and deck me, little seed.'

Straightway right royally shalt thou be clad. But remember carefully the
charm. Only to the magic words, 'For love's sweet sake' will the
necklace give up its treasures. If thou shouldst forget, then thou must
be doomed always to wear thy gown of tow."

So Olga sped on her moon-lighted way through the forest until she came
to the castle gate. There she paused, and grasping a bead of the strange
necklace between her fingers, repeated the old dame's charm:

"For love's sweet sake, in my hour of need,
Blossom and deck me, little seed."

Immediately the bead burst with a little puff as if a seed pod had
snapped asunder. A faint perfume surrounded her, rare and subtle as if
it had been blown across from some flower of Eden. Olga looked down and
found herself enveloped in a robe of such delicate texture, that it
seemed soft as a rose-leaf and as airy as pink clouds that sometimes
float across the sunset. The water-lilies in her hair had become a
coronal of opals.

When she entered the great ball-room, the Prince of the castle started
up from his throne in amazement. Never before had he seen such a vision
of loveliness. "Surely," said he, "some rose of Paradise hath found a
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 c