In a small glen near Donegal, where mist curled like spun wool and every rock had a story, there lived a weaver’s wife named Máire. She was kind to all things — even the unseen — leaving bread and cream by the hearth each night “for the Good People,” as the fairies were called.
But her husband, Seamus, mocked such customs. “We’re feeding mice, not magic,” he would grumble, wiping his hands on his apron.
One cold morning, Máire bore a son, a rosy child with bright eyes that caught the firelight like glass. The neighbors said he was beautiful, but the midwife frowned. “His gaze is too knowing for a newborn,” she whispered.
For a year, the boy grew strong, yet strange things followed. Milk curdled overnight, music drifted through the chimney, and once, the cradle rocked by itself. Seamus scolded Máire for her offerings, calling them nonsense. That very night, the baby laughed in his sleep — and vanished.
Máire screamed. Only a bundle of twigs lay in the cradle, bound by silver thread.
She ran to the old wise woman of the hills, Nuala, who knew the ways of the Fair Folk.
“They’ve taken your child,” Nuala said gravely. “And left a changeling in his place. But you may yet win him back — if your heart is brave enough to walk between worlds.”
At midnight, under the full moon, Máire climbed to the fairy ring at the edge of the moor, where mushrooms glowed like tiny lamps. She carried a sprig of rowan and her son’s blanket.
“Give him back,” she whispered into the night.
The air shimmered. From the ring stepped a woman clothed in silver mist — the Fairy Queen herself. Behind her stood a host of shining folk, and among them, Máire saw her baby, playing with a harp of light.
“He is happy here,” said the Queen softly. “He will never sicken, never age.”
Máire’s tears fell. “Then let me hold him once, and I will go.”
The Queen tilted her head. “A mortal’s love burns quick and bright. If you touch him, he must choose — stay with you or fade forever.”
Máire knelt. “Then let him choose.”
She reached out. The child looked at her, eyes wide with wonder — and took her hand. Light burst around them like dawn through fog.
When Máire awoke, she lay beside her hearth, her son sleeping in her arms. The milk was sweet again, the cradle still. Seamus knelt by them, silent and pale.
“Do you still doubt the Good People?” she asked.
He bowed his head. “Never again.”
And from that day forward, they left cream by the fire — not from fear, but gratitude.
Moral of the Story
Love crosses even the thinnest veil. Respect the unseen, for faith and kindness guard the home as surely as locks.
Knowledge Check
- Where did the story take place?
In the misty hills of Donegal, Ireland. - Who took Máire’s child?
The Fair Folk — the Irish fairies. - What was left in the cradle?
A bundle of enchanted twigs, a changeling. - Who helped Máire find her son?
Nuala, the wise woman who knew fairy lore. - What test did the Fairy Queen give her?
That if the child chose her touch, he must stay mortal forever. - What lesson does the tale teach?
To show reverence for unseen powers and cherish love’s courage.
Origin: Irish Folktale (County Donegal, Celtic oral tradition)
