Ellen was alone once more. And all night long, as she went on her way,
whenever Taffy looked up at the Northern sky, the Sailor’s Star hung
over the Pole. But Little Bear swung slowly, slowly around it, watching,
watching the ships that were sailing to all quarters of the world. And
on every ship the sailors said:—
“‘God bless the Little Bear!’”
As the Princess came to the end the children grew very still. When she
had spoken the last word no one stirred for a moment. Then they all
stirred at once. The Kitten slid off from her big chair and came
straight across to sit on the Princess’s silken knee, and the Others
with her, to crowd as close as they could,—to talk about it and ask all
the questions they had saved for the end, not to interrupt the story.
And they had a great deal to say, and had saved a great many questions.
“You did understand, didn’t you, Kitten?” said the Princess. “I knew you
would.”
The Kitten nodded, and wriggled on the Princess’s knee. “Could you feel
it prickle?” she asked.
“‘Little thrills,’ she means,” Phyllisy suggested.
“Um-m,” said the Kitten. “That night—you said he brought a message.”
“But you were asleep,” said the Princess.
“I heard. Would it hurt?”
“No, indeed! It was a little warm thrill that went to my heart.”
“The same as Taffy,” said Pat.
“Just the same,” said the Princess.
Then Miss Phyllisy brought her the rosy hat, and she pinned it on; for
there were long shadows across the sloping lawn and the petunia bed;
only the high steps down the terrace were still in the sun.
III
THE COMET AND THE POLE STAR
“How did they fasten the stars on him?” asked the Kitten. She didn’t say
who “he” was, but they knew, though it was quite another time.
“With a half-hitch and another half-hitch, then belay,” said the
Princess, promptly. “Much better than sewing them, or pins. Don’t you
think so?”
“Pins would stick him,” agreed the Kitten.
“Whereabouts did they fasten them?” asked Pat.
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.
[Illustration:
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.
[Illustration:
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.
[Illustration:
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.