"Just like the prince in the fairy tale who put on a little cap and no one could see him," said Harry.
"Yes; that prince would not need the cap on the moon. If he did not want anyone to know he was there, all he would have to do would be to keep in the shadow. No one would hear his footsteps, as not a sound can be heard on the moon. It would be useless to speak, as there is no air to carry the sound of a voice."
"I should not like to go to the moon, then," said Harry seriously, "because you could not tell me any stories, sister, could you? What would I do then?"
"I really cannot imagine," said Mary, laughing; "but perhaps you might come across the Man in the Moon and talk to him in sign-language."
"Like the deaf-and-dumb people?" asked Harry.
"If he could understand it," said Mary; "but then, we know there is really not any Man in the Moon."
"But there is a story about him," said Harry coaxingly, "and I do wish you would tell it to me, just now while the moon is looking at us from the sky."
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?'