The Legend of the Bleeding-heart

The Legend of the Bleeding-heart

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Annie Fellows Johnston
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Title: The Legend of the Bleeding-heart
Author: Annie Fellows Johnston

Release Date: February 22, 2006 [eBook #17825]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
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THE LEGEND OF THE BLEEDING-HEART
by
ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON
Author of "The Little Colonel Series," "Big Brother," "Joel: A Boy of
Galilee," "Keeping Tryst," etc.

[Illustration: Olga, holding it in the hollow of her hands, offered him
the water.]

Boston L. C. Page & Company 1907 Copyright, 1900 By L. C. Page &
Company (Incorporated) Copyright, 1907 By L. C. Page & Company
(Incorporated) All rights reserved First Impression, July, 1907 Colonial
Press Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. Boston, U. S.
A.

IN MEMORY OF THE ONES THAT GREW SO LONG AGO, IN
OLD "Aunt Nancy's" GARDEN.

The Legend of the Bleeding-heart

In days of old, when all things in the Wood had speech, there lived
within its depths a lone Flax-spinner. She was a bent old creature, and
ill to look upon, but all the tongues of all the forest leaves were ever
kept a-wagging with the story of her kindly deeds. And even to this day
they sometimes whisper low among themselves (because they fain
would hold in mind so sweet a tale) the story of her kindness to the
little orphan, Olga.
'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 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