"What's the matter?" demanded Nyoda.

"Oooo-oo-oo-oh!" giggled Trees. "Sahwah tickled my ribs!"

"Try it again," directed Nyoda, assisting Guns to rise from the floor
and stacking them against an invulnerable spot on Trees.

"Now, where's the Moon?"

"Gone downstairs to get a paintbrush," replied More Trees.

"What'll Moon rise on?" asked Nyoda, knitting her brows in thought.

"Take the piano stool," suggested the First Soldier, leaning on his
weapon in a picturesque attitude.

"The very thing!" exclaimed Nyoda. "Bring up the piano stool!" she
shouted down the stairway, and a few minutes later the Moon came into
view, carrying her rising power in one hand, a bottle of India ink in
the other, a number of sheets of cardboard under her arm and a
paintbrush held crosswise in her mouth.

"Gracious, if you'd ever slipped coming up the stairs!" exclaimed the
Second Soldier, springing forward to take the bottle of ink out of the
hand of the Moon.

"Now Moon, you rise behind More Trees," ordered Nyoda, setting the piano
stool behind Migwan.

"How does a moon rise, anyway?" asked Gladys in perplexity.

"Oh, begin by crouching on the piano stool, and then straighten up
gradually to a standing position over Migwan's shoulder," answered
Nyoda. "Now then! 'Curtain rises. Scene shows camp of the American army
at the time of the Revolution. Trees on left, more trees on right, guns
stacked against trees. Moon rises,' All right, Moon, rise!"

Gladys rose shakily to a standing position, her hand on the shoulder of
More Trees.

"Now beam over the trees, Moon."

Moon did her best to beam and grinned from ear to ear; Guns howled with
laughter; the piano stool began to turn; Moon clutched wildly at More
Trees and went down with a crash on the floor.

"Eclipse of the Moon," laughed Nyoda, rushing to the aid of the fallen
one.

"Let somebody else be the Moon," declared Gladys, when she had been
restored to the perpendicular, viewing the shaky stool with disfavor.
"Let Sahwah be it, she's more of an acrobat."

"You _have_ to be the Moon because you've got light hair," replied Nyoda
in a tone of finality. "You'll just have to _manage_ so the stool
doesn't turn, that's all. Try it again."

Moon rose over the trees and accomplished the difficult feat of holding
the stool still and beaming at the same time with a fair degree of
success, and the rehearsal began.

"Oh-Pshaw, you're forgetting to salute!" called Nyoda when Seco