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The moon seems
to be very fond of children, and here is another of his pictures. "I
do so love children," said the moon, one evening; "especially the
very small ones; they are so innocent, and droll. Many nights I peep
into the room, between the curtains and window-frames, when they are
not thinking of me. It gives me so much pleasure to see them
undress. First, a little, white round shoulder comes peeping out of
the frock; then an arm; or a stocking is drawn off, and a little
white leg appears, and a little foot, fit to be kissed, and I kiss
it, too. This evening, I looked through a window, before which no
curtain was drawn, and saw a whole troop of little ones, all of one
family. Among them was a little sister, only four years old, who had
been taught to say, 'Our Father,' as well as the rest. The mother
sits by her bedside, every night, to hear her say her prayers; and
after she has said them, she gives her a kiss, and stays by her
until she is asleep, which is, generally, as soon as ever her eyes
are closed. This evening, the two elder children were rather
inclined to play. One of them hopped about the room, on one leg, and
the other stood on a chair, surrounded by the clothes of all the
other children, and said he was a living statue. The third and
fourth were placing the clean linen, from the wash, into the
drawers, which is a thing that must be done; and the mother sat by
the bed of the youngest, and desired the others to be quiet, as
their little sister was going to say her prayers. I looked in, over
the lamp, into the little maiden's bed, where she lay under the
white quilt, her little hands folded, and her face quite grave and
serious. Then she repeated the Lord's Prayer, aloud. 'What is it you
say to yourself?' asked the mother, when she got into the middle of
the prayer. 'When you say, 'Give us this day our daily bread,' you
always add something, which I cannot understand; you must tell
mother what it is.' The little one lay silent, and looked confused.
'What is it you say after 'Give us our daily bread?'—tell me.'
'Don't be angry, dear mother,' said the child, 'I only say, 'And
plenty of butter on it.'"
Bread and Butter
A Fictional Short Story by
Agnes Taylor Ketchum & Ida M. Jorgensen
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