The Buried Moon
Long ago, in my grandmother's time, the Carland was all in bogs, great
pools of black water, and creeping trickles of green water, and squishy
mools which squirted when you stepped on them.
Well, granny used to say how long before her time the Moon herself was
once dead and buried in the marshes, and as she used to tell me, I'll
tell you all about it.
The Moon up yonder shone and shone, just as she does now, and when she
shone she lighted up the bog-pools, so that one could walk about almost
as safe as in the day.
But when she didn't shine, out came the Things that dwelt in the
darkness and went about seeking to do evil and harm; Bogles and Crawling
Horrors, all came out when the Moon didn't shine.
Well, the Moon heard of this, and being kind and good--as she surely is,
shining for us in the night instead of taking her natural rest--she was
main troubled. "I'll see for myself, I will," said she, "maybe it's not
so bad as folks make out.
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