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Updated: May 14, 2025
"Of course they do, Imp, and disheartened, too, sometimes, like the rest of us, and then everything is black, and people wonder where the moon is. But they are very brave, these Moon-fairies, and they never quite lose hope, you know; so they presently go back to their rubbing and polishing, always starting at one edge.
When you hear it, does there not recur to you some dream of bygone happy hours, the sibilant murmur of fragrant night winds through the crisp foliage, the faint call of Diana's horn from the woodlands, moon-fairies dancing on the spider-webs, the glint of the dew on the roses, the far-off music of the surges tossing impotently on the sands, the forgetfulness of time and place and care, and not a cloud 'twixt you and the heavens?
"Still, Imp, under the circumstances I think it would be best if you got undressed and went to sleep." "Oh, but I can't, Uncle Dick!" "Why not, my Imp?" "'Cause the moon's so very bright, an' everything looks so fine down there, an' I'm sure there's fairies about Moon-fairies, you know, and I'm 'miserable." "Miserable, Imp?"
Instinctively we had wandered towards the river, and now we stood to watch the broad, silver path made by the moon across the mystery of its waters. "I love to see the shine upon the river like that," said the Imp, dreamily; "Auntie Lisbeth says it's the path that the Moon-fairies come down by to bring you nice dreams when you've been good.
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