Billy wasn’t quite sure. He had heard one very much like that, though, about hay, and he wondered if they made snow in fields and left it out to dry in the moonshine. “Yes,” said Nimbus, although Billy had not spoken, “it is very much the same. The snowflakes grow on the little stalks that shoot up from the clouds, and the Snow Fairies harvest them and dry them in the moonlight. Then they sift it down on the land and sea, whenever Jack Frost says the little boys and girls are tired of nutting and making autumn-leaf bonfires, and want to coast and throw snowballs.” “Do they make hail that way, too?” asked Billy. “Oh! gracious, no. They break the hail off the rain clouds with their hammers, and it freezes on the way down. They soon tire of that, though, so they never keep it up long. That is why you hear people say ‘Hail and Farewell.’ You have to say good-by to a hailstorm almost before you’ve had time to say hello to it.” “I think it is very ill-mannered of the Dog Star to worry them,” said Billy. “Oh, Dog Stars have no manners. That is very well shown in the poem I wrote about the Dog Star. Did you ever happen to hear it?” “No,” said Billy. “I never did.” “Well,” said Nimbus, “as nearly as I can remember it runs something like this: “Dog Star, Dog Star, burning bright, You can neither read nor write, Yet you frolic just the same, And have not a thought of shame. “When I say: ‘Add one and one,’ You reply: ‘It can’t be done. Sums are flat and grammar stale, I prefer to chase my tail.’ “When I ask: ‘Who built the ark?’ You turn somersaults and bark: Or you growl, with drooping tail, ‘Was it Jonah or the Whale?’ “Dog Star, Dog Star, you don’t know, Euclid, Vergil, Scipio, Algebra or Calculus, My! But you are frivolous.” “You see,” continued Nimbus, “the Dog Star cares absolutely nothing for manners. He even barks at O’Taurus.” “And who,” inquired Billy, “is O’Taurus?” “He’s the Irish Bull,” said Nimbus. “I’ll tell you more about him later. I’ve got to go to meet this Meteor now.” Billy had noticed that for some time it had been getting brighter and brighter, although the Sun had hidden himself behind a great wall of blue-black clouds. Now he looked through the front windows and saw a great star sweeping rapidly down on them, swishing a long tail behind him. “Is--is it a comet?” he asked in affright, observing that the motorman rushed into the car, slamming the door after him. “Comet nothing!” said Nimbus. “It’s only a fourth- class Meteor with a message for me. They’re the A.D.T. boys up here, and he’s probably brought some word from the Equine Ox.” The Meteor came alongside and Billy read in gold letters across his glowing cap the words: PLANETARY MESSENGER SERVICE No. 7,622,451 “My!” he exclaimed, “there are a lot of them, aren’t there?” “Seven million nine hundred thousand six hundred and three,” said Nimbus. “What have you got, boy?”