E-text prepared by Al Haines
THE PRIMROSE RING
by
RUTH SAWYER
Illustrated
Harper & Brothers Publishers
New York & London
1915
To
The Little Mother this book in memory of the Primrose Ring she wove for me once on a time
FOREWORD
DEAR PEOPLE,—Whoever you are and wherever you may be when you take upthis book—I beg of you not to feel disturbed because I have let Fancyand a faery or two slip in between the covers. You will find themquite harmless and friendly—and very eager to become acquainted.
Furthermore, please do not search about for Saint Margaret's; it doesnot exist. I shamelessly confess to the building of it myself, usingmy right of authorship to bring a stone from this place, and a cornicefrom that, to cap the foundation I discovered long ago—when I was achild. In a like manner have I furnished its board of trustees. Donot misjudge them; remember that when one is so careless as to letFancy and faeries into a book she is forced to let the stepmothers beunkind and the giants cruel.
I should like to remind those who may be forgetting that Tir-na-n'Og isthe land of eternal youth and joyousness—the Celtic "Land of Heart'sDesire." It is a country which belongs to us all by right of naturalheritage; but we turned our backs to it and started journeying from italmost the instant we stepped out of our cradles.
As for the primrose ring—reach across it to Bridget and let her giveyou back again the heart of a child which you may have lost somewherealong the road of Growing-Old-and-Wise.
R. S.
THE PRIMROSE RING
I
CONCERNING FANCY AND SAINT MARGARET'S
Would it ever have happened at all if Trustee Day had not fallen on the30th of April—which is May Eve, as everybody knows?
This is something you must ask of those wiser than I, for I am only thestory-teller, sitting in the shadow of the market-place, passing on thetale that comes to my ears. But I can remind you that May Eve is oneof the most bewitched and bewitching times of the whole year—reasonenough to account for any number of strange happenings; and I can pointout to your notice that Margaret MacLean, in charge of Ward C at SaintMargaret's, found the flower-seller at the corner of the street thatmorning with his basket full of primroses. Now primroses are "gentleflowers," as everybody ought to know—which means that the faeries havebeen using them for thousands of years to work magic; and MargaretMacLean bought the full of her hands that morning.
And this brings us back to Trustee Day at Saint Margaret's—which fellon the 30th of April—and to the beginning of the story.
Saint Margaret's Free Hospital for Children does not belong to thecity. It was built by a rich man as a memorial to his son, a littlecrippled lad who stayed just long enough to leave behind as a legacyfor his father a great crying hunger to minister to all little ailingand crippled bodies. There are golden tales concerning those firstyears of the hospital—tales passed on by word of mouth alone and soold as to have gathered a bit of the misty glow of illusion that hangsover all myths and traditions. They made of Saint Margaret's anarcadian refuge, where the Founder wandered all day and every day likea patron saint.