Old Mister Moon is sinking to rest—
Sleep, kittikins, sleep!
The whispery winds have died in the west—
Sleep—kittikins—sleep!
(She comes in, holding a babe in her arms; sings—very softly.)
Up in the sky are the firefly stars—
Sleep, kittikins, sleep!
Father will catch them in crystal jars—
Sleep—kittikins—sleep!
(She lays the babe in its crib, the while softly humming the tune. Then she draws the screen about the bed. Meantime she casts anxious glances at the moody Pierrot. The babe asleep, she runs to Pierrot, kneeling at his side.)