Henry S. Whitehead

“ They had no further contact with her; she was ostracized, a pariah of a match—too thin, and too brown on one side, and with a head too little symmetrical and too little apt to light at the first draw along the box-side for any self-respecting match to notice her at all!
Pete Jenkins went all the way to New York. By the time he arrived there were four of the nine left. The thin match was still in her corner, wedged in. It was better for her there, on the whole, she had come to believe. The pressure of the feeling against her had sent up strongly into her head the idea of her destiny. ”

“ But there was no way to regulate these chances. A match could only wait and hope, and the thin match waited and hoped with a good courage, resolved to light quickly and burn as clearly and steadily as she possibly could, if ever her chance should come.
Pete, it seemed, had no particular use for the remaining matches in this box. He had, in fact, quite forgotten them. For the box, very weak and wobbly now, had been packed inside the pocket of a jacket which Pete had replaced with a sweater a day out from New York and placed inside a gripsack. ”

“ This was, of course, only the common destiny of all matches—to set something on fire. It might be anything, from a joss-stick to a great conflagration; but it was to start fire. That, she knew by instinct, was the great thing. ”

“ Fate placed her in that particular kind of box which was labeled as a “Product of Finland, Average Contents Sixty Sticks.” There was also other printed information on the box-label, couched in some Scandinavian language for anyone who might be able to read it.
Life in a family, even one averaging sixty members, is a decidedly different matter from being one item in a phalanx, a horde, of hundreds of millions, all exactly alike. Just here was where the thin match’s troubles began. ”