It is unnecessary to state that I did not go to sleep while the old nurse was telling the story of the Heavenly River. The child sat on his little stool, his elbows on his knees and his chin resting in his hands, listening with open lips and eyes sparkling with interest. To the old nurse it was real. The spinning girl and the cow-herd were living persons. The flowers bloomed,—we could almost smell their odor,—and the gentle breezes seemed to fan our cheeks. She had told the story so often that she believed it, and she imparted to us her own interest.
"Nurse," said the child, "tell me about
"'The Man in the Moon.'"
"The man in the moon," said the old nurse, "is called Wu Kang. He was skilled in all the arts of the genii, and was accustomed to play before them whenever opportunity offered or occasion required.
"Once it turned out that his performances were displeasing to the spirits, and for this offense he was banished to the moon, and condemned to perpetual toil in hewing down the cinnamon trees which grow there in great abundance. At every blow of the axe he made an incision, but only to see it close up when the axe was withdrawn.
"He had another duty, however, a duty which was at times irksome, but one which on the whole was more pleasant than any that falls to men or spirits,—the duty indicated by the proverb that 'matches are made in the moon.'
"It was his lot to bind together the feet of all those on
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