Page:On a pincushion.djvu/209

New Year’s-eve came, and Jack’s mother had to go out and leave him to watch the new year in alone. It was a miserable night. It rained in torrents, and the wind blew, in great melancholy gusts. Jack sat by the window, and looked out on the wet street and the driving clouds. He had given up looking in the fire for his little red friend, and to-night he was busy thinking of the new year which would begin to-morrow.

“When this next year is done,” he said to him- self, “I shall be eight years old. Mother says I am very small of my years. I wonder if I shall be bigger then.”

“Little Jack,” called a low sighing voice from the grate.

Jack started, and ran to the fireplace. The fire was almost out. There was only a dull red glare in the coals, but kneeling in it, holding on to the bars, was the fire Princess. She was paler than before, and looked quite transparent. Jack could see the coals plainly through her.

“Put on some more coal,” she said, shivering. “There is not enough for me to burn here, and