The full moon had just risen above the verge of the horizon, and her soft light silvered the sand of the desert, and made it look like newly fallen snow.
The old man stood on top of the hill, and stretching forth his arms to the Moon:
"Oh! thou mightiest of God's works, lovely Moon, take pity upon a perplexed father, and listen to my prayer. I have one fair daughter that has now reached marriageable age; she is of radiant beauty, and well versed in all the mysteries of our holy religion. Marry my daughter, O Moon!"
"Now," said Radonic, interrupting, "that's foolish; how could the old hermit expect the Moon to marry his daughter?"
"First, this is a parable, like one of those our blessed Saviour used to tell the people; therefore, being a parable, it's Gospel, and you must believe it as a true story, for it is the life of one of the holy Fathers of the Church."
"I see," quoth Radonic, although he did not see quite clearly.
Then the Moon replied:
"You are mistaken, old man; I am not the mightiest of God's creation. The Sun, whose light I reflect, is the greatest of the Omnipotent's works; ask the Sun to be a husband to thy daughter."
The hermit sank on his knees and uttered lengthy prayers, till the light of the Moon grew pale and vanished, and the sky got to be of a saffron tint; soon afterwards, the first rays of the Sun flooded the desert, and transmuted the sandy plain into one mass of glittering gold. When the old man saw the effulgent disc of the Sun, he stretched out his arms and apostrophised this planet as he had done the Moon. Then he rubbed his hands and thought:
"Well, if I only get the Sun for my son-in-law I'm a lucky man."