, making ready for the feast.
The shops are full of necessities and luxuries, and people buy what is needed and what is not. The faces of the little ones brim over with gladness in readiness for the feast. The tree glows and lights their innocent, happy faces with its candles.
A smile plays upon the mothers' lips, and the fathers are proud.
And the kitchen is full of every kind of meat and sweets and fruit.
The happy family delights in the sumptuous supper, the warmth, and the peace of mind.
And there, at the dining-room window, a small hand wipes the spray of snow and rain from the glass. The poor girl gazes with astonished eyes at what she sees. In her look is pain, in her depths deprivation, in her bearing supplication. Two bare feet bitten by the cold, an old, loose dress, two small trembling hands, disheveled hair, and a pale, round, beautiful face. The lights of the tree are reflected upon it, kindling in it something of a bitter gladness and the shadow of a smile that fades away from the pain of sorrow and orphanhood. A fine nose pressed to the cracks of the window, and two thin, dry lips!

The maid catches sight of the little one's shadow and scolds her away. She turns and flees, heedless of everything, into the winding streets that took pity on her and sheltered her from the rain and the heavily falling snow—while no human being showed her mercy!!!