“No,” said Mrs. Dotting, rather indignantly; “I’m no moon-raker.  Not a sign of the moon was there, nor a spark of a star the time I speak on.”

“Well—­go on, Peggy—­go on.”

“I don’t know as I will,” said Peggy.

But being pacified by a few good-tempered, though somewhat humorous, compliments, she thus favored them with her little adventure: 

“There was no moon, or stars, or comet, in the ’versal heavens, nor lamp nor lantern along the road, when I walked home one winter’s night from the cottage of Widow Pin, where I had been to tea with her and Mrs. Dry, as lived in the almshouses.  They wanted Davy, the son of Bill Davy the milkman, to see me home with the lantern, but I wouldn’t let him, ’cause of his sore throat.  Throat!—­no it wasn’t his throat as was rare sore—­it was—­no, it wasn’t—­yes, it was—­it was his toe as was sore.  His big toe.  A nail out of his boot had got into it.  I told him he’d be sure to have a bad toe, if he didn’t go to church more regular, but he wouldn’t listen; and so my words come’d true.  But, as I was a-saying, I wouldn’t let him by reason of his sore throat—­toe, I mean—­and as I went along, the night seemed to grow darker and darker.  A straight road, though, and I was so used to it by day-time, it didn’t matter for the darkness.  Hows’ever, when I come’d near the bottom of the Dust-heap as I had to pass, the great dark heap was so ’zackly the same as the night, you couldn’t tell one from t’other.  So, thinks I to myself—­what was I thinking of at this moment?—­for the life o’ me I can’t call it to mind; but that’s neither here nor there, only for this—­it was a something that led me to remember the story of how the devil goes about like a roaring lion.  And while I was a-hoping he might not he out a-roaring that night, what should I see rise out of one side of the Dust-heap, but a beautiful shining star, of a violet color.  I stood as still, as stock-still as any I don’t-know-what!  There it lay, as beautiful as a new-born babe, all a-shining in the dust!  By degrees I got courage to go a little nearer—­and then a little nearer still—­for, says I to myself, I’m a sinful woman, I know, but I have repented, and do repent constantly of all the sins of my youth and the backslidings of my age—­which have been numerous; and once I had a very heavy backsliding—­but that’s neither here nor there.  So, as I was a-saying, having collected all my sinfulness of life, and humbleness before Heaven, into a goodish bit of courage, forward I steps—­a little furder—­and a leetle furder more—­un-til I come’d just up to the beautiful shining star lying upon the dust.  Well, it was a long time I stood a-looking down at it, before I ventured to do what I arterwards did.  But at last I did stoop down with both hands slowly—­in case it might burn, or bite—­and gathering up a good scoop of ashes as my hands went along.  I took it up, and began a-carrying it home, all shining before