"But do look at our poor hands and arms and our torn frocks!" said the
lady. "We've picked blackberries here year after year, but we've never
been so badly scratched before. It's extraordinary. I can't account
for it."

I could, though.

* * * * *


THE MOON-SELLER.

A man came by at night with moons to sell;
"Moons old and new," he cried;
I hurried when I heard him call for me;
He set his basket on the wall for me
That I might see inside
And watch the little moons curl up and hide.

Each one he touched rang softly like a bell;
He pointed out to me
Great harvest moons with russet light in them,
Pale moons to gleam where snows grow white in them,
Red moons for victory,
And steadfast moons for men in ships at sea.

The man who came with many moons to sell
Opened his basket wide;
Showed me the filmy crescent moons in it,