Fairy Tales, Now First Collected/Tale 17
TALE XVII.
THE FAIRY-ELF.
I was prevailed upon, says Waldron, to go and see a child, who, they told me, was one of these changelings, and, indeed, must own, was not a little surprised, as well as shocked, at the sight: nothing under heaven could have a more beautiful face; but, though between five and six years old, and seeming healthy, he was so far from being able to walk or stand, that he could not so much as move any one joint: his limbs were vastly long for his age, but smaller than an infants of six months; his complexion was perfectly delicate, and he had the finest hair in the world; he never spoke nor cried; eat scarce any thing; and was very seldom seen to smile; but, if any one called him a fairy-elf, he would frown, and fix his eyes so earnestly on those who said it, as if he would look them through. His mother, or, at least, his supposed mother, being very poor, frequently went out a charing, and left him a whole day together: the neighbours, out of curiosity, have often looked in at the window, to see how he behaved when alone; which whenever they did, they were sure to find him laughing, and in the utmost delight. This made them judge that he was not without company more pleasing to him than any mortals could be; and what made this conjecture seem the more reasonable, was, that, if he were left ever so dirty, the woman, at her return, saw him with a clean face, and his hair combed with the utmost exactness and nicety[1]
- ↑ Idem, ut supra, p. 57.