"Oh, of course, I really don't go, but I like to s'pose what it would be like if I could go there. After Allee and me go to bed at night, sometimes the moon comes and shines in at our window and we talk to it. I don't care about the man-in-the-moon very much, though Allee likes him. She says he must be so lonely up there by himself all the time that she doesn't see how he can keep on smiling so. But I love the lady in the moon."
"The lady in the moon?"
"Well, we call her the moon lady. We like to think she is a beautiful, beau-ti-ful lady, with long, pale yellow hair that pretty nearly drags when she walks. It would drag if she didn't wear such big tails on her skirts. That's the kind of hair I wish I had instead of kinky, woolly curls. Hers isn't a bit curly, but just falls back from her face like Jennie Munn's after she has had it braided for a long time. And it trails out behind her like a—a cloud. Her dress is white stuff, and she never has it starched; it's just soft and shiny and swishy, and seems to b'long just to her. Oh, she is the prettiest lady, Annette!"
"What color are her eyes?" asked the invalid, much interested in the picture Peace was drawing.
"Blue, just like Hope's, only you don't think of them being blue when you look at the moon lady—they 'mind you of stars. I think they are stars, and she wears a star in her hair."
"Does she have a house to live in?"
"Not a house, but a palace, made of soft-looking, sparkly stones that flash like diamond dust, and inside it is white and still,—the kind of a still that makes you feel dreamy and nice. And there are fountains everywhere, with cool water splashing out of the top of them. They are made of white marble—the fountains are, I mean—and so are the pillows of the palace on the outside, where the moon lady walks in her garden."
"Is there a garden in the moon?"
"In my moon there is, and—"
"Ma says the moon is made of green cheese, and is full of maggots."