"Hold your tongue, rash boy, hold your tongue--do not say such words!" "What a bold and venturesome lad you are, my boy!" "Grandfather, you should join us in scolding my brother Karadeucq instead of encouraging him in his dangerous wishes. Do you not know--" "What, my blonde Roselyk?" "Alas! grandfather, the Korrigans steal the children of poor mothers and put little monsters in their place. The song so has it--" "Let's hear that song, my little Roselyk." "It runs this way, grandfather: "Mary is very sad; she has lost her little Laoik; the Korrigan snatched him away. "As I went to the spring for water I left my Laoik in his cradle; when I came back to the house, my little one was gone far away. "And in its place the Korrigan left me this monster--with a face as red as a toad's; he scratches and bites. "And all day he wants to be nursed, and yet he is seven years old--and yet he wants to be nursed. "Mary is very sad; she has lost her little Laoik; the Korrigan snatched him away! "That is the song, grandfather. And will brother still want to meet the wicked things, these Korrigan fairies who snatch away babes?" "What have you now to say in defense of your fairies, my pet?" "Grandfather, my sweet sister Roselyk has been imposed upon by evil tongues. All mothers with ugly urchins for children declare that the Korrigans substituted a little monster for their darling." "Well answered, my grandson!" "And, on my part, I maintain that the Korrigans are, on the contrary, sweet and serviceable. Do you know the valley of Helle?" "Yes, my dare-devil." "One time the finest hay in the world was to be got in that valley-- "'Hay from Helle, perfumed hay.'" "Well, that was thanks to the Korrigans--" "Indeed? Tell me how--" "When the time for mowing and haymaking came around, the Korrigans arrived and camped on the crests of the rocks around the valley to watch over the meadow. If during the day the sun parched the grass too much, the Korrigans caused a plentiful dew to drop. When the grass was mowed, they scattered the clouds that might have interfered with the making of hay. A foolish and wicked bishop wanted to chase away the pretty and kind fairies. He caused a large heather fire to be kindled early one night all over the rocks; when these were sufficiently hot, the ashes, were all carefully removed. At their regular hour, and suspecting nothing, the dear Korrigans came to hold watch over the meadow, but they instantly burned their feet on the hot rocks. They then wept and cried: 'Oh! Wicked world! Oh! Wicked world!' Since then they never more returned to the place, and as a consequence, ever since, the hay has been either rotted by the rain, or burned by the sun in the valley of Helle. That is what comes of being unkind to the Korrigans. No, I shall not die happy if I do not see at least one of them--"