On such a night he would say to himself that the day was so sound asleep he was dreaming of nothing at all, and make haste to his nest.

Then again there was the cold night of black frost, when there was cloud enough to hide the stars and the moon, and yet a little light came soaking through, enough to reveal how hopeless and dreary the earth was.

For in such nights of cold, when there is no snow to cover them, the flowers that have crept into their roots to hide from the winter are not even able to dream of the spring;--they grow quite stupid and benumbed, and sleep outright like a polar bear or a dormouse.
He never could look long at such a night.
Neither did he care to look long when a loud wind was out--except the moon was bright; for the most he could distinguish was the trees blowing against the sky, and they always seemed not to like it, and to want to stop.

And if the big strong trees did not like it, how could the poor little delicate flowers, shivering and shaking and tossed to and fro?
If he could have seen the wind itself, it would have been a different thing; but as it was, he could enjoy it more by lying in bed and listening to it.

Then as he listened he could fancy himself floating out through miles and miles of night and wind, and moon-and-star-light, or moony snowflakes, or even thick darkness and rain; until, falling asleep in the middle of his fancy, it would thicken around him into a dream of delight.
Once there was to be an eclipse of the moon about two o'clock in the morning.
"It's a pity it's so late, or rather so early," said Mr Macmichael.
"You, Willie, won't be able to see it." "Oh, yes, I shall, father," answered Willie.
"I can't let you sit up so late.