"Oh, well," said the wymp, calming down a little, "if you are quite sure you don't want to go to the moon, I shall have the greatest pleasure in taking you there. I'll call a comet at once." He put his fingers to his mouth and blew a whistle that was long enough to reach the countries of the sky. "Now I come to think of it," he continued thoughtfully, "it is a very good thing you did not want to go to Wympland, because we should have been obliged to wait until the morning."
"Why couldn't we go to-night?" asked Jerry.
"Because there isn't a Wympland to go to," answered the wymp, promptly. "When the sun goes down it takes the back of itself with itself, and there isn't a Wympland again till next morning. I shouldn't be here now, if I hadn't missed the last sunbeam this evening. That is the worst of living in a place that disappears every night."
"Oh, but it doesn't disappear really," said Chubby, who wanted to show that she knew a little geography; "the sun is shining somewhere else at this very moment, only we can't see it."
"Rubbish!" said the wymp, scornfully. "Don't you believe everything you're told about the sun! Who said it didn't disappear, eh? Has any one ever gone after it to see?"
"N-no," said Chubby, doubtfully, "but—"
"That proves it doesn't go on shining, then," said the wymp, triumphantly. "There's plenty of inquisitive people who'd have gone after the sun long ago, if it hadn't the sense to disappear every night. It must have some peace, you know, if it's got to come up smiling again the next morning."
"Do the wymps disappear every night, too?" asked Jerry.
"Of course they do," answered the wymp. "Don't you?"
"I didn't know we did," said Jerry, a little bewildered. "I thought we only went to sleep."