Daryl Lorette Cafe

The Origin of Tis Lake

Denmark

A troll had once taken up his abode near the village of Kund, in the high bank on which the church now stands; but when the people about there had become pious, and went constantly to church, the troll was dreadfully annoyed by their almost incessant ringing of bells in the steeple of the church. He was at last obliged, in consequence of it, to take his departure; for nothing has more contributed to the emigration of the troll folk out of the country than the increasing piety of the people, and their taking to bell ringing. The troll of Kund accordingly quitted the country, and went over to Funen, where he lived for some time in peace and quiet.

Now it chanced that a man who had lately settled in the town of Kund, coming to Funen on business, met on the road with this same troll. "Where do you live?" said the troll to him.

Now there was nothing whatever about the troll unlike a man, so he answered him, as was the truth, "I am from the town of Kund."

"So?" said the troll. "I don't know you then! And yet I think I know every man in Kund. Will you, however," continued he, "just be so kind to take a letter from me back with you to Kund?"

The man said, of course, he had no objection. The troll then thrust the letter into his pocket, and charged him strictly not to take it out till he came to Kund church, and then to throw it over the churchyard wall, and the person for whom it was intended would get it.

The troll then went away in great haste, and with him the letter went entirely out of the man's mind. But when he was come back to Zealand he sat down by the meadow where Tis Lake now is, and suddenly recollected the troll's letter. He felt a great desire to look at it at least. So he took it out of his pocket, and sat a while with it in his hands, when suddenly there began to dribble a little water out of the seal. The letter now unfolded itself, and the water came out faster and faster, and it was with the utmost difficulty that the poor man was enabled to save his life, for the malicious troll had enclosed an entire lake in the letter.

The troll, it is plain, had thought to avenge himself on Kund church by destroying it in this manner; but God ordered it so that the lake chanced to run out in the great meadow where it now flows.

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• Source: Thomas Keightley, The Fairy Mythology (London: H. G. Bohn, 1850), pp. 111-112.

• Tis Lake (Danish, Tissø) is in western Zealand

The Shroud

Russia

In a certain village there was a girl who was lazy and slothful, hated working, but would gossip and chatter away like anything! Well, she took it into her head to invite the other girls to a spinning party. For in the villages, as every one knows, it is the lazybones who gives the spinning feast, and the sweet-toothed are those who go to it.

Well, on the appointed night she got her spinners together. They span for her, and she fed them and feasted them. Among other things they chatted about was this -- which of them all was the boldest?

Says the lazybones, "I'm not afraid of anything!"

"Well then," say the spinners, "if you're not afraid, go past the graveyard to the church, take down the holy picture from the door, and bring it here."

"Good, I'll bring it; only each of you must spin me a distaff-full."

That was just her sort of notion: to do nothing herself, but to get others to do it for her. Well, she went, took down the picture, and brought it home with her. Her friends all saw that sure enough it was the picture from the church. But the picture had to be taken back again, and it was now the midnight hour. Who was to take it? At length the lazybones said, "You girls go on spinning. I'll take it back myself. I'm not afraid of anything!"

So she went and put the picture back in its place. As she was passing the graveyard on her return, she saw a corpse in a white shroud, seated on a tomb. It was a moonlight night; everything was visible. She went up to the corpse, and drew away its shroud from it. The corpse held its peace, not uttering a word; no doubt the time for it to speak had not come yet. Well, she took the shroud and went home.

"There!" says she, "I've taken back the picture and put it in its place; and, what's more, here's a shroud I took away from a corpse." Some of the girls were horrified; others didn't believe what she said, and laughed at her.

But after they had supped and lain down to sleep, all of a sudden the corpse tapped at the window and said, "Give me my shroud! Give me my shroud!"

The girls were so frightened they didn't know whether they were alive or dead. But the lazybones took the shroud, went to the window, opened it, and said, "There, take it."

"No," replied the corpse, "restore it to the place you took it from." Just then the cocks suddenly began to crow. The corpse disappeared.

Next night, when the spinners had all gone home to their own houses, at the very same hour as before, the corpse came, tapped at the window, and cried, "Give me my shroud!"

Well, the girl's father and mother opened the window and offered him his shroud. "No," says he, "let her take it back to the place she took it from."

"Really now, how could one go to a graveyard with a corpse? What a horrible idea!" she replied. Just then the cocks crew. The corpse disappeared.

Next day the girl's father and mother sent for the priest, told him the whole story, and entreated him to help them in their trouble. "Couldn't a service be performed?" they said.

The priest reflected awhile; then he replied, "Please tell her to come to church tomorrow."

Next day the lazybones went to church. The service began, numbers of people came to it. But just as they were going to sing the cherubim song, there suddenly arose, goodness knows whence, so terrible a whirlwind that all the congregation fell flat on their faces. And it caught up that girl, and then flung her down on the ground. The girl disappeared from sight; nothing was left of her but her back hair.

---

• Source: W. R. S. Ralston, Russian Folk-Tales (London: Smith, Elder, and Company, 1873), pp. 307-309.

• Ralston's source: Aleksandr Afanasyev.

• Ralston's footnote concerning "her back hair": "The kosa or single braid in which Russian girls wear their hair."

White Cap

Iceland

A certain boy and girl, whose names this tale telleth not, once lived near a church. The boy being mischievously inclined, was in the habit of trying to frighten the girl in a variety of ways, till she became at last so accustomed to his tricks, that she ceased to care for anything whatever, putting down everything strange that she saw and heard to the boy's mischief.

One washing-day, the girl was sent by her mother to fetch home the linen, which had been spread to dry in the churchyard. When she had nearly filled her basket, she happened to look up, and saw sitting on a tomb near her a figure dressed in white from head to foot, but was not the least alarmed, believing it to be the boy playing her, as usual, a trick. So she ran up to it, and pulling its cap off said, "You shall not frighten me, this time."

Then when she had finished collecting the linen she went home. But, to her astonishment -- for he could not have reached home before her without her seeing him -- the boy was the first person who greeted her on her arrival at the cottage.

Among the linen, too, when it was sorted, was found a moldy white cap, which appeared to be nobody's property, and which was half full of earth.

The next morning the ghost (for it was a ghost that the girl had seen) was found sitting with no cap upon its head, upon the same tombstone as the evening before. And as nobody had the courage to address it, or knew in the least how to get rid of it, they sent into the neighboring village for advice.

An old man declared that the only way to avoid some general calamity, was for the little girl to replace on the ghost's head the cap she had seized from it, in the presence of many people, all of whom were to be perfectly silent. So a crowd collected in the churchyard, and the little girl, going forward, half afraid, with the cap, placed it upon the ghost's head, saying, "Are you satisfied now?"

But the ghost, raising its hand, gave her a fearful blow, and said, "Yes, but are you now satisfied?"

The little girl fell down dead, and at the same instant the ghost sank into the grave upon which it had been sitting, and was no more seen.

---

Source: Jón Arnason, Icelandic Legends, translated by George E. J. Powell and Eiríkur Magnússon (London: Richard Bentley, 1864), pp. 157-58.

The Tiger King's Skin Cloak

A Mongolian Story

Long, long ago there lived in the Land of the Khans a poor Alad [a serf or a herdsman in the days of feudalism]. His wife bore three children, but unfortunately they all died. No further children were born to the couple and they lived a solitary and wretched life.

Then unexpectedly one winter's day the Alad's wife gave birth to a boy. The couple were overjoyed, but, they began to wonder how they were going to raise their child. Except for a cow and two mountain goats they had nothing of any value. What were they to do?

Though distressed they nevertheless went outside their tent to milk the cow for the baby.

The child grew not by the day but by the hour. Before evening he had grown taller and sturdier than a man. Husband and wife were both astonished and delighted. They named their boy Ku-nan, which means Ancient South.

On the very first day Ku-nan ate up a whole goat. On the next day he ate up the other one. The old couple were filled with dismay. One more day, they thought, and even the cow will be done for! And then what will we have to live on?

On the third day Ku-nan said to his mother, "Ah-Ma, we are so poor and we have only a cow left. Let me go and find some work to do. I'm afraid I'll fall ill if I stay at home any longer."

She looked at her son's tall and robust figure and, taking his big hand in her, said in a tearful voice, "My son, what work can you do? Hai! You may perhaps go to the Khan. He may have some work for you." Ku-nan pondered for a while, then agreed.

After taking leave of his parents, he fared forth on an empty stomach. Half way he met with a hungry wolf. As soon as it saw him it jumped on him, but Ku-nan immediately tackled it and killed it. He then skinned it and, making himself a bonfire, roasted the meat and ate it. Having done so, he continued on his way and at dusk reached the Khan's yurt.

The sly old Khan thought of testing Ku-nan's strength. He had a whole cow roasted and invited the lad to eat it. Ku-nan not only ate up all the meat, but gnawed the bones clean, too. The Khan then kept him in his yurt as his personal attendant and bodyguard.

Ku-nan often went with the Khan deep into the forest to hunt, and every time they came home with a full bag. One day, when the two of them, together with some of the Khan's servants, went hunting in the deep reaches of the forest, a huge tiger suddenly leaped out upon them. The Khan was so frightened he broke into a cold sweat. Without a thought for Ku-nan's safety he whipped his horse into a gallop and tore off down the mountain. The Khan's servants fled helter-skelter, covering their heads with their hands. But Ku-nan did not stir. As the tiger sprang upon him he calmly dodged to one side, grabbed one of its hind legs, and swung the beast against a big tree. There was a crash, and the tree leaves fluttered to the ground. The tiger lay motionless on the ground with its stomach ripped open. Ku-nan put the carcass on his back and strode off after the Khan.

When the Khan reached his yurt, he was still in such a state of fright he could not dismount from his horse. Luckily his servants, who had taken to their heels when the tiger appeared, came to his aid and lifted him off his horse. At this moment Ku-nan arrived. When the Khan saw the tiger on Ku-nan's back he panicked. He rushed into his yurt and barred the door. "Hurry! All of you," he bawled. "Defend the door! Don't let the tiger in!" Later when he heard it was a dead tiger Ku-nan had brought, he mustered his courage and came out of his hiding place. Foaming with rage he cursed Ku-nan, using all the foul words he knew, and took the tiger's skin into his yurt.

Once the Khan had the tiger's skin as a mattress, he decided he wanted a cloak made of the Tiger King's skin. Thus he commanded Ku-nan to catch the Tiger King within three days. If he were to fail in his mission the Khan would have him executed. Ku-nan felt very dejected. Where was he to find the Tiger King? It was said that the Tiger King lived in a remote cave in the Northern Mountains, and that there were lots of tigers there in the vicinity. But no one had even been known to reach the place.

The skies grew dark, and Ku-nan returned home feeling very unhappy. He told his parents of what had happened. The old couple were in a quandary. If they were to prevent him from going, they were afraid the Khan would really put their son to death. But if they were to let him go, who could guarantee his safety?

Husband and wife sat facing each other and wept. They made such a to-do that Ku-nan found it hard to come to any decision. Suddenly an old Alad came into their shabby little cottage.

"My lad," he addressed Ku-nan, "don't be downcast. The Tiger King is afraid of a brave man. As long as you keep your native land and your dear ones in mind, you'll be able to overcome any hardship. Go, my lad. I'll give you a dappled pony to ride on. Good luck to you!" The old Alad lightly kissed Ku-nan on his forehead and disappeared. When Ku-nan went outside he saw a dappled pony neighing in his direction.

The skies gradually grew light, and Ku-nan bade his parents goodbye. Taking his bow, arrow-bag and dagger, he mounted his charge and set off on his mission. At first the pony trotted along at a normal pace, but later it broke into a canter, and then a gallop. Faster and faster it went, so fast that Ku-nan could only see the yurts along the road in a blur. After a while the beast slackened its speed. Just then Ku-nan saw near a yurt a wolf just about to attack a little girl. In the nick of time he slipped an arrow into his bow, and let fly. The wolf instantly fell dead on the ground with the arrow in its head.

An old woman ran out from the yurt. When she realized that Ku-nan had saved her grand-daughter's life, she invited him in for a bowl of milk-tea. Before his departure she gave him a sheep-bone and said, "Take it, lad, it'll be of some use to you in the future."

With her gift in hand, Ku-nan vaulted upon his pony and continued his way northwards. As he trotted along the road he found his way blocked by a broad river. Suddenly the water rose and formed great billows. A huge turtle emerged and swam to the river bank. "My lad," it croaked, "you had better turn back. You'll never get across this river."

"Oh, surely," replied Ku-nan. "All difficulties can be overcome."

"Oh, well then, brave lad," the turtle said, "please help me. My left eye aches so badly, I want to have it taken out and replaced with a new one. Please, help me, take it out for me."

"All right, I'll help you."

As soon as Ku-nan looked in his hands. The eye had turned into a pearl! A glowing, flawless precious pearl. After looking at it Ku-nan's eye-sight became very sharp, he could even see a group of yurts in the far distance. Ku-nan then remounted his pony. As though understanding its master's intention, the beast plunged into the water. What a miracle! No sooner had the water touched the precious pearl than it divided to form a transparent wall on either side, leaving a dry path through the center. Ku-nan rode across to the opposite bank of the river without further difficulty. The water then flowed its usual course as if nothing had ever happened.

Ku-nan soon reached the yurts he had seen in the distance. An old shepherd was softly weeping there. He was a pitiful sight. Having dismounted from his pony, Ku-nan addressed him. "Grandpa, what makes you so sad?" he asked. "Please tell me, perhaps I can be of some help to you."

The old shepherd wiped his eyes and sighed. "Young man, even if I tell you, I'm afraid you won't be able to help me. Yesterday my only daughter was carried off by the Tiger King. I don't know whether she's alive or dead now...." The old man again broke into heart-rending sobs.

"Grandpa, don't lose heart," Ku-nan consoled him. "I'm sure your daughter isn't dead. I'm looking for that Tiger King. I'll go there and rescue her."

The old shepherd cheered up. He invited Ku-nan into his tent to have some tea. After his tea, Ku-nan thanked the old man and left.

Before dark Ku-nan arrived at the place where the Tiger King lived. From afar he could see a stone cave up on the mountain. At the entrance were more than ten tigers on guard. As Ku-nan neared the cave, he fished the sheep-bone out of his pocket and threw it to the tigers. He then entered and found the shepherd's daughter. She told him that the tiger King had been out since early morning, and that he had not yet returned, but probably would soon. She thought of hiding Ku-nan, but he refused, suggesting that he first rescue her and take her home. She agreed, and the two of them rode the dappled pony out of the cave. The tigers outside were still fighting over the bone. Ku-nan flourished his whip, and the pony dashed down the mountain like a whirlwind.

Suddenly a gust of wild wind blew from the north. Riding on a yellow cloud, an ogre with the head of a tiger and the body of a man, all covered with golden hair, came chasing down. Ku-nan turned round and let fly an arrow, which pierced the ogre's left eye. The Tiger King roared furiously. He reached out a huge paw and yanked Ku-nan off his charge. Then with a single blow he drove him waist-deep into the ground. Ku-nan instantly wriggled out. With one stroke he smote the ogre neck-deep into the ground, and, without waiting for him to free himself, he swiftly unsheathed his dagger and thrust the blade deep into the ogre's pate. Ku-nan thus ended the Tiger King's life.

He pulled the carcass out of the ground and, dragging it by one leg, caught up with his pony. He and the girl then returned to her home. When the old shepherd saw that Ku-nan had rescued his daughter, he was very happy, and gave him her hand in marriage.

Ku-nan stayed the night in their yurt and, when day grew light, again set off with his wife on their pony. But just as they were preparing to leave they heard a howling wind approaching from the north. Ku-nan turned to look and saw ten or so tigers coming in hot pursuit. They were those he had left fighting over the sheep-bone the day before. Ku-nan hurriedly sent his wife into the yurt. He shot an arrow and killed the tiger in the lead. Then he unsheathed his dagger and strode forward to meet them.

A furious combat ensued. In one breath he slayed seven or eight of them, but the remaining three attacked him with even redoubled fierceness. Ku-nan felt himself utterly exhausted. Just as he was on the point of collapse, the old shepherd, at the head of about ten young lads, rushed to the rescue. They brought with them poles for breaking in horses. They helped Ku-nan catch the three tigers and thus relieved him from danger. He thanked them for their help and gave them all the tigers he had slain. Taking his wife he remounted his pony and proceeded home.

When the Khan saw that Ku-nan had slain the Tiger King and had brought home a beautiful wife besides, he felt very happy and at the same time envious. He ordered Ku-nan's wife to make him a cloak out of the Tiger King's skin, and not to miss a single hair of the pelt. Ku-nan's wife did as the Khan bade her and let her husband take the cloak to him.

When the Khan saw the cloak he was extremely pleased. He thought of showing himself off in his domain in all his majesty. He wanted everybody to know that he, the Khan, possessed a precious cloak made of the Tiger King's skin.

A platform was erected in front of the Khan's yurt. He invited the officials from all over the land of the Khans to eat and drink and carouse. A little way across stood a great multitude of people who had come from every corner of the land to see the Khan's Tiger King cloak.

After a while amidst the blare of music the Khan ambled across the platform with a self-satisfied air. He made a sweeping gesture with his hand, and a well-dressed servant climbed up, bearing a yellow bundle. He opened it up and took out the glistening golden colored cloak made of the Tiger King's skin. He paraded it for everyone to see, then helped the Khan to put it on. No sooner had the Khan put on the cloak than he turned into a fierce motley-colored tiger. It made a deafening roar and bounded off the platform and attacked the throng, biting and wounding many people. The officials were so scared they leaped onto their horses and made off for all they were worth.

At that moment Ku-nan fortunately arrived on the scene. When he saw a tiger chasing people and mauling them, he was horrified. He thought of shooting the beast with his arrow, but unluckily he had left his arrow-bag at home; even the dagger was not at his girdle. As he was fumbling helplessly, the tiger suddenly charged in his direction. He stood his ground and waited till the beast had come within reach. Then with the swiftness of an eagle he grabbed its tail, jerked it into the air and in a single breath smote it ten times upon the ground. The tiger lay bruised, maimed and bleeding and soon died. Because the beast was formerly the Khan, people went to bury it.

From then on Ku-nan went out hunting every day, riding his dapple pony, and on his return he would share his kill with poor Alads around the neighborhood. Besides, he often cured the poor of their eye diseases with his precious pearl: as soon as old people looked at it, their dim sight would become clear; as soon as the blind rolled it round the orbit of their eyes, they would be able to see. Thanks to his help the poor Alads began to sing their joyful songs again and their lives became very pleasant.

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Source: Folk Tales from China, fifth series (Peking: Foreign Languages Press, 1960), pp. 46-57. Recorded by Sai Yeh. No copyright notice.

The Magic Moneybag

A Korean Folktale

Long, long ago there was a young couple who lived in a small thatched hut in a gully. They were so poor that every day they had to cut two bundles of firewood and carry them to market on their backs.

One day, the young couple came back from the mountain carrying the firewood. They put one bundle in the courtyard and planned to sell it at the market the next day to buy rice. The other bundle they kept in the kitchen for their own use. When they woke up the following morning, the bundle in the courtyard had mysteriously disappeared. There was nothing to do but to sell the bundle which they had kept for themselves.

That same day, they cut another two bundles of firewood as usual. They put one bundle in the courtyard for market and kept the other bundle for their own use. But the following morning, the bundle in the courtyard had vanished again. The same thing happened on the third and fourth day as well, and the husband began to think there was something strange going on.

On the fifth day, he made a hollow in the bundle of firewood in the courtyard and hid himself inside it. From the outside it looked just the same as before. At midnight an enormous rope descended from the sky, attached itself to the bundle and lifted it up into the sky, with the woodcutter still inside it.

On his arrival in heaven, he saw a kindly looking, white-haired old man coming in his direction. The old man untied the bundle and when he found the man inside it, he asked, "Other people only cut one bundle of firewood a day. Why do you cut two?"

The woodcutter made a bow and replied, "We are penniless. That's why my wife and I cut two bundles of firewood a day. One bundle is for our own use and the other we carry to the market. With it we can buy rice to make porridge."

The old man chuckled and said to the woodcutter in a warmhearted tone of voice, "I've known for a long time that you are a decent couple and lead a frugal and hardworking life. I shall give you a piece of treasure. Take it back with you and it will provide you with your livelihood."

As soon as he had finished speaking, there came seven fairies who led the young man into a magnificent palace. Its golden eaves and gleaming roof tiles shone so brightly that the moment he entered, he could no longer open his eyes. Inside the palace there were many kinds of rare objects on display that he had never seen before. Moneybags of all shapes and sizes hung in one room. The fairies asked him, "Which one do you like best? Choose whichever you please, and take it home."

The woodcutter was beside himself with joy, "I'd like that moneybag, the one full of precious things. Give me that round, bulging one." He chose the biggest one and took it down.

Just at this moment, the white-haired old man came in and, with a stern expression on his face, said to the young man, "You cannot take that one. I'll give you an empty one. Every day you can take one tael of silver out of it, and no more." The woodcutter reluctantly agreed. He took the empty moneybag and, clinging onto the enormous rope, he was lowered to the ground.

Once home, he gave the moneybag to his wife and told her the whole story. She was most excited. In the daytime they went as usual to cut firewood. But from then on, whenever they returned home after dark, they would close the door and open the moneybag. Instantly, a lump of silver would roll jingling out. When they weighed it on the palm of their hand, they found it to be exactly one tael. Every day one tael of silver and no more came rolling out of the bag. The wife saved them up one by one.

Time went slowly by. One day the husband suggested, "Let's buy an ox."

The wife didn't agree. A few days later, the husband suggested again, "How about buying a few acres of land?"

His wife didn't agree with that either. A few more days elapsed, and the wife herself proposed, "Let's build a little thatched cottage."

The husband was itching to spend all the money they had saved and said, "Since we have so much money in hand, why don't we build a big brick house?"

The wife could not dissuade her husband and reluctantly went along with his idea.

The husband spent the money on bricks, tiles and timber and on hiring carpenters and masons. From that time on, neither of them went into the mountain to cut firewood any more. The day came when their pile of silver was almost exhausted, but the new house was still unfinished. It had long been in the back of the husband's mind to ask the moneybag to produce more silver. So without his wife's knowledge, he opened the bag for a second time that day. Instantly, another lump of snow-white silver rolled jingling out of the bag onto the ground. He opened it a third time and received a third lump.

He thought to himself, "If I go on like this, I can get the house finished in no time!" He quite forgot the old man's warning. But when he opened the bag for the fourth time, it was absolutely empty. This time not a scrap of silver came out of it. It was just an old cloth bag. When he turned to look at his unfinished brick house, that was gone as well. There before him was his old thatched hut.

The woodcutter felt very sad. His wife came over and consoled him, "We can't depend on the magic moneybag from heaven. Let's go back to the mountain to cut firewood as we did before. That's a more dependable way of earning a living."

From that day on, the young couple once again went up to the mountain to cut firewood and led their old, hardworking life.

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Source: Favourite Folktales of China, translated by John Minford (Beijing: New World Press, 1983), pp. 143-147. No copyright notice.

Solomon and the Two Women

The First Book of Kings

Then came there two women, that were harlots, unto King Solomon, and stood before him. And the one woman said, "Oh my lord, I and this woman dwell in one house; and I was delivered of a child with her in the house. And it came to pass the third day after that I was delivered, that this woman was delivered also: and we were together; there was no stranger with us in the house, save we two in the house. And this woman's child died in the night; because she overlaid it. And she arose at midnight, and took my son from beside me, while thine handmaid slept, and laid it in her bosom, and laid her dead child in my bosom. And when I rose in the morning to give my child suck, behold, it was dead: but when I had considered it in the morning, behold, it was not my son, which I did bear."

And the other woman said, "Nay; but the living is my son, and the dead is thy son."

And this said, "No; but the dead is thy son, and the living is my son." Thus they spake before the king.

Then said the king, "The one saith, 'This is my son that liveth, and thy son is the dead'; and the other saith, 'Nay; but thy son is the dead, and my son is the living.'" And the king said, "Bring me a sword." And they brought a sword before the king. And the king said, "Divide the living child in two, and give half to the one, and half to the other."

Then spake the woman whose the living child was unto the king, for her bowels yearned upon her son, and she said, "Oh my lord, give her the living child, and in no wise slay it."

But the other said, "Let it be neither mine nor thine, but divide it."

Then the king answered and said, "Give her the living child, and in no wise slay it: she is the mother thereof."

And all Israel heard of the judgment which the king had judged; and they feared the king: for they saw that the wisdom of God was in him, to do judgment.

---

• Source: First Book of Kings, 3:16-28. King James translation.

• Solomon's wise judgments (including many that are not recorded in the Bible) are featured in many Middle Eastern and European folktales.

Billie Jean

The Brewery of Eggshells

T. Crofton Croker, Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland

Mrs. Sullivan fancied that her youngest child had been exchanged by "fairies theft," and certainly appearances warranted such a conclusion; for in one night her healthy, blue-eyed boy had become shrivelled up into almost nothing, and never ceased squalling and crying. This naturally made poor Mrs. Sullivan very unhappy; and all the neighbors, by way of comforting her, said that her own child was, beyond any kind of doubt, with the good people, and that one of themselves was put in his place.

Mrs. Sullivan of course could not disbelieve what every one told her, but she did not wish to hurt the thing; for although its face was so withered, and its body wasted away to a mere skeleton, it had still a strong resemblance to her own boy. She, therefore, could not find it in her heart to roast it alive on the griddle, or to burn its nose off with the red hot tongs, or to throw it out in the snow on the roadside, notwithstanding these, and several like proceedings, were strongly recommended to her for the recovery of her child.

One day who should Mrs. Sullivan meet but a cunning woman, well known about the country by the name of Ellen Leah (or Grey Ellen). She had the gift, however she got it, of telling where the dead were, and what was good for the rest of their souls; and could charm away warts and wens, and do a great many wonderful things of the same nature.

"You're in grief this morning, Mrs. Sullivan," were the first words of Ellen Leah to her.

"You may say that, Ellen," said Mrs. Sullivan, "and good cause I have to be in grief, for there was my own fine child whipped off from me out of his cradle, without as much as 'by your leave' or 'ask you pardon,' and an ugly dony bit of of a shrivelled up fairy put in his place; no wonder, then, that you see me in grief, Ellen."

"Small blame to you, Mrs. Sullivan," said Ellen Leah, "but are you sure 'tis a fairy?"

"Sure!" echoed Mrs. Sullivan, "sure enough I am to my sorrow, and can I doubt my own two eyes? Every mother's soul must feel for me!"

"Will you take an old woman's advice?" said Ellen Leah, fixing her wild and mysterious gaze upon the unhappy mother; and, after a pause, she added, "but maybe you'll call it foolish?"

"Can you get me back my child, my own child, Ellen?" said Mrs. Sullivan with great energy.

"If you do as I bid you," returned Ellen Leah, "you'll know." Mrs. Sullivan was silent in expectation, and Ellen continued, "Put down the big pot, full of water, on the fire, and make it boil like mad; then get a dozen new-laid eggs, break them, and keep the shells, but throw away the rest; when that is done, put the shells in the pot of boiling water, and you will soon know whether it is your own boy or a fairy. If you find that it is a fairy in the cradle, take the red hot poker and cram in down his ugly throat, and you will not have much trouble with him after that I promise you."

Home went Mrs. Sullivan, and did as Ellen Leah desired. She put the pot on the fire, and plenty of turf under it, and set the water boiling as such a rate, that if ever water was red hot, it surely was.

The child was lying, for a wonder, quite easy and quiet in the cradle, very now and then cocking his eye, that would twinkle as keen as a star in a frosty night, over at the great fire, and the big pot upon it; and he looked on with great attention at Mrs. Sullivan breaking the eggs and putting down the eggshells to boil. At last he asked, with the voice of a very old man, "What are you doing mammy?"

Mrs. Sullivan's heart, as she said herself, was up in her mouth ready to choke her, at hearing the child speak. But she contrived to put the poker in the fire, and to answer, without making any wonder at the words, "I'm brewing, a vick" (my son).

"And what are you brewing, mammy?" said the little imp, whose supernatural gift of speech now proved beyond question that he was a fairy substitute.

"I wish the poker was red," thought Mrs. Sullivan; but it was a large one, and took a long time heating; so she determined to keep him in talk until the poker was in a proper state to thrust down his throat, and therefore repeated the question.

"Is it what I'm brewing, a vick," said she, "you want to know?"

"Yes, mammy: what are you brewing?" returned the fairy.

"Eggshells, a vick," said Mrs. Sullivan.

"Oh!" shrieked the imp, starting up in the cradle, and clapping his hands together, "I'm fifteen hundred years in the world, and I never saw a brewery of eggshells before!" The poker was by this time quite red, and Mrs. Sullivan, seizing it, ran furiously towards the cradle; but somehow or other her foot slipped, and she fell flat on the floor, and the poker flew out of her hand to the other end of the house.

However, she got up without much loss of time and went to the cradle, intending to pitch the wicked thing that was in it into the pot of boiling water, when there she saw her own child in a sweet sleep, one of his soft round arms rested upon the pillow--his features were as placid as if their repose had never been disturbed, save the rosy mouth, which moved with a gentle and regular breathing.

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• Source: W. B. Yeats, Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry (1888).

• Yeats' source: J. Crofton Croker, Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland. 3 parts. London, 1825-1828. A number of Croker's fairy legends were translated into German in 1826 by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm.

Two Manx Changelings

Sir Walter Scott, "On the Fairies of Popular Superstition"

I.

I [Scott's source] was prevailed upon myself 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 seemingly 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 any infant's of six months; his complexion was perfectly delicate, and he had the finest hair in the world. He never spoke nor cried, ate scarce anything, and was very seldom seen to smile; but if anyone 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 charring, and left him a whole day together. The neighbors, out of curiosity, have often looked in at the window, to see how he behaved while 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.

II.

Waldron gives another account of a poor woman, to whose offspring, it would seem, the Fairies had taken a special fancy.

A few nights after she was delivered of her first child, the family were alarmed by a dreadful cry of "Fire!" All flew to the door, while the mother lay trembling in bed, unable to protect her infant, which was snatched from the bed by an invisible hand. Fortunately, the return of the gossips, after the causeless alarm, disturbed the Fairies, who dropped the child, which was found sprawling and shrieking upon the threshold.

At the good woman's second accouchement, a tumult was heard in the cowhouse, which drew thither the whole assistants. They returned, when they found that all was quiet among the cattle, and lo! the second child had been carried from the bed, and dropped in the middle of the lane.

But, upon the third occurrence of the same kind, the company were again decoyed out of the sick woman's chamber by a false alarm, leaving only a nurse, who was detained by the bonds of sleep. On this last occasion, the mother plainly saw her child removed, though the means were invisible. She screamed for assistance to the nurse; but the old lady had partaken too deeply of the cordials which circulate upon such joyful occasions, to be easily awakened.

In short, the child was this time fairly carried off, and a withered, deformed creature left in its stead, quite naked, with the clothes of the abstracted infant, rolled in a bundle, by its side. This creature lived nine years, ate nothing but a few herbs, and neither spoke, stood, walked, nor performed any other functions of mortality; resembling, in all respects, the changeling already mentioned.

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• Source: Sir Walter Scott, "On the Fairies of Popular Superstition" (Introduction to "The Tale of Tamlane," Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, Poetic Works (Edinburgh: Ballantyne, 1833), vol. 2, pp. 321-323.

• Scott's source: Waldron, Isle of Man, pp. 128-129.

Mind the Crooked Finger

J. G. Ollason, Shetland Islands

Bill Robertson, age 71, residing in Lerwick, soberly narrated this trustworthy story:

My mother, God rest her soul, told me this, and she neither could nor would have told me a lie. She was staying with friends at Kirgood-a-Weisdale; one night at about twilight the man of the house was very concerned, for his honest wife had just had a pretty baby.

And now, my lamb that you are, what should he hear just as he was going to leave the lamb-house, but three most unearthly knocks, the same as if it had been from under the ground. Now, he didn't know what this could be, but he took hold of himself and went up to the corn yard, and as he comes in sight of the granary he hears a voice that said three times, "Mind the crooked finger."

Now, his wife had a crooked finger, and he knew very well that something was going to happen, for his gray neighbors were on the watch for the helpless infant, or mother, or both. So he comes into the house, and lights a candle, takes down the Bible, and a steel knife. He opens the book and the knife, when such a roaring and trolling, and unearthly stamping and rattling, and confusion comes from the cow-barn that made the whole house shake. And everybody fell a-quaking.

Now, he takes the open Bible, and makes for the cow-barn, and those that were in the house follow him trembling and quaking, only the wise-woman being left with the poor wife and infant. Now, when he gets to the door, he heaves in the Bible before him, sticks the open knife in his mouth, edge outwards, and the burning candle in one of his hands. That instant the trolling was done and the noise and din ceased all of a sudden, and the image that had been prepared to put in the place of the poor wife and innocent pretty lamb was all that was left in the cow-barn.

"Well," says the man of the house, as he gripped in his arms the very likeness of his wife that the trolls had left in the cow-barn, "I've taken you, and I'll use you." Well, he took into the house the image left by the trolls, and it had every joint and part of a woman. And my mother told me she saw it, and the honest folk for many a year, and their children after them, sat upon the stock, or image, or likeness; and things was set on it, and wood was sawn on it.

And that's as true as I'm speaking to you, and not a borrowed or handed-down story; for my mother told me it with her own lips, and she would not have told me a lie."

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Source: George Douglas, Scottish Fairy and Folk Tales (London: Walter Scott Publishing Co., 1901), pp. 123-124. Rewritten in standard English by D. L. Ashliman.