As they went up the hill, the children passed a poor fagot gatherer,
bending under her great bundle.
"Off a pleasuring, with little thought for others," the old woman
mumbled to herself, but Primrose stole up to her side and slipped one
soft little hand in the woman's hard, care-worn one.
"I will carry half your fagots for you to the turn of the road," she
said. And she did, with the old woman's blessing on her sunny head at
the turn.
Farther on, the children passed a young thrush that had fallen out of
its nest and was crying beside the road. The mother bird cried, too.
It was as if she said,
"You have no thought of my trouble."
But Primrose lifted the bird in her two hands and scrambled through
the bushes until she had found its nest and put it safely in. The
branches tore her dress that had been ragged before, but the mother
thrush sang like a flute to have her little one back.
Just outside the castle gates, there was a blind boy seated, asking
alms. When the other children passed him, laughing and chattering of
all that they saw, tears fell down the cheeks of the little blind boy,
for he had not been able to see for a long, long time. The others did
not notice him, but Primrose stopped beside him and put her hands
softly on his eyes.
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