"Do you never tire of stories?" asked Mary, smiling.
"Never, when you tell them to me, sister. And you seem to know such a lot of them."
"But these stories are only fairy-tales," said Mary, laughing; "these moon-stories, I mean."
"I don't mind," said Harry roguishly; "we must have a little make-up story now and then, or I would get tired. Do you make them all up yourself, sister?"
"No, indeed," said Mary. "I find them here and there and everywhere; sometimes right in the middle of a big book on astronomy, or in the corner of an old newspaper, or hidden away in a book covered with dust on the top shelf in the library."
"Where did you find that story about the old woman and the cat?"
"In a book of Indian legends, and the story is told by the Iroquois Indians. Here is another one I found. Would you like to hear it?"
"You know I would, dear," said Harry, nestling closer to his sister, as she clasped his hand in hers.
THE TOAD IN THE MOON.
"Once upon a time a little wolf fell very much in love with a toad, and went a-wooing one night. Just like the frog, 'he would a-wooing go.' You remember, Harry, don't you?"