Twenty-Third EveningHear what the Moon told me. "Some years ago, here in
Copenhagen, I looked through the window of a mean little room. The
father and mother slept, but the little son was not asleep. I saw
the flowered cotton curtains of the bed move, and the child peep
forth. At first I thought he was looking at the great clock, which
was gaily painted in red and green. At the top sat a cuckoo, below
hung the heavy leaden weights, and the pendulum with the polished
disc of metal went to and fro, and said 'tick, tick.' But no, he
was not looking at the clock, but at his mother's spinning wheel,
that stood just underneath it. That was the boy's favourite piece
of furniture, but he dared not touch it, for if he meddled with it
he got a rap on the knuckles. For hours together, when
