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The Stolen Bairn and the Sidh by Sorche Nic Leodhas retold in Womenfolk and Fairy Tales edited by Rosemary Minard (Houghton Mifflin, 1975)  There
was a path that ran along near the edge of a cliff above the sea,
and along this path in the gloaming of a misty day, came two fairy
women of the Sidh. All of a sudden both of them stopped and fixed
their eyes on the path before them. There in the middle of the path
lay a bundle. Though naught could be seen of what was in it, whatever
it was, moved feebly and made sounds of an odd, mewling sort.
The two women of the Sidh leaned over and pushed away
the bundle to see what Then the first woman of the Sidh spoke and she said, "What no one comes to be claiming is our own." And the second woman picked up the bairn and happed it close under her shawl. Then the two of them made off along the path faster than they had come and were soon out of sight. About the same time, two fishermen came sailing in from the sea with their boat skirling along easy and safe away from the rocks. One of them looked up at the face of the black steep cliff and let out a shout.
It came in safe, and they drew it above the waves. Up the cliff the two of them climbed and there they found a young lass lying on a shelf of rock. They got her down and laid her in the boat, and off they sailed for home. When they got there, they gave her over to the women to nurse and tend. They found that she was not so much hurt as dazed and daft. But after two days she found her wits and looked up at them. "Where is my babe?" she cried then. "Fetch my bairn to me!" At that, the women drew back and looked at one another, not knowing what to say. For they surely had no bairn to give her! At last one old cailleach went over to her and said, "Poor lass. Call upon your Creator for strength! There was no bairn with you upon the cliff. Happen he fell from your arms to the sea." "That he did not!" she cried impatiently. "I wrapped him warm and laid him safe on the path while I went to search for water for him to drink. I did not have him with me when I fell. I must go find him!" But they would not let her go, for she was still too weak from her fall o'er the cliff. They told her the men would go by the path and fetch the bairn to her. So the men went, and they walked the path from one end to the other, but never trace of the bairn did they find. They, searched the whole the livelong day, and at night they came back and told her. They tried to comfort her as well as they could. He'd surely been found, they said, by a passer-by, and he'd be safe and sound in some good soul's house. They'd ask around. And no they did. But nobody had seen the child at all. She bided her time till her strength came back. Then she thanked them kindly for all they'd done and said she'd be going now to find her bairn. He was all she had in the world, for his father was dead. The fisherfolk would have had her remain with them. They'd long given the child up for dead, and learned to love her well. "I'll come back and bide with you when I have my bairn again," said she. "But until then, farewell." She wandered about from croft to croft and from village
to village but no one had seen him nor so much as heard of anyone
finding such a bairn At last in her wandering, she came to a place
where some gypsies had made their When they had heard her story, they said she must bide with them. At the end of the week they'd be journeying north to meet others of their clan. They had an ancient grand-mother there who had all the wisdom in the world. Perhaps she'd be able to help. So she stayed with the gypsies and traveled northward with them. When they got there, they took her to the ancient grandmother and asked her to help the lass.
When the day came for the gypsies to part and go their separate ways, the old gypsy grandmother sent for the lass again. "The time has come for the people of the Sidh to gather together at the Sidhean," said she. "Soon they will be coming from all their corners of the land to meet together. There they will choose one among them to rule over them for the next hundred years. If you can get into the Sidhean with them there is a way that you may win back your bairn for yourself." "Tell me what I must do!" said the lass eagerly. "For all their wisdom, the Sidh have no art to make anything for themselves," said the old gypsy woman. "All that they get they must either beg or steal. They have great vanity and desire always to possess a thing which has no equal. If you can find something that has not its like in all the world you may be able to buy your bairn back with it." "But how can I find such a thing?" asked the lass. "And how can I get into the Sidhean?" "As for the first," the old grandmother said, "I am not able to tell you. As for the second, perhaps you might buy your way into the Sidhean." Then the old gypsy woman laid her hand on the lass's head and blessed her and laid a spell upon her that she might be safe from earth and air, fire and water, as she went on her way. And having done for her all drat she could, she sent her away. The gypsies departed and scattered on their ways, but the lass stayed behind, poring over in her mind the things that she had been told. 'Twould be not one but two things she must have. One would buy her into the Sidhean and the other would buy her bairn out of it. And they must be rich and rare beyond compare, with no equal in the world, or the Sidh would set no value upon them. Where could a poor lass like herself find the likes of that? She couldn't think at all at first because her mind was in such a maze. But after a while she set herself to remember all the things she'd ever been told of that folks spoke of with wonder. And out of them all, the rarest things that came to her mind were the white cloak of Nechtan and the golden stringed harp of Wrad. And suddenly her mind was clear and she knew what she must do. Up she got and made her way to the sea. There she went up and down, clambering over the sharp rocks, gathering the soft white down, shed from the breasts of the eider ducks that nested there. The rocks neither cut nor bruised her hands and feet, nor did the waves beat upon her with the rising tide. The heat of the sun did her no harm, and the gales and tempests held away from her and let her work in peace. True it was, the spell of the ancient gypsy grandmother protected her from earth and water, fire and air.
Off she went, hunting up and down the shore, seeking
for something to make the frame of her harp. And she found the bones
of some animal of the sea, cast up by the waves. They were bleached
by the sun and smoothed by the tides till they looked like fine
ivory. She bent them and bound them till she had a frame for the
harp. Then she strung it with strings made from the strand of hair
she had laid aside. She stretched the strings tight and set them
in tune and then she played upon it. And the music of the harp was
of such sweetness that the birds lay motionless on the air to listen
to it. She laid the cloak on her shoulders and took the harp on
her arm and set off for the Sidhean. She traveled by high road and byroad, by open way and by secret way, by daylight and by moonlight, until at last she came to the end of her journey. She hid herself in a thicket at the foot of the Sidhean. Soon she could see the Sidh people coming. The lass watched from behind the bushes as they walked by. They were a tall dark people with little in size or feature to show that they belonged to the fairy folk, except that their ears were long and narrow and pointed at the top and their eyes and brows were set slantwise in their faces. As the lass had hoped, one of the Sidh came late, after all the rest had passed by into the Sidhean. The lass spread out the cloak to show it off at its best. She stepped out from the thicket and stood in the way of the fairy. The woman of the Sidh stepped back and looked into her face. "You are not one of us!" she cried angrily. "What has a mortal to do at a gathering of the Sidh?" And then she saw the cloak. It flowed and rippled from the collar to the hem, and the gold of the border shone as the sea waves shine with the sun upon them. The Sidh woman fell silent, but her slanting eyes swept greedily over the cloak and grew bright at sight of it. "What will you take for the cloak, mortal?" she cried. "Give it to me!" "The cloak is not for sale," said the lass. Cunningly she swirled its folds so the light shimmered and shone upon it, and the golden fruits and flowers glowed as if they had life of their own. "Lay the cloak on the ground and I'll cover it over with shining gold, and you may have it all if you'll leave me the cloak," the fairy said. "All the gold of the Sidh cannot buy the cloak," said the lass. "But it has its price..." "Tell me then!" cried the Sidh woman, dancing with impatience. "Whate'er its price you shall have it!" "Take me with you into the Sldhean and you shall have the cloak," the lass said. "Give me the cloak!" said the fairy, Stretching her hand out eagerly. "I'll take you in." But the lass wouldn't give up the cloak yet. She knew the Sidh were a thieving race that will cheat you if ever they can. "Och, nay!" she said. "First you must take me into the Sidhean. Then you may take the cloak and welcome." So the fairy caught her hand and hurried her up the path. As soon as they were well within the Sidhean the lass gave up the cloak. When the people of the Sidh saw that a mortal had come among them, they rushed at her to thrust her out. But the lass stepped quickly behind the fairy who had brought her in. When the fairy people saw the cloak they forgot the lass completely. They all crowded about the one who had it, reaching to touch it and begging to be let try it on. The lass looked about her and there on a throne at the end of the hall she saw the new king of the Sidh. The lass walked through the Sidh unheeded and came up to him boldly, holding the harp up for him to see. "What have you there, mortal?" asked the king. " 'Tis a harp," said the lass. "I have many a harp," said the king, showing but little interest. "But never a one such as this!" the lass said. And she took the harp upon her arm and plucked the golden strings with her fingers. From the harp there rose upon the air one note filled with such wild love and longing that all the Sidh turned from the cloak to wonder at it. The king of the Sidh stretched out both hands. "Give
me the harp!" he cried. "Nay!" said the lass. "
'Tis mine!" A crafty look came into the king's eyes. But he
only said idly, "Och, well, keep it then. But let me try it
once to see if the notes are true." "Och, they're true
enough," the lass answered. "I set it in tune with my
own hands. It needs no trying." She knew well that if he ever
laid his hands upon it, she'd never get it back into her own. "Och,
well," said the king. " 'Tis only a harp after all. Still,
I've taken a fancy to it. Name your price and mayhap we'll strike
a bargain." "That I'd not say," said the lass. "I
made the harp with my own hands and I strung it with my own golden
hair. There's not another its like in the world. I'm not liking
to part with it at all." The king could contain himself no
longer. "Ask what you will!" he cried. "Whatever
you ask I'll give. But let me have the harp!" And now she had
him! "Then give me my bairn your women stole from the path
along the black cliff by the sea," said the lass. The king
of tile Sidh sat back in his throne. This was a price he did not
want to pay. He had a had mind to keep the bairn When he saw that she would not be moved, he had to tell them to fetch the child for her. They brought the bairn and he knew his mother at once and held out his arms to her. But the king held him away from her and would not let her take him. "The harp first!" said the king. "The bairn first!" said the lass. And she would not let him lay hand on the harp till she had what she wanted. So the king had to give in. And once she had the child safe in her arms, she gave up the harp. The king struck a chord upon the harp and then he began to play. The music rose from the golden strings and filled all the Sidhean with music so wonderful that all the people of the Sidh stood spellbound in their tracks to listen. So rapt were they that when the lass walked out of the Sidhean with her bairn in her arms, they never saw her go. So, she left them there with the king on his throne playing his harp, and all of the people of the Sidh standing still to l listen ---maybe for the next hundred years for all anyone knows. The lass took her bairn back to the fisherfolk who had been kind to her, as she'd promised to do. And she and her bairn dwelt happily there all the rest of their days. Author Unknown (as with so many of these
old tales, if anyone knows the author please step forward and claim
your copyright.)
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"What's
amiss?" asked the other. "I'm thinking someone's gone
over the cliff!" said the first man. "Do you not see?"
The other one peered through the gloaming. "I see a bit of
somewhat," said he. "Happen 'tis a bird." "No
bird is so big," said the first fisherman, and he laid his
hand on the tiller of the boat. "You'll not be going in! The
boat'll break up on the rocks!" cried his companion. "Och,
we'll not break up. Could I go home and eat my supper in peace thinking
that some poor body might be lying out here and him hurt or dying?"
And he took the boat in. 
"Sit
thee down beside me," the old crone said, "and let me
take thy hand." So the grieving lass sat down beside her and
there the two of them stayed, side by side and hand in hand. The
hours went by and night came on and when it was midnight the ancient
grandmother took her hand from the lass's hand. She took herbs from
the basket which stood at her side and threw them on the fire. The
fire leaped up, and the smoke that rose from the burning herbs swirled
round the old gypsy's head. She looked and listened as the fire
burned hot. When it had died down, she took the lass's hand again
and fondled it, weeping sorrowfully the while. "Give up thy
search, poor lass," said she, "for thy bairn has been
stolen away by the Sidh. They have taken him into the Sidhean, and
what they take there seldom comes out again." The lass had
heard tell of the Sidh. She knew that there were no other fairies
so powerful as they. "Can you not give me a spell against them,"
she begged, to win my bairn back to me?" The ancient grandmother
shook her head sadly. "My wisdom is only as old as man,"
she said. "But the wisdom of the Sidh is older than the beginning
of the world. No spell of mine could help you against them."
"Ah, then," said the lass, "if I cannot have my bairn
back again, I must just lie down and die." "Nay,"
said the old gypsy. "A way may yet be found. Wait yet a while.
Bide here with my people till the day we part. By that time I may
find a way to help you." 
When
she had gathered all the down she needed, she sat herself down and
wove a cloak of it so soft and white that one would have thought
it a cloud she had caught from the sky. When the cloak was finished,
she cut off her long golden hair. She put a strand of it aside and
with the rest she wove a border of golden flowers and fruits and
leaves all around the edge of the cloak. Then she laid the cloak
under bit of gorse. 
amongst
them. So he had them bring gold and pour it in a great heap at her
feet. "There is a fortune your king himself might envy,"
he said. "Take all of it and give me the harp." But she
only said, "Give me my bairn." Then he had them add jewels
to the heap till she stood waist-deep in them. "All this shall
be yours," he tempted her. " 'Tis a royal price for the
harp." But she stood steadfast and never looked down at the
jewels. "Give me my bairn!" said she. 
