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!
[Illustration:
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!”
[Illustration:
“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.
[Illustration:
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!’