by H G Wells

once little man whose mother made him beautiful suit of clothes green and gold, and woven describe how delicate and fine , and tie of orange fluffiness that tied up under his chin buttons in their newness shone like stars proud and pleased by his suit beyond measure, and stood long looking-glass when first he put it on, so astonished and delighted with it that hardly turn himself away to wear it everywhere, and show it to all sorts of people He thought over all the places he had ever visited, and all the scenes he had ever heard described, and tried to imagine what the feel of it if he were now scenes and places wearing his shining suit, and out forthwith long grass hot sunshine meadow wearing it Just to wear it ! But his mother told him "No " She told him take great care suit, for never would he have another nearly so fine; save it and save it, and only wear it on rare and great occasions his wedding-suit, she said And she took the buttons and twisted them up with tissue paper for fear their bright newness tarnished, and she tacked little guards over the cuffs and elbows, and wherever the suit was most likely to harm He hated and resisted these things, but what could he do ? And at last her warnings and persuasions had effect, and he consented off his beautiful suit and fold it into its proper creases, and put it away almost it up again But always thinking of wearing it, and supreme occasions when some day it worn without the guards, without the tissue paper buttons, utterly and delightfully, never caring, beautiful beyond measure

One night, when dreaming of it after his habit, he dreamt the tissue paper from buttons, and found its brightness little faded, distressed him mightily dream He polished the poor faded button and polished it, and, if anything, it grew duller He woke up and lay awake, thinking brightness little dulled, and wondering how feel if perhaps great occasion (whatever it ) should arrive, one button should chance ever so little short first glittering freshness, and for days and days that thought remained distressingly And when next his mother let him wear his suit, tempted and nearly gave way temptation just to fumble off one little bit of tissue paper if indeed the buttons were keeping as bright as ever

He went trimly along way to church, full wild desire For know his mother did, with repeated and careful warnings, let him wear his suit at times, on Sundays, for example, to and fro from church, when no threatening of rain, no dust blowing, nor anything to injure it, with its buttons covered and its protections tacked upon it, and sun-shade hand to shadow it if there seemed too strong sunlight for its colours And always, after such occasions, he brushed it over and folded it exquisitely as she had taught him, and put it away again

Now all these restrictions his mother set wearing suit he obeyed, always he obeyed them, until one strange night he woke up and saw the moonlight shining outside his window It seemed to him the moonlight was not common moonlight, nor the night common night, and for awhile he lay quite drowsily, odd persuasion mind Thought joined on to thought like things that whisper warmly shadows Then he sat up little bed suddenly very alert, heart beating very fast, and quiver body from top to toe He had made up his mind that now going to wear his suit as it worn He had matter afraid, terribly afraid, but glad, glad

He got out bed and stood for moment window looking moonshine-flooded garden, and trembling thing he meant The air was full of minute clamour of crickets and murmurings, infinitesimal shoutings of little living things He went very gently across the creaking boards, for fear that he might wake the sleeping house, big dark clothes-press wherein his beautiful suit lay folded, and it out garment by garment, and softly and very eagerly tore off its tissue-paper covering and its tacked protections until there , perfect and delightful as he had seen it when first his mother had given it to him--a it seemed ago Not button had tarnished, not thread had faded dear suit ; glad enough for weeping as in noiseless hurry he put it on And then back he went, soft and quick, window that looked out garden, and stood there for minute, shining moonlight, buttons twinkling like stars, before he got out sill, and, making as little of rustling as , clambered down garden path below He stood before his mother's house, and white and nearly as plain as by day, with every window-blind but his own shut like an eye that sleeps The trees cast still shadows like intricate black lace wall

The garden moonlight was very different garden by day; moonshine was tangled hedges and stretched in phantom cobwebs from spray to spray Every flower was gleaming white or crimson black, air was a-quiver thridding of small crickets and nightingales singing unseen depths trees

no darkness , but only warm, mysterious shadows, and all the leaves and spikes were edged and lined with iridescent jewels of dew The night was warmer than any night had ever been, the heavens by some miracle at once vaster and nearer, and, spite great ivory-tinted moon that ruled the world, the sky was full of stars

The little man shout nor sing for all his infinite gladness He stood for time like one awestricken, and then, with queer small cry and holding out his arms, he ran out embrace at once the whole round immensity world follow the neat set paths that cut the garden squarely, but thrust across the beds and wet, tall, scented herbs, night-stock nicotine clusters of phantom white mallow flowers and thickets of southernwood and lavender, and knee-deep across wide space of mignonette great hedge, and he thrust his way through it; and though the thorns brambles scored him deeply and tore threads wonderful suit, and though burrs and goose-grass and havers caught and clung to him, care care, for all part wearing he had longed " I put on my suit," ; " I wore my suit "

Beyond the hedge duck-pond, or to the duck-pond by day But by night great bowl of silver moonshine all noisy with singing frogs, of wonderful silver moonshine twisted and clotted with strange patternings, little man ran down into its waters thin black rushes, knee-deep and waist-deep and shoulders, smiting the water to black and shining wavelets with either hand, swaying and shivering wavelets, amidst which the stars were netted tangled reflections brooding trees bank He waded until he swam, and so he crossed the pond and came out other side, trailing, as it seemed to him, not duckweed, but very silver in long, clinging, dripping masses And up he went transfigured tangles willow-herb uncut seeding grasses farther bank glad and breathless high-road " ," , "beyond measure, that I had clothes that fitted this occasion "

The high-road ran straight as an arrow flies, straight deep-blue pit of sky beneath the moon, white and shining road singing nightingales, and along it he went, running now and leaping, and now walking and rejoicing, clothes his mother had made for him with tireless, loving hands The road was deep in dust, but that for him was only soft whiteness; and as he went great dim moth came fluttering round his wet and shimmering and hastening figure At first heed the moth, and then he waved his hands at it, and made sort of dance with it as it circled round his head "Soft moth ! " he cried, "dear moth ! And wonderful night, wonderful night world ! my clothes are beautiful, dear moth ? As beautiful scales and all this silver vesture earth and sky ? "

moth circled closer and closer until at last its velvet wings just brushed his lips .

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