One day a little girl left her village and went deep into the forest to pick some flowers for her mother.

The forest was dense and dark, and there were no flowers to be seen among the brambles and the shadows. She struggled on, deeper and deeper into the forest, until eventually she broke into a clearing where the sunlight fell freely and warmed the earth where a thousand bluebells grew. Birds sang and a gentle wind made the leaves rustle in the trees. She picked and picked until her arms could hold no more, and still there seemed to be as many flowers brightening the air in that sky-blue glade.

When she had rested, she left the clearing and the sunlight, and stumbled through the shadows and the brambles towards home. But she had only gone a little way when she realised that she was utterly and hopelessly lost. She carried on, though fear was beginning to numb her legs, until she found, to her dismay, that she was back on the edge of the clearing again.

She stood in the sunlight and raised her eyes to where the birds were singing in the leaves on the nearby trees.

‘Birds,’ she said, ‘can you please tell me how to get out of this forest? I am tired and frightened, and I want to go home.’

But the birds only twittered, and she could not understand their twittering.

She asked the leaves, saying, ‘Leaves, can you please tell me how to get out of this forest? I am tired and frightened, and I want to go home.’

But the leaves only whispered, and she could not understand their whispering.

She asked the wind, saying, ‘Wind, can you please tell me how to get out of this forest? I am tired and frightened, and I want to go home.’

But the wind only sighed, and she could not understand its sighing.

She asked the trees, the brambles and the bluebells, but she could understand none of them. When there was no one left to ask, she sat down on a log and began to cry – big round tears that rolled from her eyes and fell on the ground, dampening the Earth at her feet.

The Earth felt her tears and knew her sorrow, and spoke to her in a voice that was clear, calm and gentle, saying, ‘Little girl, do not weep. Wait here with me until the night comes, and when you see the Moon rise above the trees, gather up your flowers, follow her and fear nothing. The Moon is an old friend of mine, and I know that she will lead you home.’

The little girl thanked the Earth and waited for the night to come, just as the Earth had told her to. It was a long wait, and she was cold and even more tired when at last the Moon rose above the trees in front of her. She gathered all her flowers together, lifted her eyes to the Moon, and followed her home.

It was nearly morning when her mother found her at the door. She hugged her little daughter and scolded her, but she could not really be angry, for she saw all the bluebells that the little girl had carried home for her.

Soon all the people in the village had heard the tale of the lost little girl and how she had followed the Moon home that night.

But they never knew of the Earth’s comfort and advice, for she told no one about that. ‘Sensible little thing!’ they thought, and she let them think it.

And although she did not hear the Earth’s voice again, from that night on she walked with a concentrated lightness in her step. For she would never forget, and she could not bear thinking that her clumsy feet might disturb the one who had spoken to her and calmed her fear in the forest.

The Earth will never speak to her now, for she has grown up, and the Earth is always silent with grown-up people.

But she has become the most beautiful girl that the village folk have ever had amongst them. She is as graceful and serene as a princess, and when she speaks she smiles gently, and her words fall soft as falling tears.

And when she passes by, those that remember stop whatever they are doing and gaze at her in wonder, saying, ‘That girl is amongst the blessed. See how she seems to walk on air, and look, she has the Moon in her eyes, and will never be lost or frightened again.’