O'Brien, "make it up after by losing your child! Was
there any iron anywhere about him?"
"I don't know that there was."
"And did you make a circle of fire about the place where he was
lying?"
"I did not."
"The child's not been struck," said Mrs. O'Brien; "not the way you
mean. It's not your child at all, but one of the Good People
themselves, that's in it. They've stolen your child and left a
changeling in the place of it."
"It's the same way you always talked, Mrs. O'Brien," said Peter. "I
don't believe them things."
They had come to Peter's door by this time. They found Ellen lying in
bed, looking frightened half to death, and beside her was the baby, or
the fairy, or whatever it was. It was not crying loudly now, but it
was keeping up a little whining and whimpering noise that was quite as
unpleasant to listen to as a good, honest cry. Its face looked thin
and pinched and old; it had a little thin, wispy hair on its head
where no baby of the age that this one was supposed to be has a right
to have any. Its arms and hands were thin and bony.
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