And I don't care about the man in the moon much.

He's not so nice as you, Willie.
And yon red ray of the sun through there on the fir-tree is as good nearly as the moon." "Oh! but you may have the moon, if you wait a bit.

She'll be too late to-night, though." "But now I think of it, Willie," said Agnes, "I do believe it wasn't a dream at all." "Do you think a real angel carried you really up to the moon, then ?" asked Willie.
"No; but a real Willie carried me really up into this tree, and the moon shone through the leaves, and I thought they were birds.

You're my angel, Willie, only better to me than twenty hundred angels." And Agnes threw her arms round his neck and hugged and kissed him.
As soon as he could speak, that is, as soon as she ceased choking him, he said-- "You _were_ up in this tree last night: and the wind was fluttering the leaves; and the moon was shining through them"-- "And you carried me in this shawl, and that was the red wings of the angel," cried Agnes, dancing with delight.
"Yes, pet, I daresay it was.

But aren't you sorry to lose your big angel ?" "The angel was only in a dream, and you're here, Willie.