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."

Sure enough, at the month's end down she stept, wrapped up in a black
cloak, and a black hood over her yellow shining hair. Straight she went
to the bog edge and looked about her. Water here and water there; waving
tussocks and trembling mools, and great black snags all twisted and
bent. Before her all was dark--dark but for the glimmer of the stars in
the pools, and the light that came from her own white feet, stealing out
of her black cloak.

The Moon drew her cloak faster about and trembled, but she wouldn't go
back without seeing all there was to be seen; so on she went, stepping
as light as the wind in summer from tuft to tuft between the greedy
gurgling water holes. Just as she came near a big black pool her foot
slipped and she was nigh tumbling in. She grabbed with both hands at a
snag near by to steady herself with, but as she touched it, it twined
itself round her wrists, like a pair of handcuffs, and gript her so that
she couldn't move. She pulled and twisted and fought, but it was no
good. She was fast, and must stay fast.

Presently as she stood trembling in the dark, wondering if help would
come, she heard something calling in the distance, calling, calling, and
then dying away with a sob, till the marshes were full of this pitiful
crying sound; then she heard steps floundering along, squishing in the
mud and slipping on the tufts, and through the darkness she saw a white