ad it braided for a long time. And it
trails out behind her like a--a cloud. Her dress is white stuff, and
she never has it starched; it's just soft and shiny and swishy, and
seems to b'long just to her. Oh, she is the prettiest lady, Annette!"

"What color are her eyes?" asked the invalid, much interested in the
picture Peace was drawing.

"Blue, just like Hope's, only you don't think of them being blue when
you look at the moon lady--they 'mind you of stars. I think they are
stars, and she wears a star in her hair."

"Does she have a house to live in?"

"Not a house, but a palace, made of soft-looking, sparkly stones that
flash like diamond dust, and inside it is white and still,--the kind of
a still that makes you feel dreamy and nice. And there are fountains
everywhere, with cool water splashing out of the top of them. They are
made of white marble--the fountains are, I mean--and so are the
_pillows_ of the palace on the outside, where the moon lady walks in her
garden."

"Is there a garden in the moon?"

"In my moon there is, and--"

"Ma says the moon is made of green cheese, and is full of maggots."

"I heard that story, too, and I look for them first thing every time I
go there, but I haven't found any yet. Big, white Easter lilies grow
along the paths, and lilies-of-the-valley blossom the whole year round,
and water lilies make the lake almost white sometimes."

"Oh, a lake, too! How nice!"

"The moon lady's lake is the prettiest I ever saw. The water is always
silv'ry, just like our lakes look when the moon shines down on them. You
know, Annette, don't you?"

"Yes, the moon was shining one time when I went to Lake Marion with pa
to hear the band, and we rowed around in a little boat and listened to
the music."

"That's just what the moon lady does when we go to see her, only her
boats are green-pea pods, and the sails are apple-blossom petals. We
don't have to row; the boats just float of themselves, and we pick water
lilies or listen to the music--"

"What kind of music?"

"Oh, sometimes the moon lady sings by-low songs, and sometimes it's just
the frogs singing in the bottom of the lake."

"Oh, do you like frogs' croaking?"

"If I have been good I like it awfully well, but if I've made Gail or
anyone sorry, I don't want to listen to the frogs, for they keep saying,
'Don't do it again, don't do it again,' till it makes me mis'rable. The
frogs in the moon never say such things, though, and