soul and drifted earthward to blossom here." And all that night he had
eyes for none but her.

The next night Olga started again to the castle in her dress of tow, and
at the gate she grasped the second bead in her fingers, repeating the
charm. This time the pale yellow of the daffodils seemed to have woven
itself into a cloth of gold for her adorning. It was like a shimmer of
moon-beams, and her hair held the diamond flashings of a hundred tiny
stars.

That night the Prince paid her so many compliments and singled her out
so often to bestow his favours, that Olga's head was turned. She tossed
it proudly, and quite scorned the thought of the humble cottage which
had given her shelter so long. The next day when she had returned to
her gown of tow and was no longer a haughty court lady, but only Olga,
the Flax-spinner's maiden, she repined at her lot. Frowning, she carried
the water from the spring. Frowning, she gathered the cresses and
plucked the woodland fruit. And then she sat all day by the spring,
refusing to spread the linen on the grass to bleach.

She was discontented with the old life of toil, and pouted crossly
because duties called her when she wanted to do nothing but sit idly
dreaming of the gay court scenes in which she had taken a bright brief
part. The old Flax-spinner's fingers trembled as she spun, when she saw
the frowns, for she had given of her heart's blood to buy happiness for
this maiden she loved, and well she knew there can be no happiness where
frowns abide. She felt that her years of sacrifice had been in vain, but
when the Oak wagged his head she called back waveringly, "My little Olga
will not be ungrateful and forgetful!"