"`Got who?' says Tim.

"`The moon,' says he.

"`Got her where?' says Tim.

"`In a bucket down by the pond,' says t'other, `safe an' sound an'
not a scratch on her; you come and look,' says he. So Tim follows
him, he hobblin', and they goes to the pond side, and there, sure
enough, stood a tin bucket full of wather, an' on the wather the
refliction of the moon.

"`I dridged her out of the pond,' whispers Buck. `Aisy now,' says
he, `an' I'll dribble the water out gently,' says he, `an' we'll catch
her alive at the bottom of it like a trout.' So he drains the wather
out gently of the bucket till it was near all gone, an' then he looks
into the bucket expectin' to find the moon flounderin' in the
bottom of it like a flat fish.

"`She's gone, bad 'cess to her!' says he.

"`Try again,' says me brother, and Buck fills the bucket again, and
there was the moon sure enough when the water came to stand
still.

"`Go on,' says me brother. `Drain out the wather, but go gentle, or
she'll give yiz the slip again.'

"`Wan minit,' says Buck, `I've got an idea,' says he; `she won't give