"Ah, poor maid, she is pleased enough!" said her mother. "She cannot take the spinning-wheel, and the net-making is too hard for her, so time hangs but heavily with her."
"What was the cause of her malady?" asked my mother.
"She was pisky-struck, madame. The very week after she was born, the careless woman who was with me went out and left us alone, and I asleep with an unchristened babe. I was waked by a great noise, as of something running up the wall, and the next minute I heard the babe scream, and there it lay on the ground. No doubt the piskies would have carried it off altogether, if I had not waked just in time. After that it never thrived, poor dear."
"Perhaps is was hurt falling from the bed," I ventured to suggest.
"But what made it fall? No, madame, it was the piskies. I had the luck to displease them by accidentally treading on a fairy ring, and no doubt they meant to have their revenge."
"You did not see them?"
"No, madame, but I heard them as plain as I hear you. A better maid than poor Lois never lived, though I say it that shouldn't, but she can do little for herself or any one else."
"Can you read?" asked my mother of Lois.
"No, madame," was the answer. "My sister hath taught me a little, but not to read a book."
"And would you like to learn?"