“Now, Second Soldier, your little speech, and remember to salute when you’re through.”

Oh-Pshaw, similarly outfitted as to firearms, added her bit to the drama which was unfolding under Nyoda’s direction.

“Now we’ll do it with the scenery,” announced Nyoda.  “Come on, scenery, all up!  Here, Trees, you stand here,” pushing Hinpoha into place at one side of the landscape, “and More Trees, you get over on the other side.  Who is More Trees?  Oh, Migwan.  All right, you two stand there and sway gently in the breeze.  Where are the Guns?  Oh, here you are, Sahwah.  And the rest of the Guns, that’s you, Veronica.  Here, you Guns, stack yourselves against Trees.”

Sahwah and Veronica inclined toward each other at a precarious angle and leaned against Trees.  Trees promptly doubled up and clapped both her hands over the pit of her stomach, and Guns, losing their balance, fell in a heap on the floor.

“What’s the matter?” demanded Nyoda.

“Oooo-oo-oo-oh!” giggled Trees.  “Sahwah tickled my ribs!”

“Try it again,” directed Nyoda, assisting Guns to rise from the floor and stacking them against an invulnerable spot on Trees.

“Now, where’s the Moon?”

“Gone downstairs to get a paintbrush,” replied More Trees.

“What’ll Moon rise on?” asked Nyoda, knitting her brows in thought.

“Take the piano stool,” suggested the First Soldier, leaning on his weapon in a picturesque attitude.

“The very thing!” exclaimed Nyoda.  “Bring up the piano stool!” she shouted down the stairway, and a few minutes later the Moon came into view, carrying her rising power in one hand, a bottle of India ink in the other, a number of sheets of cardboard under her arm and a paintbrush held crosswise in her mouth.

“Gracious, if you’d ever slipped coming up the stairs!” exclaimed the Second Soldier, springing forward to take the bottle of ink out of the hand of the Moon.

“Now Moon, you rise behind More Trees,” ordered Nyoda, setting the piano stool behind Migwan.

“How does a moon rise, anyway?” asked Gladys in perplexity.

“Oh, begin by crouching on the piano stool, and then straighten up gradually to a standing position over Migwan’s shoulder,” answered Nyoda.  “Now then!  ’Curtain rises.  Scene shows camp of the American army at the time of the Revolution.  Trees on left, more trees on right, guns stacked against trees.  Moon rises,’ All right, Moon, rise!”

Gladys rose shakily to a standing position, her hand on the shoulder of More Trees.

“Now beam over the trees, Moon.”

Moon did her best to beam and grinned from ear to ear; Guns howled with laughter; the piano stool began to turn; Moon clutched wildly at More Trees and went down with a crash on the floor.

“Eclipse of the Moon,” laughed Nyoda, rushing to the aid of the fallen one.

“Let somebody else be the Moon,” declared Gladys, when she had been restored to the perpendicular, viewing the shaky stool with disfavor.  “Let Sahwah be it, she’s more of an acrobat.”