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 neighbours, 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
road-side, 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 of from me out
of his cradle, without as much as 'by your leave' or 'ask your
pardon,' and an ugly dony bit 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 it 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 at 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,
every 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 egg-shells 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.
"Egg-shells, _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 egg-shells 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.