The windfairies, and other tales

by Mary De Morgan

Once upon a time there lived a shepherd and his wife, who lived in a very lonely little cottage far from town or village, near some mountains. It was a wild neighbourhood, and the wind blew across the mountains fiercely, and the rain often fell so heavily that it seemed as if the cottage would be washed away. One evening when the shepherd was out, there came on a great storm of rain which beat against the doors and the windows violently. As the shepherd’s wife sat listening to it by the fire, it seemed to her as if it sounded louder than she had ever heard it before, and the raindrops sounded like the knock of a hand that was knocking to gain admittance. It went on for a little time, till the shepherd’s wife could bear to listen to it no longer, and she rose and went to the door to open it, though she knew that she would let the wind and rain into the room. As she opened the door a gust of rain was blown in her face, and then she saw that in the doorway stood a woman who had been knocking. She was a tall woman wrapped in a grey cloak with long hair falling down her back. “Thank you,” she said. And though her voice was very low, the shepherd’s wife could hear it plainly through all the storm. “Thank you for opening the door to me. Many would have let me stand outside. Now may I come into your cottage and rest?”

“How wet you must be!” cried the shepherd’s wife; “come in and rest, and let me give you food. Have you come from far?”

“No, I come from quite near,” said the woman, and she came into the cottage as she spoke, and sat down in a chair near the door. “And I want no food, only a glass of water. I must go on directly, but I have not far to go, and I shall be no wetter than I am now.”

The shepherd’s wife stared in surprise, for she saw that apparently the woman’s clothes were not wet at all. And what was stranger still, though she had thought she was only clad in a dull grey cloak, now she saw that she was covered with jewellery,—clear stones, like diamonds with many flashing colours; and she also saw that all her clothes were of the finest. She gave her a glass of water, and begged that as well she might give her other food, but the woman shook her head, and said no, water was all she needed. When she had drunk the water she gave back the glass to the shepherd’s wife, and said, “And so this is your home. Have you all that you want in life? Are you happy?”

“Ay, we are happy enough,” said the shepherd’s wife, “save indeed for one thing. Ten years ago my little baby girl died, and I have no other children. I long for one sorely, that I might take care of it and make it happy, while it is little, and then in turn, when I am old, it would love and care for me.”

“And if you had a little child,” said the woman, rising up and standing before the shepherd’s wife, “you think you would really love it better than anything in the world. Many women say that, but few do it. Before long a little child will be born to you, and as long as you love it better than anything in the world it will remain with you, but when you love anything else better than your little daughter and her happiness, it will go from you; so remember my words. Good-bye,” and the woman walked to the door and went quietly out into the rain, and the shepherd’s wife saw her disappearing, and the rain pelting around her, but her clothes were not blown about, neither did the rain seem to wet her.

A year passed away, and the shepherd’s wife had a tiny daughter, a lovely little baby with the bluest eyes and the softest skin; the evening she was born the wind howled and the rain fell as fiercely as on the night when the grey woman had come into the shepherd’s cottage. The shepherd and his wife both loved their little daughter very dearly, as well they might, as no fairer child was ever seen. But as she grew older, some things about her frightened her mother, and she had some ways of which she could not cure her.

She would never go near a fire, however cold she was, neither did she love the sunshine, but always ran from it and crept into the shade; but when she heard the rain pattering against the window-panes she would cry, “Listen, mother, listen to my brothers and sisters dancing,” and then she would begin to dance too in the cottage, her little feet pattering upon the boards; or, if she possibly could, she would run out on to the moor and dance, with the rain falling upon her, and her mother had much ado to get her to come back into the cottage, yet she never seemed to get very wet, nor did she catch cold.