"We'll smother her--smother her!" whispered the Crawling Horrors, and
twined themselves round her knees.

And "Ho, ho!" mocked the rest of them.

And again they all shouted with spite and ill-will. And the poor Moon
crouched down, and wished she was dead and done with.

And they fought and squabbled what they should do with her, till a pale
gray light began to come in the sky; and it drew nigh the dawning. And
when they saw that, they were feared lest they shouldn't have time to
work their will; and they caught hold of her, with horrid bony fingers,
and laid her deep in the water at the foot of the snag. And the Bogles
fetched a strange big stone and rolled it on top of her, to keep her
from rising. And they told two of the Will-o-the-wykes to take turns in
watching on the black snag, to see that she lay safe and still, and
couldn't get out to spoil their sport.

And there lay the poor Moon, dead and buried in the bog; till some one
would set her loose; and who'd know where to look for her?

Well, the days passed, and 't was the time for the new moon's coming,
and the folk put pennies in their pockets and straws in their caps so
as to be ready for her, and looked about, for the Moon was a good
friend to the marsh folk, and they were main glad when the dark time
was gone, and the paths were safe again, and the Evil Things were
driven back by the blessed Light into the darkness and the waterholes.

But days and days passed, and the new Moon never came, and the nights
were aye dark, and the Evil Things were worse than ever. And still the
days went on, and the new Moon never came. Naturally the poor folk
were strangely feared and mazed, and a lot of them went to the Wise
Woman who dwelt in the old mill, and asked if so be she could find out
where the Moon was gone.

"Well," said she, after looking in the brewpot, and in the mirror, and
in the Book, "it be main queer, but I can't rightly tell ye what's
happened to her. If ye hear aught, come and tell me."

So they went their ways; and as days went by, and never a Moon came,
naturally they talked--my word! I reckon they _did_ talk! their
tongues wagged at home, and at the inn, and in the garth. But so came
one day, as they sat on the great settle in the Inn, a man from the
far end of the bog lands was smoking and listening, when all at once
he sat up and slapped his knee. "My faicks!" said he, "I'd clean
forgot, but I reckon I kens where the Moon be!" and he told t