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 of 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