"Well, Grizzel," said he, "is it a lad or a lass bairn we hae found; for I am convinced (for a' the fear it gae me), by what our elder has said, that it is nae fairy, but an unchristened wean the elves had been carryin awa frae its parents, wha, I hae nae doot, are noo mournin its loss."
"Indeed, guidman," replied Grizzel, "it is as sonsie a lass bairn as ever I saw in my life, and a's richt. It is nae fairy, I'm satisfied, and I'm richt glad on't; for she'll be a great comfort to us, now that we are getting up in years, if her ain mother doesna come to take her to her ain bosom; but o' that I think there is little chance; for, by the few words it spoke, it is nae child o' oor land."
"William Kerr," said the elder, "if, as your wife proposes, you mean to keep this child, there is one duty to perform, both for its sake and your own—and that is, it must be baptised; for there is no doubt this sacred right has either been withheld or neglected, or the enemy would not have had the power to do as he has done. To-morrow I will go myself to the minister and talk with him; and next Lord's-day you or I must present it to be admitted into the visible church, of which I pray it may be a worthy member. Are you content?"
"Far mair than content," replied the farmer; "I will rejoice, and bless God, for the occasion as fervently as if she were my ain. While I hae a bit or a bield she shall neither feel hunger nor cold."
The parties separated for the night, and the new-found stranger slept in the bosom of the farmer's wife. On the following Sabbath it was taken to the church of Minniegaff to be baptised. The church was crowded to excess. Every one that could, by any effort, get there, attended to witness the christening of a fairy, all expecting something uncommon to occur. The farmer and his wife, they thought, were too rash to harbour it in their house, for it was not chancy to be at feud with "the good people," who, out of revenge, might shoot his cattle; and, verily, during that summer, a good many had already died of elve shots. As the christening party approached the church, every one was anxious to get a peep at the young creature. It was so beautiful that it could not, they said, be a common child; neither was it a changeling, for changelings are weazened, yammering, ill-looking things, that greet night and day, and never grow bigger. Contrary to the expectations of almost all the congregation, when the farmer and his party entered the church, the child neither screamed nor flew off in a flash of fire, but smiled as beautiful as a cherub. The service went on as usual. The farmer stood up and took the holy vows upon himself, and gave the lovely babe the name of Helen. The girl throve, and became the pride of her foster-parents, who loved her as intensely as if she had been their own child; and Colin became, if possible, more beloved by them, as Helen's playfellow.
A few months after the finding of Helen, as Grizzel was one day examining the silken dress which she wore when discovered on the muir, and which had never been put on since—being soiled and damp when taken off—she discovered a piece of paper in one of the folds, much creased, as if it had been placed there by some one in a state of great agitation. It was written in French. Neither the farmer nor herself could read it, but William, on the first opportunity, took and showed it to the minister, who translated it as follows:—"Merciful God! protect me and my child from the fury of my husband, who has returned, after his long absence, more gloomy than ever. Alas! in what have I offended him? If I have, without any intention, done so, my dear baby, you cannot have given offence. Good God! there are preparations for a journey making in the court-yard—horse, saddle, and pillion. Where am I to be carried to? My babe! I will not be parted from you but by death. His feet are on the stairs: I hear his voice. Alas! I tremble at that sound which was once music to my soul. Holy Virgin! he approaches!" Here the writing ceased. It threw no light upon the event, further than it showed that the mother of the child was unhappy, and above the lower ranks of life. The paper William left with the minister, at his request.
The little Helen grew, and became even more lovely and engaging—the delight and joy of the farmer and his wife. Yet their happiness had in it a mixture of pain; for they never thought of her but with a fear lest, as not being their own child, she should be claimed and taken from them. Years rolled on, and Helen grew apace. She was of quick parts, and learned with facility everything she was taught—a circumstance which induced many to believe that the fairies were her private tutors. The opinion was justified by other circumstances. She was thoughtful and solitary for a child. The Eldrich Stone was her favourite haunt. She seldom joined in the sports of the other children of her age—having, indeed, little inducement; for they were always fearful of her, and felt constraint in her presence. Some of the most forward taunted her with the cognomen of Fairy Helen; and if she was successful (as she often was) in their childish sports, they left her, saying, "Who could win with a fairy?" This chilled the joyous heart of the fair Helen, and was the cause of many tears, which the kind Grizzel would kiss off with more than maternal love. As she grew up, she withdrew herself from the society of those who thus grieved her; but there was one individual who ever took her part, and boldly stood forth in her defence. This was Willie, "the widow's son," as he was familiarly called, for no one knew his surname. He lived with an aged woman, who passed as his mother; but the more knowing females of the village said she could not, from her apparent age, bear that character. She had come there no one knew from whence, and inhabited a lone cottage with the boy. She appeared to be extremely poor, yet sought no aid from any one. William was better clad than any child in the parish, and much care had been taken in his education. She had (by the proper legitimate right) the name of being a witch. She sought not the acquaintance of her neighbours; and, when addressed by any of them, was very reserved, but civil; while the only thing that saved her from persecution was her regular and devout attendance at church, along with the child William, and the good opinion of the worthy minister. Yet this scarcely saved her; for, when anything untoward occurred in the neighbourhood, it was always laid to her charge. William was six or seven years older than Helen, and, still smarting under the taunts he had himself endured, was her champion, and none dared offer her insult in his presence. Her timid heart clung to him and loved him as a brother, and they were ever together—as he accompanied her to and from school, as if she had been his sister. He was now about eighteen, tall and athletic for his age, and of a firm and resolute mind.
It was in the autumn of the year 1688, that a strange horseman, with a servant behind him, was seen to approach the lone cottage of the widow—to dismount and enter it. He remained for several hours, during which his servant was busy purchasing a horse, and the necessary furniture for an immediate departure. Willie was afterwards seen bounding across the fields towards the house of William Kerr, which he entered, with a face beaming with joy.
"Helen," said he, "I am come to bid you farewell; for I am going to leave Minniegaff for a long time, and I could not think of going without seeing you, and letting you know my good fortune."
Helen burst into tears, and sobbed. "O Willie!" she cried, "who will take my part when you are gone? I will have no friend left but my dear father and mother, and I will miss you so much. But it is wrong for me to be grieved for your departure, if your fortune is good." And she tried to subdue her tears.