In the corner of the garden, after supper, there was a puddle. And in the puddle, Max noticed, was a moon.
It was a very small moon, wobbling about, looking rather glum. Moons in puddles usually do. They are a long way from home and there is not much to do down there.
"Are you lost?" Max asked, crouching down in his wellies. The puddle-moon said nothing, which is exactly what puddle-moons say. But it looked sadder than before, if that was possible.
Max decided the trouble was this: the moon was all alone. One moon, one puddle, and nobody at all. That would make anyone glum.
So Max went and fetched a leaf. He set it floating on the water, close by, like a little green boat for company. The moon brightened, just a bit.
Then Max added a pebble, so the moon would have someone steady. And a daisy, so it would have someone cheerful. And, after some thought, his own reflection, leaning right over the puddle so the moon could see a friendly face.
Now the puddle was quite crowded. A leaf, a pebble, a daisy, a moon, and Max, all sharing the same small square of water. It did not look glum anymore. It looked, Max thought, like a party.
Grandma came out to see what was taking so long. Max pointed. Grandma looked into the puddle and saw the moon and the leaf and the daisy all together, and she said it was the nicest puddle she had ever met.
Then she pointed up. And there, above them both, was the big moon, round and calm, looking down at its little copy in the water with what could only be described as relief.
"It was lonely," Max explained. "So I gave it some things."
"Very sensible," said Grandma.
Inside, Max climbed under the blanket. The window held one moon, and somewhere in the garden a puddle held another, and neither of them, tonight, was on its own. His eyes went slow, then slower, then shut.