The shepherd was a man who concentrated all his thoughts on the business he had on hand, and as he led his sheep to the down on which he meant to leave them to the care of the dogs for the day, he was making a nice calculation of how long it would take him and his assistants to finish the shearing, when, just as he was about to leave the sheep, he was accosted by an old woman. She was tall, thin, with a slight stoop, a hooked nose, bright black eyes, and rough, crisp, grizzly hair, which gave her rather a witch-like appearance; nor did the bonnet perched on the top of her head, its crown in the air, tend to dispel this notion. She had a knotted stick in one hand, and a basket with some pieces of wool off the sheeps' backs which she had collected from the bushes in the other. It was Dame Hursey, the wool-gatherer, well known to John Shelley and every other shepherd in the neighbourhood, with all of whom she often had a gossip, and celebrated in the district as the mother of an unfortunate son, a fine, promising young sailor, who, having been convicted of robbery some years ago, and served a long sentence in Lewes gaol, had never been heard of since, unless his mother was in his confidence.
A great gossip was Dame Hursey; she always knew all that went on in the neighbourhood, for she led a wandering, restless life, never at home except at night, sticking and wool-gathering in the autumn and winter, haymaking and gleaning in the summer, gossiping, whenever she had a chance, at all seasons. If anyone were likely to know anything about this strange baby, always supposing the fairies had had nothing to do with it, it was Dame Hursey, and the shepherd, being relieved of any further anxiety about the sheep, walked with her and told her the story.
John Shelley was neither a quick-witted nor an observant man, except with regard to the weather, every sign of which he took in, or he would have noticed that Dame Hursey started perceptibly when he told her the time he found the baby, and that a glance of quick intelligence shot into her bright eyes as she heard the story; but when he had finished she gave it as her firm opinion that the "Pharisees," and no one else, must have brought the child, and she urged John on no account to part with it, as there was no telling what revenge the fairies might take if their wishes were set aside. And the old wool-gatherer proceeded to tell such wonderful stories of the terrible vengeance wrought by these mysterious little beings on people who had despised their gifts, that the shepherd was glad to put an end to such unpleasant suggestions by walking off at a rapid pace to his unshorn sheep.