"Then carry them forever," said the voice. "You care not for Sunday, and you shall never have another Sunday."
The goodman could not tell how it came about, but he felt himself being lifted, up, up, up, sticks and all, till he was in the moon.
"Here you shall stay," said the voice sternly. "You will not keep Sunday, and here you need not. This is the moon, and so it is always the moon's day, or Monday, and Monday it shall be with you always. Whenever any one looks up at the moon, he will say, 'See the man with the sticks on his back. He was taken to the moon because he gathered wood on Sunday.'"
"Oh dear, oh dear," cried the goodman, "what will the goodwife say?"
THE TWIN STARS.
In front of the little house was a pine-tree, and every night at the time when the children went to bed, a bright star appeared over the top of the tree and looked in at the window. The children were brother and sister. They were twins, and so they always had each other to play with.
"Now go to sleep," the mother would say when she had kissed them good-night, but it was hard to go to sleep when such a beautiful, radiant thing was shining in at the window of the little house.
"What do you suppose is in the star?" asked the sister.
"I think there are daisies and honey and violets and butterflies and bluebirds," answered the brother.