'Twas no slight task the old Flax-spinner took upon herself, the day she
brought the helpless child to share the shelter of her thatch. The Oak
outside her door held up his arms in solemn protest.

"Thou dost but waste thyself," he said. "Thy benefits will be forgot,
thy labours unrequited. For Youth is ever but another title for
Ingratitude."

"Nay, friend," the old Flax-spinner said. "My little Olga will not be
ungrateful and forgetful."

All hedged about with loving care, the orphan grew to gracious
maidenhood, and felt no lack of father, mother, brother or sister. In
every way the old Flax-spinner took their places. But many were the
sacrifices that she made to keep her fed and warmly clad, and every time
she went without herself that Olga might receive a greater share,
Wiseacre Oak looked down and frowned and shook his head.

Then would the old dame hasten to her inner room, and there she pricked
herself with her spindle, until a great red drop of her heart's blood
fell into her trembling hand. With witchery of words she blew upon it,
and rolled it in her palm, and muttering, turned and turned and turned
it. And as the spell was laid upon it, it shrivelled into a tiny round
ball like a seed, and she strung it on a thread where were many others
like it, saying, "By this she will remember. She will not be ungrateful
and forgetful."

So years went by, and Olga grew in goodness and in beauty, and helped
the old Flax-spinner in her tasks as blithely and as willingly as if