I like to listen to
them. Sometimes we call across the water to hear the echoes answer; and
sometimes we let the moonbeams light on our hands and hair and dresses,
and talk to them."

"Talk to the moonbeams? How funny!"

"Why, our moonbeams are lovely little fairies, with wings like
dragon-flies, and shiny, silv'ry gowns; and whenever they get tired of
flying about they settle down and glow like fireflies. They b'long to
the moon lady and are nice fairies. They make sugar stars and moon-ice
for us to eat."

Peace clapped her hand abruptly over her mouth. Suppose Annette should
ask for something to eat! But the sick child merely held the spray of
foxgloves nearer her face and inquired, "What is that? Ice-cream?"

"No; it's shaped like icicles and has kind of a sourish taste, either
lemon or strawberry, and it doesn't melt until you get tired of it. Then
it's all gone. And it's the same way with moonbeamade. Allee made up
that name from lemonade. It is just a heap of foam that tastes like the
north-west wind and is cool and nice."

"S'posing things is a queer game, ain't it?" murmured Annette, drowsily.

"It's lots of fun, and sometimes when we go to sleep we dream about
them,--the places we visit in the moon and the--"

"The water and lilies and fountains and cool things?"

"Yes, or the mountains, where the fairies and goblins live, or the
forests, which belong to the brownies and elves, or the valleys, where
the sunbeams play, or the caves, where the wind-voices hide, or--I do
b'lieve she's asleep. Yes, sir! Both eyes are tight shut, and she has
dropped the foxglove she was holding so hard."

Softly Peace dropped back into her former position upon the floor,
hardly daring to breathe for fear of waking the little slumberer, for
had not the doctor said she was a very sick child, and that she must be
kept as quiet as possible?

At thought of the doctor she began to wonder why he had not sent the
woman from the village as he had promised to do. Already the sun was
sinking low in the west, and no one had come to watch over the invalid.
Perhaps he had forgotten, perhaps someone was dreadfully sick and he had
been called away before he could find a nurse for Annette. Perhaps--the
brown head nodded gently, the long, dark lashes fluttered slowly over
the somber brown eyes, and Peace, too, was fast asleep, curled up
against the narrow bed, where the sick child lay in a dreamless,
refreshing slumber. The sunset faded f