“Nobody ever tried to throw a penny through before,” said Tiffany.
Then Peter-Wise kicked the tub, and the moon began to wobble. A piece of it splashed over the edge on to his boots.
“Whoever heard of the moon being spilt?” he asked.
“Nobody ever tried to spill it before,” said Tiffany.
Peter-Wise stroked his chin.
“I have it!” he cried, and grasping the tub, heaved it sideways and upset the mock moon on to the grass, where with little watery sighs it slowly disappeared.
“So much for your moon,” said he. “And behold its reflection is still in the sky!” But Tiffany only laughed and laughed and laughed.
“Yes,” said Peter to himself, “she is certainly the cleverest girl in the village, but just the least bit less clever than I am. I will marry her.” And aloud he said:
“Theophania, you shall, in spite of the sock and the moon that was not a moon, be my wife.”
“Peter-Wise,” she answered, “you shall not win me so easily. There is a task that you shall perform for me before I will marry you.”