When some inquisitive child asked, “What does the flat World like a mud pie rest on?” they really truly said, “It rests on the backs of four elephants.” But when the inquisitive child asked, “And what do the elephants stand on?” they really truly said, “On a big turtle.” Then when the inquisitive child asked, “What does the turtle stand on?” no one could say—for no one could even guess farther than that—so the turtle was left standing—on nothing. That's the old story that parents long ago used to tell their children as to what the World was like. But just suppose you could go way, way off above the clouds; way, way off in the sky, sit on a corner of nothing at all dangle your feet over the edge and look down at the World far, far below. What do you suppose it would really look like? I know— and yet I have never been there.

The World from way off in the sky and through a spy-glass would look just like a full moon—round and white; not round like a plate, but round like a huge snowball. Not exactly white, either, but bright—for the sun shines on this big ball the World, and makes it light just as the headlight on an automobile shines on the road at night and makes the road light. Of course, the sun can shine on only one side of this big ball at a time; the other side of the World is dark, but the World keeps turning round and round in the sunlight. If you looked at the World through a telescope—you know what a telescope is: one of those long spy-glasses that make things seem closer and bigger—as men look at the moon, you would see on one side of the World two big patches that look like queerly shaped shadows and on the other side of the World twice as many big patches, four queerly shaped shadows.