TO get behind the Moon-Angel. Ah! little child, that is the thing of all things to do. And yet if you could get there, it would only be to see things turned topsy-turvy. That is all--to see things turned topsy-turvy. And yet everybody in the world is trying, and working, and praying, and longing to get behind the Moon-Angel, or at least to see a glimpse of what is behind him. Few, few, there are who really get behind him; few there are who even so much as see behind him. I have heard people say, "Oh, if I could only just once see ever so little of what is behind the Moon-Angel, then I would be satisfied, for then, maybe, I should see for myself those wonderful things that are there and which many folk talk about and some believe in." That is what I have heard people say. Maybe they would be satisfied if they saw those things, and maybe they would not, but, whether they would or would not, they do not often see what they want to see--perhaps because they try so hard to see it.
Now I will tell you something:--I saw behind the Moon-Angel once--just a little peep. I do not know how it happened, but so it was. I was not really behind the Moon-Angel, you understand, I only just had a glimpse of what was behind him. It was by the seashore and back of the sand-hills, and the sun shone hot--as hot as fire--and the sea gulls flew over my head, and the dry grass hissed and whispered in the hot wind that blew across the quivering sands. I could hear the breakers far away--Boom! boom! but I could not see the ocean. Then suddenly I saw the Moon-Angel come walking across the sand. He went past me, and then I saw behind him. What did I see? Oh, I wish I could tell you. But when I try to remember what I saw, then I forget all about it. All I know is that ever since then I have seen things turned topsy-turvy, and men walk on their heads instead of their heels, and trees grow upside down, and that I hear wise men talk nonsense.
However, all this is neither here nor there, nor another place, and if I stop to speak of such things, I shall never be able to tell you the story of David,--and that story is ever so much more worth the telling. Yes; for David knew more in his little finger about the Moon-Angel and what was behind him than I shall ever be able to learn with my whole body--at least until I have cracked through the crust of things and got back into the Land of Right-side-up again.
Well, for a month of days David did his work, and rubbed the stars and rubbed the stars, and they never shone as brightly as they did in that time. The moon waxed and waxed, and then it waned and waned, until all was dark about the moonhouse and all the shutters shut again.
David sat in the moon-kitchen, and waited and waited, and, by and by, there was the light under the door up stairs, and he knew that the Moon-Angel had come again. David ran up stairs and opened the door, and there was the Moon-Angel.
But now he was not standing looking out of the window at the star that shone first red and then blue, and flickered and blazed, and then shone red and then blue again; he was standing in the middle of the room and was looking straight at David.
And how shall I tell you what David saw and what he did? How shall any one tell it? It was all so strange, so strange that it does not fit easily into the words of A B C's, and when a body begins telling it, it breaks all into a jumble and sounds like a fairy-tale, that is not real.
When David saw the Moon-Angel he stopped short, and stood still and as though turned to stone. He had never seen the Moon-Angel look as he looked now, and the little boy was filled with awe. For now the Moon-Angel's face shone like white light, and across his breast was a word of five letters, the letters like forms of fire. No wonder little David stood as though turned to stone. For, oh! little child, the Moon-Angel is terrible, terrible when you see him thus.
"David," said the Moon-Angel, "David, I am waiting for you to come to me, and to pass beyond me."
But for the first time David was frightened at the Moon-Angel.
"Oh, I am afraid! I am afraid!" said he.
"David, David," said the Angel, "why are you afraid?"
"I do not know," said David; "but I am afraid--I am afraid of you!"
Until now the moon-house and the moon-garden had seemed to David to be like a beautiful dream. Now, in his new-born fear, it was as though everything had suddenly changed; as though even they--the moon and the garden--had changed to a dream in which there was something of terror and darkness.
"Will you not come to me?" said the MoonAngel, and when he spoke thus David could not refuse.
Slowly, slowly he went forward to meet the Moon-Angel. The Moon-Angel opened his arms and took David into them.
*
What had happened? Was it a dream? David found himself standing alone. At first it was cold--oh, so cold--and all around was a blank whiteness as of a drifting storm of snow. It grew colder and colder; the icy wind seemed to strike into the marrow of his bones, and he went forward staggering as through deep snow. Presently it seemed to him that he could not bear the cold any longer. But it did not last for long. Just as he began to feel that he could no longer endure the freezing cold, it began to pass away.
Then presently he felt that the air was beginning to grow mild and tepid. The icy wind had ceased to blow, and it grew warmer and warmer. In a little while the chill air had become mild and balmy. All around David was still a blank whiteness, only now it was the whiteness, not of snow, but of a silvery mist that hid everything from his sight. He could see nothing; but it seemed to him that he could hear from beyond the veil of mist the sounds of flowing waters and of rustling leaves; that he could smell the odor of flowers; that he could hear the song of birds, and far away a faint music as of piping and the echo as of distant voices talking and laughing together. All this he seemed to hear faintly and distantly, but he could see nothing for the misty whiteness all around him. This, too, lasted only for a little while, and then it also began to change.
For presently it began to grow warmer and still warmer. Then it grew hotter and still hotter. The silver mist began to fade and melt and by and by to change to a vapor of fiery copper. Then instead of these other sounds of leaves and birds and voices, which also dimmed away into silence, there came nearer and still nearer a crackling as of flames. David knew that fire lay before him; that if he went on he must pass through it. Should he turn back? No. He felt that he, was every instant becoming stronger and stronger to bear the fiery trials. He did not know that he was growing into a man; that it was not moments that were passing, but years of time. Then he was in the midst of the fire. Oh, how hot it was! His brain swam dizzily, and he did not seem to feel the ground beneath his feet. He was gasping for breath, and crackling sparks of fire seemed to dance before his eyes. A step or two more, and he knew that he must fall, and what would become of him then? He wondered how he was able to bear it.
Suddenly an iron door stood before him, and he knew that thence he might escape. He flung himself against it, but it did not open. It was burning hot to his hands, but he felt and found the latch. He pushed it, and then the door swung open, and he fell headlong out upon the ground beyond.
*
It was over. It was done. He had passed beyond the Moon-Angel, and so much of his labor was over. He lay there upon the ground gasping and panting. A cool, moist breeze played around him, and seemed to bathe him with a balm of comfort. Then it began to come to him that he was upon the rocky shore of the sea. The thunder of the breakers and the rattling hiss of the receding waters, the rushing of the wind, and the clamoring of the sea-gulls, filled his ears with sound.
He lay there upon the cool, damp stones, motionless, panting, but quiet and at peace. But he was no longer a little boy; he was a grown man.
Yes; he thought that he had been only a few minutes in passing beyond the Moon-Angel; but it had really been ten years, and in that time he had grown from a child into a man.
Few there are who grow to manhood thus, little child. Do you not understand? No? Perhaps some day you will--perhaps, perhaps.