The lady of the castle rose to her feet. A marvelous thing had happened. The small heaps of grain gathered by the gleaners had changed into a harvest richer than the field had ever produced before. Over all in the sky still shone the lovely rainbow arch—the arch of promise across the Field of Alms.
(Adapted.)
THE SICKLE MOON
(Tyrolean Harvest Legend)
Abbie Farwell Brown
When of the crescent moon aware Hung silver in the sky, “See, Saint Nothburga’s sickle there!” The Tyrol children cry.
It is a quaint and pretty tale Six hundred summers old, When in the green Tyrolean vale, The peasant folk is told.
The town of Eben nestled here Is little known to fame, Save as the legends make it dear, In Saint Nothburga’s name.