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!"
That night outside the castle gate, Olga paused. She had forgotten the charm. The day's discontent had darkened her memory as storm-clouds darken the sky. But she grasped her necklace imperiously.
"Deck me at once!" she cried in a haughty tone. "Clothe me more beautifully than mortal maid was
ever clad before, so that I may find favour in the Prince's sight and become the bride of the castle! I would that I were done for ever with the spindle and the distaff!"
But the moon went under a cloud and the wind began to moan around the turrets. The black night hawks in the forest flapped their wings warningly, and the
black bats flitted low around her head.
"Obey me at once!" she cried angrily, stamping her foot and jerking at the necklace. But the string broke, and the beads went rolling away in the darkness in every direction and were lost—all but one, which she held clasped in her hand.
Then Olga wept at the
castle gate; wept outside in the night and the darkness, in her peasant's garb of tow. But after awhile through her sobbing, stole the answering sob of the night wind.