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.