In a small cottage, set upon a verdant hill, lived a young girl poised on the cusp of womanhood. She resided with her grandmother in the warm home for as long as she could recall. Her dear mother passed away just after she was born and her father’s broken heart left him unable to care for her. He named her Pity and hoped the world would be kinder to her than it was to him.
Pity possessed a simple beauty. Her hair was flaxen and her features straight. Her eyes were emeralds, glistening when the sun saw fit to shine. Her curved cheeks were rose-kissed. She was made even lovelier by the complete absence of vanity.
Pity loved her grandmother. One day when she was very young, but just old enough to understand; her grandmother drew her close and said, “I have very little, but all that I have I share with you.”
She taught the girl the value of hard work and the virtue of responsibility. She taught her to be kind and good, and how to pray and give thanks. They had a small garden where root vegetables were grown and there was a cow for milking and chickens for eggs. Pity learned that when you tended to the land with love, it gave back that love. Pity’s grandmother also shared her knowledge of how to weave and how to sew.
Her grandmother had great skill and could make carpets and dresses and trousers and scarves that the pair would sell or trade to help maintain their modest household.
“It’s kind of magic,” the old woman would explain when the girl’s eyes were wide with wonder. “See how spinning the flax makes the threads and weaving the threads makes the cloth and sewing the bits of cloth can make a dress. Soon you have something where once there was something else. That is magic.”
Pity learned this magic well and practiced until she was nearly as good as the older woman.
Time passed quickly in the love-filled home where the scent of porridge and wild flowers was a sweet perfume. Time had turned the older woman’s hair as white as frost and a frame that Pity once saw as sturdy and tall now seemed small and delicate. As Pity finished up a bit of her grandmother’s sewing, the old woman sat beside her and patted her hair.
“I am old. My time left on this earth is but a gentle whisper left unspoken. These years have left my hands a bit tighter and my eyes a bit dimmer. I can no longer work the magic that now is strong in you.”
The girl’s eyes welled with tears. The grand mother spoke again; “You must never be sad at the way of things. We each get our share of joy and heartache and you my Pity, you have given more joy than anyone could ever wish for.”
The old woman stopped to open a chest by the window; and pulling out a basket she spoke again. “This cottage is as much your home as it is mine already. I have little, but all that I have I give to you. I trust to you my spindle, my shuttle and my needle.” Pity knew these were precious gifts indeed. They were the means by which her grandmother’s magic was worked. Rather than decline the gifts and ask the woman not to speak of such sad things, as was her first intuition, Pity took the gifts. She embraced the beloved woman and thanked her a thousand times. Then, to return the gift of a lifetime of care, the girl cared for her grandmother in turn.
In an enormous keep with golden towers set upon an expansive field lived a young prince. He lived with the king and queen in a castle that was chilly and quiet. His mother named him Sage for she hoped he would be wiser than his father. The young man yearned to make his way in the world.
It was decided that when the time was right, the prince could rule a small portion of the kingdom. His parents summoned him. “We have much, but some small part of it we must share with you. First though, you must find yourself a suitable bride.”
The years had caused a cold silence between the two and each, separately, gave the young man very different instructions.
The queen had decreed the prince must marry the poorest girl in the kingdom. “ You must marry a needy lass. She will always be in your debt and love will not quickly fade in her. Wealthy women have been raised without goodness these days. So, I must insist on this”
The king commanded that he marry the richest girl in the kingdom. “Find your bride from daughters of the wealthiest in the land. The child’s dowry will swell our fat coffers. I will not yield on this point”
To clear his head of the dilemma he faced, Sage had taken to brisk rides across the kingdom on his fastest horse. One day, on such a journey, his horse bolted and the prince was tossed to the ground. Muddied and battered the young man hobbled back to his home.
On his way, he stumbled upon the market where the common folk sold wares and bartered for goods. A rain began to fall. The merchants scattered to cover their products and Sage took shelter beneath a broad canopy. He stood beside a lovely young girl.
“Why sir, your trousers are torn and your leg…it is badly cut.” A soft voice spoke out in concern. Sage looked over and his eyes met her eyes and his heart began to mimic the rhythm of the patter of the rain falling on the canopy.
“Here.” She said taking her hand-made creation; “use this scarf to wrap your wound until you reach your destination.”
“I haven’t any money to pay for this.” He stammered, finding it difficult to speak. Finding the greenness of her eyes too distracting and her face too lovely to easily form any words.
“I have very little but what I have I share with you, for you are in need.”
The generosity touched him. He fingered the offering that was handed to him. “Such finery made from simple cloth; this is a thing of beauty.” At this the girl blushed. She learned his name was Sage and he learned her name was Pity. She spoke of her dear grandmother and the cottage and the spindle, the shuttle and the needle. Sage drank in every word but he said noting of his royal lineage. In his current dress of dirty rags no one could guess his stature.
They spoke for hours until the falling rain had waned. She had bandaged his wound and entered his heart. Each day hence when Pity took her wares to market the young man was there. He would buy some thing each time. When Pity pleaded with him not to squander his money he divulged, for the first time, that he was indeed a prince.
“Pity, since I have known you I have seen kindness and generosity for the first time. I could not love you less for your station in life do not love me less for mine.”
The girl smiled. “I could not love you more,” she admitted.
“Alas, I have been given a task to accomplish two things at once that cannot be done together.” Sadness struck him when he remembered the dictates of his parents. “You do not know what a gift your grandmother’s love is Pity.” Just as quickly as the sadness came, an expression of realization and joy scurried it away.
“Pity, would you trade me your spindle for a team of fine white stallions?” He asked her with a tone of glee. The girl was puzzled.
“Would you?” he asked again.
“Oh Sage, why do you choose to be so silly today?” She chided him but relented in the face of his enthusiasm. “No, I would not trade my spindle for horses. I have no quarters for horses or the means to buy their feed and I need my spindle to weave the thread.”
“Your shuttle then; would you trade that for one of the golden towers of my family’s keep.”
“Now, what cause would I have for a golden tower? I need my shuttle to move the thread.”
“What if I were to offer you a castle in trade for your needle?”
“Stop this silliness. I have a cottage, which is home enough for my grandmother and me. I have no servants or any way to care for such a thing as a castle. Besides, my needle is precious to me. Not only does it help me work the magic of the cloth it also is a symbol of my grandmother’s love.”
“You can be my wife and live with me!” he said, picking up the startled maiden and whisking her off to the castle.
Sage first brought Pity to the throne of his mother, the queen. The humble girl bowed low.
“Mother, I have found this modest seamstress in the village. She has stolen my heart and I wish to share all my days with her. The queen could see the love in her son’s eyes. “So, she shall be your bride.” The woman said smiling.
Then Sage presented Pity before the throne of his father, the king.
"Sire this maiden is an heiress to a great treasure. Why, she has a spindle more valuable than a team of horses, a shuttle worth more than a golden tower and a needle too priceless to trade for this very castle. She has stolen my heart, and I wish to spend all my days with her”
“Then she shall be your wife, my son,” the king said smiling
The two were married in a great festival. Pity’s grandmother lived to see the blissful day. She blessed the two and cried tears of joy. The couple ruled the land with kindness. They loved one another all their days and lived happily ever after.
Pity not the poor and humble, for they may have riches great enough to rival the treasures of kings.
Pity possessed a simple beauty. Her hair was flaxen and her features straight. Her eyes were emeralds, glistening when the sun saw fit to shine. Her curved cheeks were rose-kissed. She was made even lovelier by the complete absence of vanity.
Pity loved her grandmother. One day when she was very young, but just old enough to understand; her grandmother drew her close and said, “I have very little, but all that I have I share with you.”
She taught the girl the value of hard work and the virtue of responsibility. She taught her to be kind and good, and how to pray and give thanks. They had a small garden where root vegetables were grown and there was a cow for milking and chickens for eggs. Pity learned that when you tended to the land with love, it gave back that love. Pity’s grandmother also shared her knowledge of how to weave and how to sew.
Her grandmother had great skill and could make carpets and dresses and trousers and scarves that the pair would sell or trade to help maintain their modest household.
“It’s kind of magic,” the old woman would explain when the girl’s eyes were wide with wonder. “See how spinning the flax makes the threads and weaving the threads makes the cloth and sewing the bits of cloth can make a dress. Soon you have something where once there was something else. That is magic.”
Pity learned this magic well and practiced until she was nearly as good as the older woman.
Time passed quickly in the love-filled home where the scent of porridge and wild flowers was a sweet perfume. Time had turned the older woman’s hair as white as frost and a frame that Pity once saw as sturdy and tall now seemed small and delicate. As Pity finished up a bit of her grandmother’s sewing, the old woman sat beside her and patted her hair.
“I am old. My time left on this earth is but a gentle whisper left unspoken. These years have left my hands a bit tighter and my eyes a bit dimmer. I can no longer work the magic that now is strong in you.”
The girl’s eyes welled with tears. The grand mother spoke again; “You must never be sad at the way of things. We each get our share of joy and heartache and you my Pity, you have given more joy than anyone could ever wish for.”
The old woman stopped to open a chest by the window; and pulling out a basket she spoke again. “This cottage is as much your home as it is mine already. I have little, but all that I have I give to you. I trust to you my spindle, my shuttle and my needle.” Pity knew these were precious gifts indeed. They were the means by which her grandmother’s magic was worked. Rather than decline the gifts and ask the woman not to speak of such sad things, as was her first intuition, Pity took the gifts. She embraced the beloved woman and thanked her a thousand times. Then, to return the gift of a lifetime of care, the girl cared for her grandmother in turn.
In an enormous keep with golden towers set upon an expansive field lived a young prince. He lived with the king and queen in a castle that was chilly and quiet. His mother named him Sage for she hoped he would be wiser than his father. The young man yearned to make his way in the world.
It was decided that when the time was right, the prince could rule a small portion of the kingdom. His parents summoned him. “We have much, but some small part of it we must share with you. First though, you must find yourself a suitable bride.”
The years had caused a cold silence between the two and each, separately, gave the young man very different instructions.
The queen had decreed the prince must marry the poorest girl in the kingdom. “ You must marry a needy lass. She will always be in your debt and love will not quickly fade in her. Wealthy women have been raised without goodness these days. So, I must insist on this”
The king commanded that he marry the richest girl in the kingdom. “Find your bride from daughters of the wealthiest in the land. The child’s dowry will swell our fat coffers. I will not yield on this point”
To clear his head of the dilemma he faced, Sage had taken to brisk rides across the kingdom on his fastest horse. One day, on such a journey, his horse bolted and the prince was tossed to the ground. Muddied and battered the young man hobbled back to his home.
On his way, he stumbled upon the market where the common folk sold wares and bartered for goods. A rain began to fall. The merchants scattered to cover their products and Sage took shelter beneath a broad canopy. He stood beside a lovely young girl.
“Why sir, your trousers are torn and your leg…it is badly cut.” A soft voice spoke out in concern. Sage looked over and his eyes met her eyes and his heart began to mimic the rhythm of the patter of the rain falling on the canopy.
“Here.” She said taking her hand-made creation; “use this scarf to wrap your wound until you reach your destination.”
“I haven’t any money to pay for this.” He stammered, finding it difficult to speak. Finding the greenness of her eyes too distracting and her face too lovely to easily form any words.
“I have very little but what I have I share with you, for you are in need.”
The generosity touched him. He fingered the offering that was handed to him. “Such finery made from simple cloth; this is a thing of beauty.” At this the girl blushed. She learned his name was Sage and he learned her name was Pity. She spoke of her dear grandmother and the cottage and the spindle, the shuttle and the needle. Sage drank in every word but he said noting of his royal lineage. In his current dress of dirty rags no one could guess his stature.
They spoke for hours until the falling rain had waned. She had bandaged his wound and entered his heart. Each day hence when Pity took her wares to market the young man was there. He would buy some thing each time. When Pity pleaded with him not to squander his money he divulged, for the first time, that he was indeed a prince.
“Pity, since I have known you I have seen kindness and generosity for the first time. I could not love you less for your station in life do not love me less for mine.”
The girl smiled. “I could not love you more,” she admitted.
“Alas, I have been given a task to accomplish two things at once that cannot be done together.” Sadness struck him when he remembered the dictates of his parents. “You do not know what a gift your grandmother’s love is Pity.” Just as quickly as the sadness came, an expression of realization and joy scurried it away.
“Pity, would you trade me your spindle for a team of fine white stallions?” He asked her with a tone of glee. The girl was puzzled.
“Would you?” he asked again.
“Oh Sage, why do you choose to be so silly today?” She chided him but relented in the face of his enthusiasm. “No, I would not trade my spindle for horses. I have no quarters for horses or the means to buy their feed and I need my spindle to weave the thread.”
“Your shuttle then; would you trade that for one of the golden towers of my family’s keep.”
“Now, what cause would I have for a golden tower? I need my shuttle to move the thread.”
“What if I were to offer you a castle in trade for your needle?”
“Stop this silliness. I have a cottage, which is home enough for my grandmother and me. I have no servants or any way to care for such a thing as a castle. Besides, my needle is precious to me. Not only does it help me work the magic of the cloth it also is a symbol of my grandmother’s love.”
“You can be my wife and live with me!” he said, picking up the startled maiden and whisking her off to the castle.
Sage first brought Pity to the throne of his mother, the queen. The humble girl bowed low.
“Mother, I have found this modest seamstress in the village. She has stolen my heart and I wish to share all my days with her. The queen could see the love in her son’s eyes. “So, she shall be your bride.” The woman said smiling.
Then Sage presented Pity before the throne of his father, the king.
"Sire this maiden is an heiress to a great treasure. Why, she has a spindle more valuable than a team of horses, a shuttle worth more than a golden tower and a needle too priceless to trade for this very castle. She has stolen my heart, and I wish to spend all my days with her”
“Then she shall be your wife, my son,” the king said smiling
The two were married in a great festival. Pity’s grandmother lived to see the blissful day. She blessed the two and cried tears of joy. The couple ruled the land with kindness. They loved one another all their days and lived happily ever after.
Pity not the poor and humble, for they may have riches great enough to rival the treasures of kings.
