she were indeed her daughter. Every morning she brought water from the
spring, gathered the wild fruits of the woods, and spread the linen on
the grass to bleach. At such times would the bent old foster-mother hold
herself erect, and call up to the Oak, "Dost see? Thou'rt wrong! Youth
is _not_ another title for Ingratitude."

"Thou hast not lived as long as I," would be the only answer.

One day as Olga was wandering by the spring, searching for watercresses,
the young Prince of the castle rode by on his prancing charger. A
snow-white plume waved in his hat, and a shining silver bugle hung from
his shoulder, for he had been following the chase.

He was thirsty and tired, and asked for a drink, but there was no cup
with which to dip the water from the spring. But Olga caught the drops
as they bubbled out from the spring, holding them in the hollow of her
beautiful white hands, and reaching up to where he sat, offered him the
sparkling water. So gracefully was it done, that the Prince was charmed
by her modest manner as well as her lovely face, and baring his head
when he had slaked his thirst, he touched the white hands with his lips.

Before he rode away he asked her name and where she lived. The next day
a courier in scarlet and gold stopped at the door of the cottage and
invited Olga to the castle. Princesses and royal ladies from all over
the realm were to be entertained there, seven days and seven nights.
Every night a grand ball was to be given, and Olga was summoned to each
of the balls. It was because of her pleasing manner and her great
beauty that she had been bidden.

The old Flax-spinner courtesied low to the courier and promised that