Chapter II: Epilogue: 230 (2)

The Princess reached out her arm and picked a narrow pointed shell out from the hard sand. It lay broad and brown between them and the gray sea, worrying, whiteand-green at the other edge. Out over the sea whitish-gray fog was waiting all around in a circle. It went up and joined the gray sky over; and a salt smell blew out of it.

She began to draw in the sand with the pointed shell, and the Others watched it grow. She began at his head and worked back, quickly.

“Is it going to be Little Bear?” asked Pat.

“Yes,” said the Princess. “But I can’t make it really a likeness.”

“You could, Dearie, if you had a pencil and paper,” said Phyllisy. “Nobody could, in the sand with a shell.”

“It’s like him the way the map is America,” said Pat. “More—_much_.”

“Now make the stars,” said the Kitten, when she drew his last foot.

“No,” said the Princess. “You must do that.—Who’ll give a star to Little Bear?”

“What shall we give?” asked Pat. But the Kitten spied a clear, shiny pebble, and she didn’t need to be told; she pounced at it quickly, and purred when the Princess took it from her.

“‘And they fastened that star on the very tip of Little Bear’s tail,’” quoted Phyllisy. “Now we must all give stars.”

So they scurried over the sand and brought suitable pebbles to the Princess,—and some of them were shells,—and she showed them where to place them, where he truly wore them; but they placed only the principal ones, because it was a sketch, not a likeness.

“But you don’t _see_ even this—of a bear—in the sky?” said Pat, doubtfully. It wasn’t as easy for her to make believe as it was for Phyllisy. Phyllisy loved it. As for the Kitten, it was no trouble for her; real or make-believe, it was all alike.

“No, indeed,” said Phyllisy, explaining to Pat, and perfectly familiar with it. “Just the stars of him, and play the rest. When it’s night, we’ll look, and see if we can find them ourselves.”

“You can’t when it’s cloudy,” said Pat. “And it’s cloudy to-night—will be.”

“And the Star People will have a holiday,” said the Princess.

“Will they?” asked the Others, though she had just said it.

“Sure as sure. When it’s a cloudy night and the sailors couldn’t see them wherever they were, they may go where they like.”

“They might go where they like in the daytime,” said the Kitten.

“So they might. But you have to sleep some time, Kit. And if you have to stay up all night to be looked at, you’d better take a long nap in the daytime. So, when it begins to be light, the Star People just quietly fade away in their places, then when night comes they wake up, fresh as daisies.”

“Suppose some time they would go off, and it was a clear night—and they moved around?” said Pat.

“I couldn’t imagine anything so dreadful,—nor the Star People, either! Don’t you fancy, because they haven’t any captain, that they have nothing to obey.”

“What?”

“They have _Law_!—and that’s something every one of them obeys without a single word, or ever stopping to argue. When anything is the Rule of the Sky, that ends it.—Unless you’re a comet.”

“Oh, comets!” exclaimed Phyllisy.” What do they do?”

“What don’t they do?” corrected the Princess. “They’re silly. Just a head, with the wildest, fuzziliest hair,”—she drew on the sand as she talked,—“that never _saw_ a hairbrush—and tails!—switching and flying and spreading over everything and curling around!—and, as if one such tail weren’t bad enough, some of them must have two!”

The Princess stopped drawing, because the sand was filled up with comets, as far as she could reach. “That one is like the Kitten,” said Pat. “Yours would be, if it weren’t braided,” the Kitten answered.

“Only in looks, I’m sure,” said the Princess, politely. “The Star People try to be charitable, and when they hear of some fresh bad thing one of those flyaways has done, they say: ‘He doesn’t know enough to be good;’ and they don’t talk about it any more. But when any really horrid mischief is done, it’s always when a comet or two has been around.”

“What did one do?—some mischief,” Pat suggested.

“I should think you’d all rather hear about somebody good,” said the Princess. But the Others giggled—and wouldn’t.

“Make some more Star People while you consider, Dearie,” urged Phyllisy.

So the Princess moved along the sand (and they were glad it was a good, gray day, not glaring), and she drew more, the same way as Little Bear. They didn’t try to be likenesses, but you would know whom they were meant for,—Cassiopeia and the Dragon and Orion and more,—and the Others put in the stars. It used a great many pebbles and shells, though they put in only the principal ones. But they ought to be pretty ones, so they went a good way off to find them.

DRACO

“This is the way Draco looked, guarding the Golden Fleece, except his
expression. He had to look fierce then, but he always had a sweet
nature.—You’ll observe that he has no teeth. He did have, but Jason
took them. He threw the magic drops straight into Draco’s jaws when
they were gaping open to swallow him, and the Dragon went so
immediately to sleep that he hadn’t even time to close his mouth.
Then Jason took, not only the fleece, but his teeth; because he
always liked to have a few dragon’s teeth in his pocket. He had used
them before, for a Bewitchment, and he never knew when he might need
them.—Very few people know about this, but it’s just as true as the
part they do know.” The Princess spoke severely, but the Others
giggled.

They thought Draco ought to have stars on his tail, but she said his
wings folded back over most of it when they weren’t set up. Hercules
gave him the small star on his nose, because he had a great many,
and Draco needed that one to make him symmetrical.
]

When they came back from farther off, they couldn’t guess what the long wavy line was meant for, that she was drawing beyond Orion—in deep loops down and back.

“This is the Starland River,” she explained. “The Ancients called it the Eridanus. That was the name of one of their own Earth rivers. Once Phaeton tried to drive the chariot of the Sun,—the Sun God was his father,—but he didn’t know how, and horses, chariot, and all plunged into the river, and he was drowned for his folly, but the chariot and horses came out shining again the next morning at sunrise. And Phaeton’s three sisters stood on the bank of the river and mourned and mourned for him, and wouldn’t go away. So Jupiter kindly changed them into poplar trees;—and right here—and here—and here”—she showed the places and the Others laid especial shells—“are the stars that mark the tall poplars on the bank. At least, that’s what I think. You may choose others if you like, but they are certainly there.”

The Princess surprisingly sprang up, and the pointed shell flew out of her hand, over the hard sand, and beyond the worrying green-white edge, into the gray sea.

“What did you do that for?” Pat remonstrated.

“Because-that-was-a-sign-that-it-wouldn’t-be-lucky-to-have-any-more- drawing-on-the-sand-because-that-was-Enough,” said the Princess.

“Will you tell it now?” asked the Kitten.

And she would; but back under the cliff, where there were rocks—smooth and hollowed by the ocean, long ago, and another one for a back,—and where those crazy comets on the sand wouldn’t be looking at them.

“You hardly would believe how happy the care of the Sailor’s Star made Little Bear,” said the Princess, when they were all comfortable,—“proud of his responsibility, and most grateful to the Star People.”

“Because they gave him stars?” asked the Kitten.

“Yes, and allowed him to have that responsible thing to do when he wanted it so much; and it made them happy to see his pleasure, and to feel that they all had a share in it—because he was their own dear Little Bear. Now, at the time this story happened, everything had been comfortable and pleasant for a long time. Little Bear hadn’t had his star so long he had forgotten the time before he had it; but he had grown used to having it on the end of his tail, and could keep it over the Pole without giving his mind to it. And nobody had seen a comet for ever so long, so they weren’t thinking about them.

“But, very early one morning, any one of the Star People who had been awake to look, might have seen, peeping up over the rim of the Sky, a small, vagabond head. He shook his fuzzy hair out of his eyes and came up a little farther, switching his long tail that had a wicked crook at the end of it, as he danced up and down like an elf! A more rascally Comet you wouldn’t care to see!”

The Others wriggled with appreciation, but they didn’t speak, to interrupt.

“The Star People were in their first sleep, and not dreaming of any harm; and what a chance for the worst, small comet in the Sky!

“What should he do? Hammer a dent in Cepheus’ crown? Tie a knot in the Dragon’s tail? He darted here and there,—rapid, uncertain little darts; nothing seemed quite worth while when he had such an opportunity.

“Cassiopeia stirred slightly in her chair, and the wicked imp dropped where he was, and wound himself all up, like a porcupine, holding himself together by the crook in his tail. You never would have guessed that he could tuck all his wild hair and streaming tail into a little round bunch, as quick as a flash! But she didn’t wake up, so he let himself go, and his hair and tail sprang out like a jack-in-the-box; and now he danced harder than ever, for rage!

“How he did hate Cassiopeia! He remembered how she had boxed his ears when he had come that way before, and he would rather do something to plague her than anything else. He looked about him, and saw Little Bear, fast asleep—never dreaming of any harm,—and he stopped short in his dance. He knew, now, what he could do; but, wicked little Comet as he was, he was almost frightened. This was much worse than anything any of them ever had done. But how it would plague Cassiopeia!—and set the whole sky by the ears. He puckered up his face and stuck out his tongue at her.”

“And she couldn’t see him,” Pat murmured.

“Then there was a whizz,—a switch of a long tail with a crook in the end of it,—a zigzag streak of light across the morning sky—and the Comet was gone!

“And the Star People were all sound asleep, and never dreamed he had been there.

A MORE RASCALLY COMET YOU WOULDN’T CARE TO SEE
]

“Oh, dear! It seemed almost a pity Little Bear had to wake up at all, with such trouble waiting for him. But the time had to come, and he stirred a little and opened one eye, and shut it again and rolled on to his side. There he lay for a minute; then he gave a soft sneeze that waked him up altogether. So he opened his eyes, that twinkled like stars, and looked about him. Every one else was still sleeping, and that seemed like wasting time, because it was a cloudy night, which meant a holiday. So Little Bear stood up and shook himself, and sparks seemed to fly from his fur, and then—his heart gave a great jump, and almost stopped beating!—The Sailor’s Star was gone!

“It was such a blow he could hardly see, and he sat down, quite dazed.

“In a few minutes Cassiopeia opened her eyes. Now, Little Bear felt as if he couldn’t stand it to have any one know what had happened to him. But the minute he saw Cassiopeia was awake, though it was the last thing he meant to do, and before he knew what he was about, he had run to her and put his head in her lap; and she knew in a second something was wrong.

“‘Why, Little Bear, what is it?’ she began to say—then she saw—and such an outcry! Everybody awoke, and the next minute, everybody was searching in every possible and impossible place;—all but Little Bear. He was too miserable to do anything but sit still, and wish the clouds would rise up and cover him all over.”

“Poor little soul!” said Phyllisy, and the Others crooned in sympathy, the Princess with them. Then she went on:—

“‘It’s no use. It isn’t here,’ said Cepheus, who had been down on his hands and knees, looking, just as hard as if he hadn’t been a king. (He tucked his sceptre under his arm while he was looking, except when he poked with it in a corner.) As he spoke, he stood up and straightened out the ‘crick’ in his back, and the others took it for a signal to stop the search.

“Cassiopeia had stopped some time before, without any signal, and sat in her chair, with Little Bear leaning against her knee again.

“‘No, I didn’t think it was any use,’ she said, significantly. ‘That star didn’t go without hands,—or _claws_!’—and she looked straight at Draco, who stood every night before Little Bear, to guard him, looking very terrible, though he hadn’t a tooth in his head. But no one would know that unless he spoke, and he had been hunting for the star as hard as any of them.

“‘Doeth thhe mean _me_?’ he asked, in surprise. (He lisped a little, on account of having no teeth.) Then, indignantly: ‘I thould think you’d be athamed!—I believe you took it back yourthelf!—Indian-giver!’

“Cassiopeia’s hand flew to the back of her dress where the star had been, and she began hotly: ‘The idea—’

“‘There, there,’ said Cepheus, soothingly, while Little Bear stirred uneasily, ‘don’t quarrel! It’s bad enough without that.’

“‘Maybe he didn’t take it _himself_,’ said Cassiopeia. ‘But it’s a very poor watch he kept. And this isn’t the first time something has been lost while he was asleep!’

“‘Shame on you!’ cried Cepheus. (And it was mean in her to call up the time when he lost the Golden Fleece.)

“‘Don’t mind her,’ said Perseus to Draco. ‘She doesn’t mean anything.’

“‘I don’t think Cathiopeia liketh me very well,’ said Draco, almost crying. ‘I can’t thtay awake all day. I alwayth did need a great deal of thleep.’

“‘Well, let’s not talk about it any more,’ said Cassiopeia, impatiently. ‘We’d better be doing something! It’s a good thing it’s so cloudy. I’ll tell you what you do,’ she went on, turning to Cepheus. ‘You go straight to Boreas, and tell him he mustn’t blow away one scrap of cloud until we find that star.’ Boreas had a great conch shell, like a trumpet, and when he shouted his orders through it, the clouds flew before the sound—just as he told them to go.”

“The North Wind,” said Pat. “I’ve heard about him. He lived in a cave.”

The Princess nodded. “‘I don’t think it looks very well for me to be running errands,’ said Cepheus.

“‘Looks or no looks, you go along,’ said Cassiopeia. ‘I’m going on one myself.’

“When Orion waked up that night he was pleased to see the clouds, because there was something he wanted to do. Every one knows he was a famous hunter; and there was no animal so fierce or so wild that he could not face it and conquer it. But that was not what he prided himself upon. What he liked to do, more than anything, and what he thought was his special talent, was gardening!

“He had his garden on the Milky Way, where he was forever planting things, and digging them up again to look at the roots, and transplanting them to see if they wouldn’t do better somewhere else, and pruning them and training them and spraying them; and the only rest and chance to grow those poor things had was when there was a long spell of clear weather, and Orion had to leave them alone! And with all his care, there wasn’t a place on the whole Milky Way that had so many bare spots in it as Orion’s garden!”

“Like mine,” observed Pat.

“Now, he had some young meteors just coming up; so, as soon as he was awake, he called his two dogs and set out for his garden. He was down on his knees examining the young plants, when the dogs began to bark. He looked up, and he was astonished to see Cassiopeia hurrying toward him.

“‘I knew where I should find you!’ she called, breathing hard. (She wasn’t exactly thin.)

“‘What over the Sun brings you here?’ exclaimed Orion.

“‘Somebody’s stolen the Pole Star!’

“‘No!’ cried he.

“‘Yes, they have. While we were asleep. It was there, all right, when Little Bear went to sleep, and when he waked up, it was gone.’

“Orion scowled fearfully. ‘There’s just one Star Person who would do such a thing—’ he began.

Cassiopeia interrupted him:—

“‘Now that’s all nonsense! Just because you hate the Scorpion, is no sign he would steal. You’d better come along with me, and we’ll have a meeting to see what to do.’

“As Cassiopeia and Orion were coming back together, they met Cepheus, returning from his errand.

“‘Did you see Boreas?’ called she.

“‘Yes,’ answered Cepheus, pushing up his crown. (It didn’t fit very well, and was always slipping down.) ‘He says he’ll do the best he can; but he can’t promise more than two days.’

“‘Oh, we’ll find it before then,’ said Orion, confidently.

“But before the two days were gone he began to feel very differently, and so did every one else. They talked and they talked, and suggested and consulted, and hunted, and went back and hunted again and again in all the places they had searched before; and every one almost began to look suspiciously at every one else.

“And it would have made any one’s heart ache, to see Little Bear. No one blamed him, but he couldn’t help feeling that it was his fault, and he _wanted_ his dear Star, too. So he mourned and drooped, and all the sparkle went off from his beautiful soft fur, and out of his bright eyes; and when Perseus offered to let him take the Gorgon’s head to play with, he didn’t even care for that.

“Cassiopeia took him up into her chair beside her, and sang little songs to him. The one about the fishes, that he always liked.”

“What song?” asked the Kitten, quickly.

ORION

“Orion was a mighty hunter,” she explained. “This is the way he would
attack a lion or any wild creature, without the slightest fear. But
he died at last from the bite of a scorpion. The Scorpion is in the
sky too, spread out very glittering—a lobstery-kind of a thing—but
never at the same time as Orion, because that wouldn’t be good
manners. So, sometimes we see Orion marching across, with his two
dogs, Sirius and Procyon; then we see the Scorpion, but never the
two together.”

And she couldn’t draw the dogs near him, where they belonged, because
the Kitten had stepped there; they had to move along to a place
where the sand was smooth.
]

“This,” answered the Princess:—

There are just as good fish in the sea—the sea
As ever came out (they say);
But the finest fish that ever were there
Have come to the Sky to stay.

These fishes lived in a pool—a pool,
Where coral and seaweed grow.
The great waves dash on the reef without,
But here they ripple and flow.

You’d think ’twas a place where a fish—a fish
Would willingly live and die;
But these two fishes were not content—
They wanted to go to the Sky!

The Fisherman, up above—above,
Espied the fish from afar;
He spun a line from a moonbeam fine,
And baited it with a star.

Now, these silly fish didn’t try—didn’t try
To make the best of their home;
They fumed and they splashed and they lashed their tails,
Till the water was covered with foam.

And the Fisherman, watching above—above,
And _wanting_ to pull them in,
Could only wait till the fish were too tired
To move a tail, or a fin.

Then, twice, on the face of the placid pool,
He dropped the star from on high;
And, one by one, drew the Fishes up,
To shine each night in the Sky!

And the moral’s plain, of this tale (your tail,
If you are a bear, or a fish),
_Don’t fume and splash and disturb your pool,—
And you’ll probably get your wish!_

“Little Bear liked to hear it, but Cassiopeia could see that it wasn’t really any comfort to him, and she was at her wit’s end to know what to do.”

“They ought to have thought it was a Comet,” said Pat.

“It was stupid in them, but they never once thought of them,” said the Princess.

“Don’t you know, it is like that sometimes,” said Phyllisy, “the most probable thing you forget all about.”

“That was the way with them,” agreed the Princess. “They thought of everything else, and the two days were almost gone when Boreas sent word that he couldn’t possibly wait any longer; but he wouldn’t blow the clouds clear off—only break them up, and send them flying about; so perhaps it wouldn’t be noticed that the Star was gone.

“‘That won’t do at all,’ said Orion. ‘We can’t take chances like that. But what can we do?’

“‘The next best thing,’ said Cassiopeia. ‘We must get another star as near like it as we can find.’

“‘I have one the same color; but it’s not the right size,’ said Cepheus.

“‘Let me have it,’ said Cassiopeia. ‘I’ll try to match it.’

“She took it from him; and the Star People came, one by one, and turned their backs to her, and she held up the star that was the right color by those that were the right size and in a place where they wouldn’t be missed; and you never would believe how many sizes and colors there were! It was enough to drive one crazy, and she was ready to give up in despair. At last she went back to one she had rejected before, on the back of Perseus’ elbow.

“‘It isn’t right,’ she said, ‘but it’s the best there is.’

“‘Oh, that’s not so bad,’ said Orion. ‘A man on horseback wouldn’t notice the difference!’

“‘That’s a very poor joke!’ snapped Cassiopeia—her nerves were quite frazzled. ‘Come, Little Bear!’

“And Little Bear came to her, and they fastened the false star on his tail; and he let them do it, quite quietly, though he felt as if his heart would break—and so ashamed! It was almost worse than no star at all, and seemed like trying to cheat the sailors who trusted him.

“All that night and the next and still another night, Boreas blew and shouted through his trumpet, and the clouds swept back and forth, whirling and tumbling, while Little Bear stood at his post, wheeling slowly around the false star, with his head drooped low and the silver glint all gone from his soft fur, and his heart almost breaking, whenever, through the rifts of the racing clouds, he saw the ships flying before the gale—sailing to all quarters of the world.

“And the other Star People were almost as unhappy as he was, because they loved him, and because such a dreadful thing had happened, and somebody must have been so very wicked. By the time the third night was gone they felt that it couldn’t possibly go on that way any longer; and every one went to sleep, perfectly worn out with trying to think what they could do, and how they could comfort Little Bear, if nothing else could be done.

“Orion was just in his first sound sleep, when a big, jolly voice called: ‘Are you all asleep there? Wake up, Orion!’

“Orion turned around, and there was Old Sol himself, fairly beaming with happiness and good humor, and—what do you think?—in his hand he held up the lost Pole Star!

“‘Wh-why, where did you find it?’ gasped Orion.

“‘Oh, this fellow had it tucked into the crook in his tail. I caught him, going by, and shook him up, and out it fell. So I brought it to you.’

“Then Orion saw that Sol held in his other hand the most disreputable little Comet that ever was seen! His hair and tail—what was left of them—were hanging in shreds. He had struggled to escape, and Sol had held him. Now, scarcely enough of him was left to be worth holding—just a rag! and his head seemed positively shriveled up.

“‘For the love o’ the Law!’ exclaimed Orion, ‘what’s that? A Comet! And we never once thought of it. Give me that star.’ He fairly snatched it from Sol’s hand, and started, as fast as he could run, North, waking every one as he ran, calling: ‘We’ve found the Pole Star!’

“The Comet seemed to think this was a good chance to escape, and wriggled cautiously between Old Sol’s fingers. ‘Oh, no!’ said Sol. ‘You’ll stay with me, where you won’t do any more mischief.’ And he put him in his pocket, and followed Orion, as fast as he could, to the North.

“And when he came in sight, Little Bear was just awake, with everybody crowding around him, and talking to him so fast he couldn’t understand what it was all about. But when he saw his own Star once more—then he knew! And Old Sol laughed to see Little Bear (who had been so patient and uncomplaining when he was most unhappy) give his tail such a switch and jerk that it sent the false star flying off—nobody knew where, nor cared! They kept right on talking—all at once, and nobody listening to anybody else—and saying how stupid it was in them not to have thought of the Comet.”

(“And it was,” said Pat, under her breath; but Phyllisy shook her head at her—not to interrupt.)

“Cassiopeia cried, a very little, while they fastened the Sailor’s Star once more on Little Bear’s tail; and the good old Dragon said, anxiously: ‘Be thure you fathen it _thtrong_!’

“And Little Bear quivered and trembled with delight, his eyes sparkling, even in the sunshine; and then—everybody began to be so sleepy they couldn’t hold their eyes open. So they all hurried back to their places and faded away again; while old Sol, with the Comet in his pocket out of harm’s way, glowed brighter and brighter with pleasure.

“But when night fell, calm and cloudless, who was so proud as Little Bear? His eyes twinkled brighter than any stars, and his soft fur glittered and shone, and he held up his head bravely as he swung around the Pole Star—watching the ships; while the sailors on the ships said: ‘How bright all the stars are to-night! The rains have cleared the air.’

“The next cloudy night, Little Bear sat beside Cassiopeia, in her great jeweled chair, and she sang songs to him once more—about the Fishes, and the other songs he liked. Best of all, the one she couldn’t sing to him when he was so unhappy, about his very own Sailor’s Star:—

“Oh, how do the ships go sailing
Over the starlit sea?
They’re sailing East,
And they’re sailing West,
And they’re sailing South,—
But they love the best,
Where the North Star shines unfailing.

“Oh, how do the ships go sailing
Over the angry sea?
The winds blow high,
And the clouds sweep low,
And the ship flies fast!—
But the sailors know
Their Star still shines unfailing.

“And still the ships go sailing
Forever, over the sea;
For the winds will drive
The clouds away,
And the stars shine forth,
And the sailors say,
_Their_ Star for aye’s unfailing!”

“‘The Sta-a-ar’s unfailing,’” sang the Kitten, after her. And they two sang the last few lines again, together.

“Oh!” exclaimed Miss Phyllisy.

“What is it?” asked Pat.

“Orion’s leg is gone; I’ve been expecting it. A wave just went over.”

And another wave followed close, and shoved it back still higher, before it had time to run away out.

“He doesn’t mind,” said the Kitten.

“Not a bit,” said the Princess. “It wasn’t even a likeness. And where are the Comets?”

There wasn’t a sign of one left. And that was a sign that every one else had better be starting!

ORION’S DOGS AND LITTLE BEAR

The name of the big dog was Sirius, and the little one was Procyon.
And Orion himself hadn’t so splendid a star as Sirius wore in his
collar. Procyon’s wasn’t quite so fine, because he was smaller.

“And they’ve just been over here to see Little Bear, and they’re
hurrying to catch up with Orion and be in their own places,” said
Phyllisy.
]

IV
OLD SOL’S MENAGERIE

Because she had said she would, and they had come expressly when the tide was out, the Princess didn’t wait to be asked; she only looked to see what kind of an Ocean it was, while the others hunted for a pointed shell like the one she used before—and it was a cool blue one, with little waves running on it and cloud shadows moving across.

Then she took the shell that Miss Phyllisy brought, with the Others following; and perhaps it was the very one that flew out of her hand! Anyway, it was exactly like it; it could have been brought back by the sea, and that was a sign that it was lucky to draw more Star People on the sand.

They chose a place to begin, and the Princess drew a circle around her, as large as she could reach from the middle; and it was surprisingly round—when it wasn’t mechanical. Then she came to the line of it and reached over and drew another, larger, circle just so far outside; then she made marks—little neat ones—on the edge, to have it even, and drew lines across to divide it into spaces; and there would be twelve. And the Princess was inside, drawing, and the Others were outside, watching to see what it was going to be—like a Bewitchment, with nobody speaking. For each time Pat started to say: “Whatever is it?” Prudence said: “Don’t speak!” and she stopped. But the Kitten lay on the sand, propped on her elbows, watching and making a song for herself, inside, until the Princess was ready to talk.

As she drew the last line across, that made twelve spaces, she began, sing-song: “Walk right up, ladies and gentlemen! The greatest show in Skyland is now ready to begin. Unrivaled aggregation of animals and galaxy of talented artists. Old Sol’s Menagerie, in Sky-Language called the Zodiac. Something between a zoölogical garden and a circus, and better than both put together—” She stopped and laughed, teasing with her eyes.

“What does it mean?” asked Pat.

“I’m going to show you. These are twelve great cages that make a splendid ring all around the Sky—Houses, the Star People call them. They think it sounds better; but they aren’t in the least like either cages or houses; they’re more like a _place_; and it isn’t a flat circle like this. It’s that way in Starland. You can’t really describe it, because it’s so different; but we can draw it this way, and call it what we like.” The Princess stooped down and began to draw: “In this first cage, Sol keeps the Ram that had the Golden Fleece, that they took away from him, to take such care of! And now that he’s a Star-Ram, he has it back and takes care of it himself.”

“So Draco needn’t watch it any more,” observed Phyllisy.

“The Ram likes it much better this way,” said the Princess. “And here is his name, like a doorplate on his house.” She made a funny little mark in the corner of the space. “Wherever you see that mark, Beloveds, it’s the Sign of the Ram; and it looks like his curving horns. Next door is a great white Bull. One time he was grazing in a meadow where some children were playing. He was very gentle, and let them wind garlands of flowers around his horns. At last, one of them climbed on his back, and away he went with her and swam over the sea. Did you ever see such remarkable, lofty horns?” All the time she was drawing.—“Here’s the sign of his House, and here go his stars.” The Others had stars collected, and when they had finished the Bull, she went on: “In this House are the Gemini Brothers, twin boys who do boxing and wrestling, and ground-and-lofty tumbling. Wonderful singers they are, too, Castor and Pollux, and especial friends of all sailors. They were great sailors themselves, and once drove all the wicked pirates out of the Ægean Sea.”

“The Star ones?” asked Pat.

“No; the real ones. We want two beautiful pebbles for the stars that they wear in their helmets. And up here”—the Princess whirled across—“in this last House that brings it around the circle are two more twins—the Fishes that Cassiopeia sang about to Little Bear. They can have only small stars, because they were discontented.”

When they were done the Princess turned back to the place where she left off.

“In this cage at the North is a Crab; and in the cage exactly opposite is a Goat, but not a common goat. He is a Sea-Goat—like this, with a kind of fish tail.” She left the Crab, and drew the Goat to show. “These two were once impertinent to Old Sol; and now he has them in his Menagerie; and I’m glad of it! Aren’t you, Kitten?”

“What did they do?” asked Phyllisy.

“It’s poetry,” said the Princess. She stopped drawing and clasped her hands around her knees, sitting in the middle of the Zodiac to say the poetry; and the Others sitting outside to listen.

A kindly gentleman was Mr. Sol.
He sallied forth one day, to take a stroll,
Saying: “This morning I will make my goal,
The South Pole.”

With smiles for all he met, and greetings gay,
He southward bent his steps,—nor would delay
Because he saw, directly in his way,
A Billy-Goat stood at bay!

“Yez can’t go anny farther!” cried the Goat.
“The language on that sign I’d have yez note:
‘The passage South is closed.’ Kape on yer coat!
That’s the _Law_! Ye’d orter know’t!”

His language rude could only cause surprise,
And Sol advanced. Oh, who’d believe his eyes!
With lowered head Bill rushes—and Sol lies,
Knocked flat!—sprawly-wise!

Old Sol arose and said: “I’d have you learn”
(So grieved his rage had scarce begun to burn)
“There’s still a Pole to visit; and I’ll turn
To the North! Your Pole I spurn!”

But as he walked and thought upon his wrong,
His rage waxed hotter, his resolve more strong.
“The next who thwarts me won’t be happy long!
Just let him try!—I think he’ll change his song!”

So striding northward, with his face ablaze,
He overtook a Crab, who’d paused to gaze
Where stood the Pole. His courteous amaze
Sol’s wrath allays.

Now, even as the Goat was set to guard
The Southern Pole, and visitors retard,
The task of Mr. Crab was just as hard:
The North he barred.

But what’s the use of knock-down argument,
When courtesy will answer your intent?
If with a little tact ’tis wisely blent.
Why break a will, that may as well be _bent_?

“Shall we not walk together, sir?” he said.
Sol—still determined, though his rage was fled—
Agreed, if to the Pole his friend’s path led.
Waving his claw, the Crab said: “Straight ahead!”

“SHALL WE NOT WALK TOGETHER, SIR?”
]

But wily Mr. Crab did not confess
(And Sol was far too much engrossed to guess,
So pleasant and straightforward his address),
He _backward walked_,—like all crabs—none the less!

They strolled together down the road awhile
With jest and chat, that might the way beguile;
Then bade adieu. And then Sol saw the wile
That turned him from his purpose with a smile!

He had not noticed that they backward walked,
Because the Crab so pleasantly had talked.—
Thus, twice in his ambition was he balked:
The Goat had felled him—and the Crab had mocked!

Since then, he’s fixed a limit for his stroll;
He never tries to go around the Pole.
Deceit and rudeness worry Mr. Sol
Past his control!

“That is the poetry,” said the Princess, “and _this_ is very truly true: Old Sol makes a visit and spends a little while every year in each of the Houses of the Zodiac. But when he comes to the farthest North—which is the Crab—in the Summer, he turns back and goes South until he comes to the Goat’s House, which is the farthest South, in the Winter; then he turns and comes back, and so forever and always.”

“Won’t they let him go?” asked the Kitten.

“He doesn’t give them a chance to prevent. Now he knows it’s a Rule of the Sky he obeys it even before he comes to the place they say he mustn’t pass.”

“But they might have told him politely,” said Phyllisy. “It means something behind, doesn’t it, Dearie?—just plainly true without anything around it?”

The Princess laughed suddenly, because Miss Phyllisy was so earnest and so funny; but she nodded, “Yes.”

“And the ‘House’ just means that part of the sky where they are?”

The Princess nodded again.

“And Old Sol has put a Bewitchment around it so they can’t get out—instead of bars,” Phyllisy added, going back of her own accord to the make-believe, because she preferred it. And that was one of the ways she was wise. What was plainly true could very well wait until she was older and had more time to think about it.

“Here, in Mr. Crab’s House, Sol keeps a beehive.” The Princess went back to her drawing where she had left off the Crab to draw the Goat; and the Others found very tiny yellow shells that looked like them, for the bees.

“Now, here is a Lion who doesn’t have to be any lion in particular because he’s so splendid just being himself. He’s like ‘Terrible as an army with banners,’ not because he’s terrible, but he’s like a heraldry lion. Right next him is Mlle. Virgo, very ladylike and not a bit afraid.”

“What is she for?” asked Pat, while the Princess was drawing her.

“She does ‘poses plastiques’—which means that she looks perfectly lovely being all kinds of statuary on top of a pedestal, and when she doesn’t do that she does remarkable juggling with a pair of great scales that are carefully kept in the cage next hers, so they shan’t get out of order.”

“Could they weigh anything?” asked the Kitten.

“Yes, indeed! The Star People may go in and be weighed on them, if Mlle. Virgo goes with them. But the Scorpion really does the weighing—puts on the weights for her—because she’s so ladylike. He lives next door, on the other side, and he’s very handy with his claws.”

“The Orion one?” asked Pat.

“The Orion one,” said the Princess, beginning in the middle to draw him. “Somebody will have to find a splendiferous red something for the star he wears above his fiery heart.” She drew down his body into his curled-up tail; then she put on his lobstery claws.

“And this gentleman is Mr. Sagittarius, with a head and body like a man joined to the body of a horse; and he is a better shot with a bow and arrow than a Red Indian. Then, there’s the Goat—we’ve done, and the Fishes—we’ve done. And there’s just one more House I haven’t told you about. An old man lives in it. He’s like Orion in one thing, he’s very fond of gardening. But he hasn’t any garden, only a watering-pot. And that’s the part of him we’ll draw, because that’s where he wears his stars.”

“You’re making two spouts,” said the Kitten.

“Because it has. If you want to _garden_, and have no garden but a watering-pot, you can’t have too many spouts. The Ancients said the two streams that flowed from it watered all the gardens of the world.”

“It must have felt funny to be an Ancient,” said Pat.

“Why?” asked Phyllisy.

“With those queer ideas in them,” said Pat.

The Princess looked around the Zodiac ring, to see what was left out; and it was all done but signs in the Fishes, and three more she had not put in when she made them. She put them in now, in the corners of the Houses. So it was finished; and it had taken a good while—drawing and talking and starring them all; but, because she wasn’t tired, they moved along a little farther and began afresh.

It was a tremendous man, with lumpy arms and legs; and that was Hercules, the strongest person in the Sky.

“I’ve heard about him,” said Pat. “He killed lions, and strangled some snakes when he was just a little baby in his cradle—immense ones; he must have been always strong.”

“I suppose he inherited it,” said the Kitten—very grown-up.

“Just hear the child!” said Miss Phyllisy. “What does that mean, Kit?”

“I know,” the Kitten insisted. “He _could_ do it.”

“Course he could!” said the Princess; “and because of _that_. He came of a very fine family—none better. He was a God of the Greeks.”

“A _God_!” exclaimed Pat. “Do _you_—_mean_—to _say_—that _Hercules_ was a _God_?”

“I do,” said the Princess; and, “One of those Ancients, you know, Pat,” explained Phyllisy. But Pat paid no attention.

“Well! For pitysakes! _Hercules_—a God!” she said once more.

And that was all; and nobody will ever know why it surprised her so.

“That’s what he was,” said the Princess, drawing away, very industrious,—“a demi, to begin with, and they made him a whole one. He was highly cultivated and accomplished, besides being so strong. But he had a great deal of trouble, and had to work very hard; and altogether it quite broke him down. It made him always on the lookout for unfortunate signs. Now that he’s a Star Person, he isn’t particularly intellectual, but he is perfectly amiable; and that is a great deal to be thankful for, when you consider how strong he is.” And by that time he was ready for his stars.

Miss Phyllisy suddenly thought of something.

“Oh, Dearie!” she exclaimed. “There’s somebody you never drew.”

“Who is that, Miss Phyllisy?”

“The Big Bear. You never talk about him.”

The Princess made little marks in the sand, all in a row, that didn’t mean anything. When she spoke it was in a slow, thinking-it-out way: “There is something curious about that Bear, that makes him _not_ do the things the other Star People do; and this is it:”—she spoke very impressively,—“The Great Bear doesn’t know whether he’s a bear or a dipper!”

“Oh-h!” cried the Others.

“What _do_ you mean?” asked Phyllisy.

CASSIOPEIA

“Of course it isn’t a _likeness_,” said the Princess, putting a quirl
on her crown, “but you can tell something by it. And do you think
Cassiopeia looks like the kind of person who would boast of her own
beauty?”

The Others looked at her critically.—“She looks to me more domestic,”
said Phyllisy. “Did she?”

“Some old mythologies _say_ she did, but it was truly Andromeda’s
beauty she was so proud of. The trouble was, Cassiopeia wasn’t
satisfied with knowing in her own heart that her child was the
loveliest thing the sun shone on; she talked about it. And at last
it came to the Sea Nymphs’ ears. They heard in all the waves—like
coming out of a shell—‘Andromeda is fairer than the Sea Nymphs:
Cassiopeia says so,’—and off they went to their father, crying:
‘Vengeance, Father Neptune, upon the impious Cassiopeia!’ That was
the way they talked, only a great deal more of it. And rather than
hear them whining and teasing he consented to punish Cassiopeia. She
and Cepheus were obliged to chain Andromeda to a rock on the
seacoast to be devoured by a horrible sea monster; and that would
have been the end of her and her beauty if Perseus hadn’t come to
the rescue.”

Then they stopped talking about that, because it was time to put on
Cassiopeia’s stars.
]

“He’s confused,” said the Princess. “You see, before he was a Star Person he was a performing bear, and in one of his tricks—the best one—he stood on his head so much it affected his brain. Now he is a Star Person, and he’s quite harmless, but he thinks perhaps he’s a Dipper. And, of course, when he thinks that he can’t go about or talk; and there’s nothing for him to dip, so he doesn’t lead a very amusing life.”

“Wouldn’t the Star People let him go with them?” asked the Kitten.

“Certainly they would—be glad to. But he doesn’t want to. And they let him have his way. They call him ‘Major’; and that pleases him when he thinks he’s a bear, and when they see he has a ‘dipper-fit’ they don’t talk to him at all, because he doesn’t like it.”

“I should think they’d be glad,” said Pat. “What could they talk about?”

“Nothing intelligent,” agreed the Princess, “so they let him alone, to be happy in his own way.”

“Is Little Bear his child?” asked the Kitten.

“No, Kitten. They aren’t related; they only both happen to be bears and neighbors. Major never goes away from his place—almost never,” she corrected herself. Then she stopped, and began again, talking to herself. “There was once—such a time as they had—” She shook her head, but she did’t say any more.

“Aren’t you going to tell it?” asked Pat.

“Bimeby,” said the Princess, suddenly energetic. “I’m going to draw him now.

“Now, my Hearties! How’s that for a bear? and just crying for stars. Look alive! and see what you’ll see when he has them on.”

They placed his pebbles, and seven were especially large, and all the time Pat kept saying: “I don’t see anything. What is it?”—and all the Princess would say was, “Look at him hard,—his stars,—never mind his legs.” And then Phyllisy saw something that made her laugh. “Oh, Dearie! Is that what made you think of it?—The Dipper—what he thinks?”

“S-sh,” said the Princess.

“What are you laughing at? Tell me now,” said Pat.

“Don’t you see, Pat?” explained Phyllisy. “It’s the old Dipper we always knew—part of it is. I never thought of it’s being the same.”

“Two names for it?” asked Pat, looking at the Princess.

She nodded. “I know another one.”

“Aren’t you going to tell it?”

“Bimeby,” she said again, just as she had said it before.

And that was drawing enough, and no time for a story, but much better for a scamper on the beach, along the edge of the waves that had stopped going out and were running all the time nearer.

V
MAJOR

Exactly far enough to be convenient to sit down for a while was the old great Wreck that had been there for years and years and years.

So there was only a part of it left, pushed deep in the sand, and sand inside, because the sea had eaten away the rest. And it was pale and gray-bleached where it stood up toward the sky, but underneath dark and sodden, with long seaweed weeping off into the water—back and forth—back and forth—forever.

Going up by the rocks on the other side, some strong timbers laid over made a bridge across into the broken place where her ribs showed. There were pale waves churning, flat, in and out among the rocks and below the bridge when they crossed over and came out on the old gray deck with the old black capstan standing in the middle of it; and everywhere around there was water. The Ocean was much larger from here than it was when they were walking on the sand; so large that any ship in the whole wide world _might_ have come sailing across it—and a fair wind blowing. The Princess looked for several minutes, to see if there was coming the finest ship afloat. And there was not; but she hadn’t expected it, because she knew it was not there.

“Now is it a suitable time to tell it?” asked Pat.

And the Princess thought it was, while they rested, sitting on the tilting deck, with the sea running in and out in the dark hollow place under it.

“You know how you feel about something that is _always there_,” she began; “a tree on the lawn, or a church steeple, or something you take for granted and expect to see when you look for it. You don’t look the first thing in the morning to see if it has gone away in the night.

“That was the way with Major. The Star People were so used to seeing him in his place that they thought very little about him.

“It was rather cloudy one morning when it was time to fade away, and it promised to be more cloudy by night. The Star People had plans for what they wanted to do; and they waked up, quite full of their own affairs. So, though each one of them in Major’s neighborhood had a feeling that something was strange and lacking, they didn’t think enough about it to realize what it was. And it wasn’t until Cepheus said suddenly: ‘Why, where’s Major?’ that they saw that he was gone, and that was what they missed.

“‘Now, what do you thuppoth pothethed him?’ said Draco.

“‘I’ve no idea,’ said Cassiopeia. ‘But we must find him and bring him back. We can’t let the silly old thing go wandering about, nobody knows where. Perseus!’ she called. ‘You and Andromeda come and help.’

“They were so interested in some scheme of their own they weren’t noticing what was going on. But as soon as they did, they were just as much concerned as anybody, ‘Major gone!’ they said. ‘Why, where can he be?’

“‘I thee him!’ called Draco, excitedly. He had flown up to look about. Now he dropped again. ‘He’th almotht to Orion’th garden, and going Thouth ath fatht ath ever he can!’

“‘Run, Perseus. You’re young,’ said Cassiopeia; and off he started, with Andromeda after him. She and Perseus very easily ran faster than the other Star People who followed: Cepheus and Cassiopeia, with Draco, half flopping his wings and half running on his short crooked legs, like a dachshund’s, and after them Hercules and Little Bear. Hercules picked him up and put him on his shoulder, and came after the others—all racing down toward the Southern Sky, to find Major and bring him back home.

“Cassiopeia was not much of a runner; but Hercules came up and put his hand under one arm, and Cepheus put his under the other, to help her along, so they made pretty good speed; though, of course, not so good as Perseus and Andromeda. So they weren’t surprised, when they finally came in sight of Major, to see that the young people had caught up with him, and they and Orion were going along by his side.

“For Major wasn’t noticing them, nor stopping to listen to their talk. He kept straight on, lifting his great paws high and throwing them out as he trotted—not as a bear usually runs, and not getting along so very fast, either.

“When he was actually in sight Cassiopeia declared she couldn’t go another step without resting. So she sat down; and Perseus, who saw them, came racing back with Andromeda after him, of course.

“‘Guess what he thinks!’ he called, when he came within hearing distance. ‘He thinks he’s a wagon!’ cried Andromeda, in the same breath.

“‘A _wagon_!’ said everybody.

“‘Yes, he does,’ said Andromeda. ‘Orion ran out after him when he went by the garden, and Major made him look out for the wheels. He thinks his legs are wheels, and he will run over any one who’s in the way.’

“‘Did you ever hear more?’ said Cepheus. ‘I’d like to know how such an idea came into his addled old head.’

“‘I’d just like to know how to put it _out_!’ said Cassiopeia.

“‘How’ll you stop him, if you don’t?’ asked Hercules. ‘He’ll keep on forever—now he’s started.’ And that was perfectly reasonable, certainly, and quite observant for a person who didn’t pretend to be bright.

“‘I can thtop him,’ said Draco.

“‘How?’ asked Perseus.

“‘You wait and thee. We’ll catch up with him thoon. He doethn’t go very fatht.’”

The Princess stopped, and looked off, over the sea. Then she looked back at the Others, all waiting for her to go on.

“It’s terribly exciting, Dearie,” said Phyllisy.

“Then what happened?” asked the Kitten.