It was very queer talk, indeed--about me, I fancied--but a thread of strong sense ran through it all.

When the dream had been very vivid, I would sometimes think of it in the middle of the next day, and look up to the sun, saying to myself: He's up there now, busy enough.

I wonder what he is seeing to talk to his wife about when he comes down at night?
I think it sometimes made me a little more careful of my conduct.

When the sun set, I thought he was going in the back way; and when the moon rose, I thought she was going out for a little stroll until I should go to sleep, when they might come and talk about me again.

It was odd that, although I never fancied it of the sun, I thought I could make the moon follow me as I pleased.