The moon was shining brightly and flooding Harry's room with its rays. He was suffering so very much, and had tried in vain to sleep. Presently he asked his nurse if she would not let Mary come and talk to him. "It will not tire me," he begged earnestly; "and it does tire me to lie here hour after hour with no one to talk to."

His nurse understood him so well, and her heart ached for the lonely child who had so little to amuse him in life. She never refused a request if it were at all possible to grant it. So she called his sister Mary, who hastened at once to his room, and brother and sister were soon far away on a ramble in starland.

"We shall go to the moon this evening," she began, "and find out what a queer old world it is."

"Old?" asked Harry; "why do you call it old, when it looks so bright and new? See, sister, how it seems to be looking right into the window and watching us. I wonder if it knows what we are saying about it. Now what would it think if it heard you calling it old?"

"But it is," said Mary, laughing; "and very old indeed. Its face is wrinkled and scarred, and is just like that of the old dried-up apple we found in the orchard the other day."

"What makes it so bright, then, if it is so old?" asked Harry, as he looked curiously at the moon.

"It borrows its light from the sun," replied his sister; "if the sun were to stop shining you would not be able to see the moon at all. It would be as dark as night and twice as gloomy."

"Do you think there are people on the moon?" asked Harry excitedly.

"No, dear, not even the 'Man in the Moon,' though I am going to tell you some stories about him presently. Besides, no one could live on the moon, as there is not any air to breathe, and you cannot live without air. There is not any water to drink; in fact, there is not a drop of water on the moon."

"Then it must be very old," said Harry thoughtfully, "because you know you told me, sister, some time ago, that if a planet grows very old all the oceans and bays disappear."

"Yes, the moon is very old; it is a dead world. If you could go there, you would find it a very gloomy spot. There are no trees or flowers; and there is not even a blade of grass. The sky is always black and the stars shine night and day. The shadows are so black on the moon that it would be a fine place to play hide-and-seek. The moment you stepped into a shadow you would become invisible."

"Just like the prince in the fairy tale who put on a little cap and no one could see him," said Harry.

"Yes; that prince would not need the cap on the moon. If he did not want anyone to know he was there, all he would have to do would be to keep in the shadow. No one would hear his footsteps, as not a sound can be heard on the moon. It would be useless to speak, as there is no air to carry the sound of a voice."

"I should not like to go to the moon, then," said Harry seriously, "because you could not tell me any stories, sister, could you? What would I do then?"

"I really cannot imagine," said Mary, laughing; "but perhaps you might come across the Man in the Moon and talk to him in sign-language."

"Like the deaf-and-dumb people?" asked Harry.

"If he could understand it," said Mary; "but then, we know there is really not any Man in the Moon."

"But there is a story about him," said Harry coaxingly, "and I do wish you would tell it to me, just now while the moon is looking at us from the sky."

THE MAN IN THE MOON.

"Well, once upon a time," began Mary, in true fairy-story fashion, "there was a man who went out into the woods and picked up sticks on a Sunday. That was very wicked of him, you know, because Sunday is a day of rest, and picking up sticks is work. He tied the sticks together into a bundle, and, putting them on his shoulder, started to walk home with them. On the way he met a handsome stranger, who said to him:

"'What are you picking up sticks for on Sunday?'

"'It does not matter to me whether it is Sunday or Monday,' replied the man roughly. 'I pick up sticks when I want to.'

"'Very well, then,' replied the handsome stranger sternly, 'since you will not observe Sunday as a day of rest on earth, you shall have an everlasting moon-day in heaven.' Next moment he went whirling away to the sky, and landed on the moon, where you can still see him with his load of sticks on his back at full moon."

"Can I see him now, sister?" asked Harry.

"Not to-night," she replied, "because there is only a quarter moon. But perhaps you can see the face of the woman in the moon, if you look very carefully. See her sharp chin and pointed nose and shaggy eyebrows."

"Why, is there a woman in the moon, too?" asked Harry, as he looked intently at the moon, trying to see all his sister had pointed out, but having to rely largely upon his imagination.

THE WOMAN IN THE MOON.

"I have heard a story of an old woman who was sent to the moon."

"Why, what had she done?" asked Harry.

"She was very unhappy while on earth, because she could not tell when the world would come to an end; that is, when it would get old and dead like the moon, so that no one could live on it any longer. For this she was sent to the moon. She has been weaving a forehead strap ever since. Once a month she stirs a kettle of boiling hominy, and her cat sits beside her unraveling her net. So she keeps on weaving and weaving, and the cat unravels her work as soon as it is done. This must continue to the end of time, for never till then will her work be finished."

"Poor old woman!" said Harry; "I wonder she does not hide her work from the cat, or send the cat away. But then, that is only a story. Can you tell me another?"

"Do you never tire of stories?" asked Mary, smiling.

"Never, when you tell them to me, sister. And you seem to know such a lot of them."

"But these stories are only fairy-tales," said Mary, laughing; "these moon-stories, I mean."

"I don't mind," said Harry roguishly; "we must have a little make-up story now and then, or I would get tired. Do you make them all up yourself, sister?"

"No, indeed," said Mary. "I find them here and there and everywhere; sometimes right in the middle of a big book on astronomy, or in the corner of an old newspaper, or hidden away in a book covered with dust on the top shelf in the library."

"Where did you find that story about the old woman and the cat?"

"In a book of Indian legends, and the story is told by the Iroquois Indians. Here is another one I found. Would you like to hear it?"

"You know I would, dear," said Harry, nestling closer to his sister, as she clasped his hand in hers.

THE TOAD IN THE MOON.

"Once upon a time a little wolf fell very much in love with a toad, and went a-wooing one night. Just like the frog, 'he would a-wooing go.' You remember, Harry, don't you?"

"'Whether his mother would let him or no,'" continued Harry; "of course I remember all about him. So the wolf went after the toad and——"

"He prayed that the moon would light him on his way," continued Mary; "and his prayer was heard. By the clear light of the full moon he ran after the toad, and he nearly caught her, when, what do you think happened?"

"Oh, go on, sister; tell me quickly!" said Harry excitedly.

"Why, the toad jumped right onto the face of the moon, and, turning round to the wolf, said: 'How's that, Mr. Wolf?' And she is laughing at the wolf to this day."

"That was a clever little toad," said Harry, laughing; "and how vexed Mr. Wolf must have been! Are there any more people on the moon—I mean story people?"

"Yes, there is one we read about in the legend of Hiawatha. Don't you remember how Nokomis tells about a warrior

"Do you think he meant the black marks you can see all over the moon, sister?"

SCENERY ON THE MOON.

"Very likely," replied Mary; "and perhaps you would like me to tell you what those black marks are. They are enormous plains and gloomy caverns on the moon. A long time ago, perhaps, these plains were bays and seas. At least, a great astronomer named Galileo thought they were, and he gave them such pretty names—the Sea of Serenity, the Bay of Dreams, the Ocean of Storms. But he lived in the days before it was known that there is not any water on the surface of the moon. Then the caverns on the moon may once have been volcanoes pouring forth hot lava and ashes, just as the active volcanoes on the earth. But the volcanoes in the moon have gone out. They are now like huge dark caverns, some of them more than fifty miles across. One is three miles deep, and it is named Tycho, after a great astronomer of olden times.

"Then there are mountains on the moon just like the mountains on earth, and quite as high. In walking over the moon you would find it very rough and uneven, but you would not mind this very much, as you would weigh so much less. Just think, Harry, you would weigh only one-sixth as much as you do here."

"And what would Uncle Robert weigh?" asked Harry, with a gleam of mischief in his eye.

"He would only weigh forty pounds," said Mary, laughing; "and if he played football on the moon, a good kick would send the ball six times as far away as here. Supposing we were on the moon now, you could throw a stone at Uncle Robert's house on the other side of the grounds, six hundred yards away, and hit one of the windows."

"I expect Uncle Robert may be glad then we are not on the moon," said Harry, laughing; "because I am afraid I should be throwing stones at the windows all the time. I can see the windows plainly from here. There is a light in the library."

"Then it must be very late," said Mary, looking over at the house; "because uncle said he would not be home till nine o'clock. So I can only tell you one more little story about the moon, and then I must let you go to sleep. This story is told by the Hindoo people, and gives the reason why the moon shines with such a soft, silvery light."

THE HINDOO LEGEND.

"The Sun, the Moon, and the Wind had been invited to dinner one day by their uncle and aunt, Thunder and Lightning. Their mother (one of the most distant stars you see far up in the sky) waited patiently at home for the return of her children. Sad to relate, the Sun and Wind were both greedy and selfish, and, while enjoying the good feast, forgot all about their poor hungry mother at home.

"But the gentle Moon did not forget, and whenever a dainty dish was placed before her she would put part of it aside for the Star who waited so patiently at home. When the Sun, Moon, and Wind returned home, the Star, who had kept her bright little eye open all night long, said:

"'Dear children, have you brought anything home for me?'

"Then the Sun, who was the oldest, said: 'I have brought nothing home for you. I went out to enjoy myself with my friends, not to get a dinner for my mother.'

"And the Wind said: 'Neither have I brought home anything for you, mother. You could scarcely expect me to think of you when I merely went out for my own pleasure.'

"But the gentle Moon said: 'Mother, see all the good things I saved for you,' and she placed a choice dinner before her mother.

"Then the Star turned to the Sun, and said: 'Because you went out to amuse yourself with your friends, without any thought of your poor, lonely mother at home, you shall be cursed. Henceforth your rays shall be ever hot and scorching. They shall burn all they touch, and men shall hate you and cover their heads when you appear.' That is why the sun is so hot to this day.

"Then she turned to the Wind and said: 'You also, who forgot your mother while you were enjoying yourself, shall be punished. You shall always blow during the hot, dry weather, and shall parch and shrivel all living things. Men shall detest and avoid you from this time till the end of the world.' That is why the wind is so disagreeable during the hot weather.

"But to the gentle Moon she said: 'Daughter, because you remembered your hungry mother at home, you shall be cool, calm, and bright. No dazzling glare will accompany your pure rays, and men will call you "blessed."' That is why the moon's light is so soothing and beautiful."

"Is that all?" asked Harry, as his sister finished the story.

"That is all," said Mary; "but here is a little good-night lullaby by Eugene Field, and then you must go to sleep:

THE NEW MOON.

BY MRS. FOLLEN.

LADY MOON.

BY LORD HOUGHTON.

A LEGEND.