flower opening with the first night-dews.
"I never saw it from far away, like this, before," said Garth. "I think it's watching us."
He leaned back against Joan's shoulder.
"Do you know," he said, "sometimes I get to thinking about it in the middle of the night. That is, I did when I was little, because I used to wake up and not be able to go to sleep again. It's such a kind, lonely sort of thing. Just shining and shining up there, all alone, all night long."
"Long ago," he said, after a little pause, "I used to think that the moon must be angry, because the Light was so much brighter, and I remember perfickly well that I cried about it one night, because I didn't want anything to be angry with our Light. It was awfully silly of me, I think. Mudder heard me, and she came in and told me that the moon was so far away she couldn't even see the Light, and that all the little stars thought it was one of them. So I didn't mind any more. But I was silly."
"I don't think you were," Joan said. "I shouldn't want anything to be angry with such a nice Light, either. Oh, how lovely it is here!"
They sat gazing at the deepening twilight and the gathering of the stars, until Joan un-
