"I know," she said, "I had a window like that in my room when I was a little girl, and I was very fond of it. But I don't think I ever saw the moon and the stars saying good night, or good morning--which is it? And are none of the little stars ever left behind?" The whole of Hoodie's face lighted up with a smile, but the rest of the faces round Miss King looked grave and rather puzzled. Was she really going to encourage Hoodie in her fancies--thought Maudie and Martin? "I don't _'zink_ so," said Hoodie, "but I'll look the next time." "Cousin Magdalen," whispered Maudie, gently pulling her godmother's dress, "it _isn't_ true. You don't want Duke and Hec to think it is." "I don't think it would matter much if they did," replied Magdalen in the same tone. "Thinking little fancies like that true would do them far less harm than thinking their sister was telling falsehoods. But I will try to explain to Hoodie that perhaps it is better not to say any more about it to the little boys. Only, Maudie dear, I think you are old enough to understand better that Hoodie was not meaning to tell untruths." "She said she heard the moon and the stars _talking_," remonstrated Maudie. "Well--what if she did? Many a time when I was a little girl I have thought I heard the wind say real words when I was lying awake in my little bed. Of course I know better now, but so will Hoodie, and if these fancies please her and keep her content and happy, why not leave her them?" "_Martin_ doesn't think so," said Maudie, rather mortified that her efforts to bring Hoodie to a sense of her wrong-doings were so little appreciated. "Miss Maudie, dear!" exclaimed Martin, "I never said so, I'm sure. I don't think I rightly understood what it was all about. I'm sure I don't want to be sharp on any of you for fancies that do no one any harm. I had plenty of them myself when I was little." "You see, Maudie, Martin does understand," said Miss King. "I'll try and explain about it better to you afterwards, but just now I really must hurry down to breakfast." She was turning away when a clamour of little voices stopped her. "Won't you come back after breakfast, Cousin Magdalen?" "Oh, do tum back." "It's such a wet day and we've nothing to do, 'cause it's Saturday, and Saturday's a holiday." "Do you want me to come and give you lessons then?" said Magdalen, mischievously. Dead silence--broken at last by Duke. "Couldn't you tum and tell us more stories?" Magdalen shook her head. "I haven't got any ready. Truly I haven't," she said. "It takes me a long time to think of them, always. But I'll tell you what we might do. I'll come up after breakfast with my work and you might all tell _me_ stories. That would amuse everybody. Each of you try to think of one, but you mustn't tell each other what it is." Hoodie's face lighted up, but Maudie looked rather lugubrious. "_I_ can't think of one," she said. "Oh yes you can, if you try," said Magdalen, cheerfully.