Yes, if – if – if there were only lives in the small phosphorus knitting wretches!

She rehearsed with trembling hand one, two, three, four, while the stick against one of her warm, firm small charge, which of course she kept on her feet.

But she was too ardent, too impetuous. Stick gleamed and shone for a moment – just when Maglena nypit to so bravely that it – was destroyed, – so it fell down into the wet moss and – went out.

She was ready to scream with terror and grief. – Yes yell, as a lill’barn.

Would she lose hope to get the fire now that it was so close that she succeeded!

Fire! It was the heat of frozen limbs. – Fire! – It was light and comfort for the lonely little, out of want of wilderness. Fire! It became home and hearth where the fire was.

And just a stick -! A small, weak, poor baby!

Maglenas heart beat high. She stood with the stick between your fingers without venture to renew the attempt to get fire.

She had that kagra (skälfning) in his hand, and she thought the strip was bent between your fingers as if at any time would be broken off.