harps in heaven; but it wasn't half so lovely as Mum playing in the
moony night, with him eating a macaroon. A cockchafer buzzed by, a moth
flew in his face, the music stopped, and little Jon drew his head in.
She must be coming! He didn't want to be found awake. He got back into
bed and pulled the clothes nearly over his head; but he had left a
streak of moonlight coming in. It fell across the floor, near the foot
of the bed, and he watched it moving ever so slowly towards him, as if
it were alive. The music began again, but he could only just hear it
now; sleepy music, pretty--sleepy--music--sleepy--slee.....

And time slipped by, the music rose, fell, ceased; the moonbeam crept
towards his face. Little Jon turned in his sleep till he lay on his
back, with one brown fist still grasping the bedclothes. The corners
of his eyes twitched--he had begun to dream. He dreamed he was drinking
milk out of a pan that was the moon, opposite a great black cat which
watched him with a funny smile like his father's. He heard it whisper:
"Don't drink too much!" It was the cat's milk, of course, and he put out
his hand amicably to stroke the creature; but it was no longer there;
the pan had become a bed, in which he was lying, and when he tried to
get out he couldn't find the edge; he couldn't find it--he--he--couldn't
get out! It was dreadful!

He whimpered in his sleep. The bed had begun to go round too; it was
outside him and inside him; going round and round, and getting fiery,
and Mother Lee out of Cast up by the Sea was stirring it! Oh! so
horrible she looked! Faster and faster!--till he and the bed and Mother
Lee and the moon and the cat were all one wheel going round and round
and up and up--awful--awful--awful!

He shrieked.