space. From the middle of the lake the forest
on every side was a mass of shadows, and nothing was visible but that
high vast firmament sprinkled with silver--silver dust scattered by the
arrogant moon. The great silver disk, which, Mary murmured, looked
like the tomb of dead gods, seemed to challenge mortals as well as
planets to deny that he was lord of all, and that even human emotions
must dwindle under his splendor.

"The moon is so impersonal," she sighed. "I wonder why the poets have
made so much of it? I'm sure it cares nothing about lovers--less about
poets--and thinks the old days, when the world was a heaving splitting
chaos, and glaciers were tearing what was already made of it to bits,
were vastly superior to the finished perfection of form today. Like
all old things. If it has the gods in there, no doubt it wakes them up
periodically to remind them how much better things were in their time.
Myself, I prefer the sun. It is far more glamoring."

"That is because you can't look it in the eye," said Clavering, smiling
down on her. "You really don't know it half as well, and endow it with
all sorts of mysterious attributes. I think I prefer the moon, because
it is inimitable. You can counterfeit the light and warmth and heat of
the sun, and even its color. But silver is used to describe the
complexion of the moon only for want of a better word. It is neither
silver nor white, but is the result of some mysterious alchemy known
only to itself. And its temperature does not affect our bodies at all.
You cannot deny that it has exercised a most beneficent effect on the
spirits of lovers and poets for all the centuries we know of. Every
pair of lovers has some cherished memories of moonlight, and poets
would probably have starved without its aid. It is a most benevolent
old god, and the one thing connected with Earth that doesn't mind
working overtime."

"I'm sure it must be frayed at the edges and hollow at the core. And
when it is in the three-quarters it looks exactly like a fish that has
lost its platter."

"If you continue to insult the moon, I shall take you back to camp and
ask Minor to teach you how to jazz."

"I love the moon," said Mary contentedly, and pushing a cushion between
her head and the sharp edge of the seat, "I'd like to stay out all
night."

They continued to talk nonsense for a while and then fell silent. When
the boat was almost at the head of the lake Clavering turned