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قراءة كتاب The Legend of the Bleeding-heart

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The Legend of the Bleeding-heart

The Legend of the Bleeding-heart

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دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
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The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Legend of the Bleeding-heart, by Annie Fellows Johnston

Title: The Legend of the Bleeding-heart

Author: Annie Fellows Johnston

Release Date: February 22, 2006 [eBook #17825]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LEGEND OF THE BLEEDING-HEART***

 

E-text prepared by David Garcia, Sjaani,
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net/)
from page images generously made available by
Kentuckiana Digital Library (http://kdl.kyvl.org/)

 

Note: Images of the original pages are available through the Electronic Text Collection of Kentuckiana Digital Library. See http://kdl.kyvl.org/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=kyetexts;cc=kyetexts;xc=1&idno=B92-277-32008329&view=toc

 


 

 

Title Page
Olga, holding it in the hollow of her hands, offered him the water

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.

 

 

 

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

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