"Yes, he rubs cloud lather all over it, and then he dips his face in
the bowl of the ocean."

"How does he dry it?"

"Oh, the morning wind does that," she replied, smiling at such a
parade of questions, "but let's go before he starts to wash up, for I
must show you all the star fields. It's only a few steps up."

"But I don't see any steps," exclaimed the little boy.

She smiled.

"Don't you?" she said, "you've been climbing them all the time."

"But it's such a long way to come, and my legs don't feel a bit
tired," he persisted, a little doubtfully.

[Illustration: "'We must hurry, for way over there I see the Sun. He's
stirring in his sleep.'"]

"Oh, no one ever gets tired in the skies," she explained, "we never
get tired and we never grow old."

"Do you live forever 'n ever?"

"Yes, forever," she answered gently, "but there are the fields."

Before them and all around them they stretched--as far as his eyes
could see, and as far as they could have seen if he had had the