"I know what I'll be when I grow to be a man, Mother."
"What will you be?"
"A circus-rider."
"Gracious!" said she.
"On a big, white horse, Mother."
"Dear me!"
"And we'll jump 'way over the moon, Mother."
"The moon?"
"Yes, the moon. See!"
Then you jumped over the rake-handle. You were practising for the moon, you said.