and though afternoon had long since become evening, the troubles of the day still lingered in the young woman's mind like horseflies, so she turned to her horse, for there was no other present, and said "tell me a bedtime story", and the horse said "there is nothing I might say that has not been said a hundred times before" and the young woman said "then tell me again", and so it did, and the sun set over the hills, and the spruce trees were a black canvas beneath a starry blue sky against which the fireflies began to dream up tomorrow
