Blixie Bimber fingered the end of her chin with her little finger and said, “It is a strange story. It has a stab in it. It would hurt me if I couldn’t look up at the big white clouds shouldering their shoulders, rolling on the rollers of the big blue sky.” “It is a good story to tell when April is here all over again—and I am shining up the brass bickerjiggers on my accordion,” said the Potato Face Blind Man. [Illustration] [Illustration] How Pink Peony Sent Spuds, the Ballplayer, Up to Pick Four Moons Early one summer evening the moon was hanging in the tree-tops. There was a lisp of leaves. And the soft shine of the moon sifting down seemed to have something to say to the lisp of the leaves. The girl named Blixie Bimber came that particular summer evening to the corner where the Potato Face Blind Man sat with his accordion. She came walking slow and thoughtful to where he was sitting in the evening shadows. And she told him about the summer moon in the tree-tops, the lisp of the leaves, and the shine of the moon trying to tell something to the lisp of the leaves. The old man leaned back, fumbled the keys of his accordion, and said it loosened up things he remembered far back. “On an evening like this, every tree has a moon all of its own for itself—if you climb up in a thousand trees this evening you can pick a thousand moons,” the old man murmured. “You remind me to-night about secrets swimming deep in me.” And after hesitating a little—and thinking a little—and then hesitating some more—the old man started and told this story: There was a girl I used to know, one time, named Pink Peony. She was a girl with cheeks and lips the peonies talked about. When she passed a bush of peonies, some of the flowers would whisper, “She is lovelier than we are.” And the other peonies would answer in a whisper, “It _must_ be so, it ... must ... be ... _so_.” Now there was a ballplayer named Spuds, came one night to take her riding, out to a valley where the peacocks always cry before it rains, where the frogs always gamble with the golden dice after midnight. And out in that valley they came to a tall tree shooting spraggly to the sky. And high up in the spraggly shoots, where the lisp of the leaves whispers, there a moon had drifted down and was caught in the branches. “Spuds, climb up and pick _that_ moon for me,” Pink Peony sang reckless. And the ballplayer jumped out of the car, climbed up the tall tree, up and up till he was high and far in the spraggly branches where the moon had drifted down and was caught. Climbing down, he handed the girl a silver hat full of peach-color pearls. She laid it on the back seat of the car where it would be safe. And they drove on. They came to another tall tree shooting spraggly to the sky. And high up the moon was caught.