"Mother," she began, when the old lady came to the door, "don't _you_ know your daughter?" "I have no daughter; my daughter died and was buried a long, long time ago." "Only look in my face, and surely you'll know me." The old lady shook her head. "You have all forgotten me; but look at this mole on my neck. Surely, mother, you know me now?" "Yes, yes," said the mother, "my Gracie had a mole on her neck like that; but then I saw her in her coffin, and saw the lid shut down upon her." It became Jamie's turn to speak, and he gave the history of the fairy journey, of the theft of the young lady, of the figure he had seen laid in its place, of her life with his mother in Fannet, of last Halloween, and of the three drops that had released her from her enchantment. She took up the story when he paused, and told how kind the mother and son had been to her. The parents could not make enough of Jamie. They treated him with every distinction, and when he expressed his wish to return to Fannet, said they did not know what to do to show their gratitude. But an awkward complication arose. The daughter would not let him go without her. "If Jamie goes, I'll go too," she said. "He saved me from the fairies, and has worked for me ever since. If it had not been for him, dear father and mother, you would never have seen me again. If he goes, I'll go too." This being her resolution, the old gentleman said that Jamie should become his son-in-law. The mother was brought from Fannet in a coach and four, and there was a splendid wedding. They all lived together in the grand Dublin house, and Jamie was heir to untold wealth at his father-in-law's death. THE STOLEN CHILD. W. B. YEATS. Where dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth Wood in the lake, There lies a leafy island Where flapping herons wake The drowsy water-rats. There we've hid our fairy vats Full of berries, And of reddest stolen cherries. Come away, O, human child! To the woods and waters wild, With a fairy hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim grey sands with light, Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night, Weaving olden dances, Mingling hands, and mingling glances, Till the moon has taken flight; To and fro we leap, And chase the frothy bubbles, While the world is full of troubles. And is anxious in its sleep. Come away! O, human child! To the woods and waters wild. With a fairy hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.