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.
“By this time Cassiopeia was ready to go on, and they started once more.
They could see that Orion still talked and argued as he kept on by
Major’s side, with the two dogs running about them both; but Major never
once glanced at him or his dogs, and kept up his curious gait.
“And—do you believe?—now that they knew what his idea was, his legs did
seem to make a circular motion; and they couldn’t help thinking that he
did look a little like a great clumsy wagon; but they wouldn’t, one of
them, have owned it to the others!
“‘Now what do you think of that?’ asked Orion, stopping to let them come
up with him. ‘He’s started, and he may go forever!’
“‘That’s what _I_ say,’ observed Hercules.
“‘Draco says he can stop him,’ said Andromeda.
“‘Oh, can he?’ said Orion. ‘All right. Go ahead. It’s more than I can
do.’
“‘I’m _pretty thure_ I can,’ said Draco, as he flopped along—and they
stood aside to let him pass, he took so much room; ‘but you’ll have to
thtand by what I thay. It’ll take diplomathy.’
“Then they all followed after to see what his diplomacy was, and how he
would use it. And when he came up with Major he didn’t stop; he didn’t
even seem to notice him, but kept flopping along until all but three
coils of his tail had passed him. Then he stopped abruptly, as if he
were very much surprised. ‘Why, I thought you were a wagon,’ he said.
‘But where are your hortheth?’
“Major held one foot suspended in the air for a moment, and they thought
he might stop. But it was only an instant; then he went on.
“Draco raised his voice higher: ‘Don’t you know, you thilly, a wagon
can’t go without thomething to draw it?’
“‘Then how did he get here?’ asked Perseus.
“‘S-s-sh!’ said every one.
“‘Now he’th thpoiled everything!’ complained Draco. And he flopped right
down in the road—but Major kept straight on.
“‘No, he hasn’t,’ said Andromeda, encouragingly. ‘Don’t you mind. That
was fine! I know how to manage.’ Then she ran on until she was a little
ahead of Major. And she looked at him, very hard, and stooped down and
looked at his legs. Then she called back, over his head:—
“‘It’s running downhill; but it will stop now. It’s beginning to go up.’
[Illustration:
“WHY, I THOUGHT YOU WERE A WAGON,” HE SAID, “BUT WHERE ARE YOUR
HORTHETH?”
]
“Sure enough, it did begin to curve up just there; and Major lifted one
foot—and put it down, heavily; then he swung the other around wildly—and
they all crowded near, and said: ‘There! It’s stopping. It can’t run
up-hill.’ And the next minute Major sat down with a hard _thump_, not
very far from the edge of the Zodiac. And if you don’t believe he was a
tired old Bear, you try it yourself!”
The Others giggled; but they believed it without interrupting. And the
Princess went on: “When I told you about the old man in the Zodiac, I
didn’t tell you this: besides his watering-pot, he has a great
reputation for giving wise advice. So when the Star People are in any
difficulty they go and consult Aquarius. Or they would go; but when he
once begins to talk he goes on _forever_; and they are so tired with it,
and it is so impossible to stop him without being rude, that they are
rather more likely to say to some one else, ‘Why don’t you go and ask
Aquarius?’ than they are to go themselves.
“When Major sat down _hard_, he was not far from Aquarius’ House, and
the old man came to its limit to see what was going on, but the Star
People pretended they didn’t see him, because they didn’t want him to
begin talking.
“Cassiopeia was the person who discovered that they were out of one
trouble only to be in another. They had stepped aside a little, to be
out of Major’s hearing, and everybody—except Cassiopeia—was saying how
good it was he had stopped. Draco just observed complacently, for the
third time: ‘I don’t know how I happened to think of it. It theemed to
_come_ to me,’ when Cassiopeia’s voice broke in on them, very cold and
depressing: ‘It’s a pity it came so soon. Why didn’t you turn him around
first?’
“‘Turn him around?’ said Cepheus. ‘What for?’
“‘What is the first Rule of the Sky?’ asked Cassiopeia, and they all
recited in unison:—
“‘A Place for Everything; and Everything in its Place.’
“‘Yes,’ said Cassiopeia. ‘There _he_ is,’ and she pointed to Major, just
_sitting_ exactly as he dropped, ‘and _there’s_ his place!’ and she
waved her arm toward the North. ‘How are you going to get him there?’
“Then they were in a pickle! Major had always liked Andromeda, and she
tried to coax him. But he wouldn’t pay the slightest attention when she
talked.”
“He thinks he’s a Wagon, just the same, if he has stopped,” said
Phyllisy.
“Of course,” said the Princess. “So it was no use to talk to him. Then
they tried to push him and pull him around; but he shook them off, and
even growled as no one had heard him growl before. Besides that, he was
naturally an extremely large bear, and being a Dipper, with nothing to
dip, and doing absolutely nothing else, had made him grow fat. Even if
he had allowed them, they could hardly have moved him all that way. And
certainly not without Hercules’ help. All this time he had stood aside,
saying nothing, though they hadn’t noticed it, they were so busy with
Major himself. At last Orion almost suggested setting his dogs on him.
But they all said: ‘The idea! Poor, dear, old Major!’ and he said
quickly, of course he didn’t mean it. He only said they _could_. Nobody
answered him; nobody spoke at all for as much as a minute.
“Then Cassiopeia sniffed. Then she looked very hard at Hercules, and
remarked: ‘If I could do anything I wouldn’t wait to be asked.’
“‘Who could?’ asked Perseus.
“‘I don’t say _any one_ could,’ said Cassiopeia. ‘But if I were so
strong that my hands just—er—_swung_, and I saw that poor old lamb, far
from his home, and with not sense enough to go to it, I’d do the best I
could to take him there!’
“‘There aren’t stars enough in the Sky to make me touch him!’ said
Hercules. ‘And it isn’t carryin’ him I mind. Bless you, I could pick him
up like a baby. He doesn’t weigh so much.’
“‘Then why don’t you do it?’ asked Cepheus.
“‘’Tisn’t lucky,’ said Hercules. ‘He isn’t willing; and he’s an
Innocent. No good ever comes of crossing an idjit. I wouldn’t lay so
much as a finger on that loony bear—unless he was willing—for all you
could offer! No, sir-ee!’
“Then they were just about ready to give up, or take anything that
offered, so they weren’t very reluctant to see old Aquarius, who had
been beckoning to them and waving his watering-pot for some time, and
evidently had something to say. They drew near, where he could talk to
them, though they groaned when they did it, for they knew he would bore
them almost to death.
“‘I have been strangely unable to gain your notice, although I have made
considerable effort to that end,’ he began, in his prosy way. ‘I have
waved my hand—thus’ (he showed them how he had beckoned), ‘and my
watering-pot—thus’ (and he showed them how he had waved the
watering-pot, and hadn’t spilled a drop of water, although it had two
spouts), ‘but in spite of my endeavors, I have been unable to attract
your notice.’ (They looked at each other, and sighed.) ‘I have been thus
persistent,’ he went on, ‘for _your_ good; not for my own
pleasure—although conversation with congenial persons is always most
agreeable to me—’
“‘Me, too,’ said Draco. ‘I jutht love to talk to my friendth.’
“‘Er—exactly,’ said Aquarius. ‘But it was not merely to
converse—agreeable as it may be to us all—_all_,’ he repeated, waving
his watering-pot benevolently. (And they looked at each other again; and
some of them changed their weight over onto the other foot.) ‘No, I had
a purpose in calling you hither. I rarely act without a purpose—’
“‘What was it?’ asked Perseus.
“‘I was about to mention it!’—looking at Perseus reprovingly. ‘You
seemed in some perplexity concerning the removal of that misguided Bear
to his proper place. I gather that he considers himself—and wishes to be
considered—a Wagon! A most surprising hallucination. It might be
interesting to consider how it could have arisen?’ He looked at them, in
turn, to see if they were inclined to consider it, but they were not,
and stood perfectly still, without any expression in their faces, until
Hercules said: ‘You were going to tell us something.’
“‘Yes. I remember to have heard something that applies exactly to such a
case. I am sure it will be a helpful suggestion.’
“Every one looked hopeful and interested, but Aquarius stopped short.
They waited. Then, ‘I seem to have forgotten it for the moment. But
never mind—it will come—it will come—’
“‘Oh, what’s the use waiting?’ muttered Orion.
“‘It will come,’ went on Aquarius, cheerfully. ‘It is something about
wagons—and stars—I am sure it is just what is needed. Ah! I have it now:
“Hitch your wagon to a star!”—The very thing! I knew it would come,’ and
he went right on talking; but the Star People were not listening. If
that was the best he could do in the way of advice, they were completely
discouraged.
“‘I never heard such rubbish in my life!’ said Cassiopeia, under her
breath. ‘Nor I,’ said Orion. ‘I know pretty much all there is to know
about stars—and how could you hitch a wagon to one? And if you did, what
then?’ They all thought that was the very silliest advice that ever was
given; and there was old Aquarius talking and talking—and they didn’t
know how they were to escape from him, when some one said:—
“‘Look at Major!’
“They all looked—even Aquarius stopped with his mouth open—and, what do
you think? With all their trying they couldn’t move that foolish old
Bear one inch. But now, when they were worried to death, and trying to
think what to do next, and were leaving him alone—
“All at once he turned his great head and seemed to see for the first
time where he was. Then he stood up; and they held their breath to see
what he would do. He stood for a moment, swaying his huge body back and
forth; then he swung around until his nose pointed to the North, and
started off at an even trot, never looking to the right nor to the left,
just like an ordinary bear, and not in the least like a wagon or a
dipper! And he didn’t stop until he reached his very own place in the
Sky. The Star People followed him all the way on tiptoe, not daring to
speak for fear he would change his mind again before he reached home.
But I shouldn’t wonder if old Aquarius went right on talking, though
there was not a soul left to hear him; for no one thought to say
‘Good-by.’
“That was a long time ago, and Major still thinks he’s a Dipper; but he
knows it’s no use to be a Wagon without horses. So he stays in his
place, and the Star People feel pretty comfortable about him. But”—the
Princess dropped her voice, and glanced up at the sky—“just suppose he
ever finds out about Automobiles!”
“O-o-o-oh!” said the Others, politely horrified.
Then: “He won’t,” said Pat. “And I know what the other name for it is,
besides Dipper and Great Bear. You needn’t tell.”
“I know, too,” said Phyllisy.
“I’d like to tell somebody,” said the Princess. “Come close, Kitten, and
let me whisper it.”
So the Kitten came close, and she and the Princess found her ear—warm
and rosy under a great deal of troublesome hair—and the Princess
whispered in it until the Kitten laughed. “Now we all know, don’t we?”
said the Princess. And they all nodded.
The waves were running away from them, up the beach, a long way beyond
the point of the ship where the bowsprit used to be.
The Kitten knelt down and looked through a chink in the deck, at the
water under it. She curved her hands each side of her eyes to shut off
the sunlight so she could see more plainly, and to keep her hair from
falling into them. “O-oh! it’s pretty closer,” she said.
“Let me see,” said Pat. The Kitten let her have the place, and she saw
for herself. She was satisfied in a minute; then she settled back on her
heels. “It’ll come just so close; then it’ll go back—and not any more.
What makes it do that?” she said.
“The tide,” said Miss Phyllisy.
“I know that,” said Pat. “What _makes_ it?”
“It’s on account of Lady Moon going by,” said the Princess.
“That would be a different kind of Star Person. Isn’t she?” said
Phyllisy.
“Pretty different, and especially nice. This is the story of her: She is
Mother Earth’s dear daughter. Long ago her mother held her close in her
arms; then Lady Moon was called away to live in Starland, and had to
leave her mother’s side. Her dim gray robes never could be seen in that
distant sky, so she carries a glowing lantern hung on her arm; and when
the slide is open and Mother Earth sees its light, she knows where her
child is wandering among the stars. Then her heart longs for her, and
she reaches out toward her, trying always to come a little nearer. If
you listen, you’ll hear the sea sobbing, to think how far away she has
gone.” The Princess stopped talking, and tipped her head, listening.
They listened with her, to the waves running into the old ship—and they
truly seemed to grow sadder and sadder; not unhappy-sad, but romantic.
“That is beautiful, Dearie,” said Phyllisy. “It’s parable, isn’t it?”
“This is truly true,” answered the Princess. “Wherever the moon is,
there every bit of the Earth feels it, and is drawn out toward it.”
“Hard rocks and all?” asked Pat, as if she never would believe it.
“Rocks and mountains and all,” said the Princess. “But they are so stiff
they don’t give very much. But the sea yields easily, and the water
heaps up toward the moon, and pulls away from the shore behind it; then
when the moon passes on, it flattens out again. If we were down on the
sand before every bit of the hard is covered up, I could draw something
to show it plainer, in about two seconds, on the way back. But there’s
no time to waste.”
So, without wasting any time, they left the old Wreck deep in the sand
and water, with the waves running in from the Ocean and hurrying by
it—on to the land. And when they found a hard place, the Princess drew
the large round Earth with the sea humping up on the side of it toward
the small round moon. And she drew several moons on several sides, to
show how the hump would follow, and make the tide; but it was all one
moon—only gone along a little farther. And she said it was truly the
Earth that whirled in the middle, not the moon going around; but they
weren’t to bother about that—and they didn’t.
VI
THE BEE BABY
“The pleasure of your company to drink tea with the Princess,” it said.
And the Others left all their occupations and came at once.
She was expecting them, with the little tea-table set out and ready; but
they might wash their hands in the Princess’s own bath-room, and have
verbena water out of a tall bottle on them, if they liked; and they
did—a great deal.
[Illustration:
ANDROMEDA
“Poor Andromeda!” said the Princess. “She must have wished she had
been born with piggy eyes and a turned-up nose when she found what
came of her beauty. Here she is: chained to the rock, waiting for
the sea monster to come and devour her, but still lovely.”
“She isn’t chained _now_?” said Pat. “In the sky?”
“Dear me, no! Never, since Perseus happened along with Medusa’s head
in his wallet, and turned the sea monster into a rock. But this is
the way they stand to be looked at,—a tableau, with Perseus coming
to the rescue, and Cassiopeia looking on, thinking what a lucky
escape they had, and that her child is truly much lovelier than any
Nymph whatever. But she isn’t talking about it any more.”
“Perhaps she would have thought so, just the same, if Andromeda had
looked piggy,” observed Phyllisy.
“Very true, Madam Owl,” agreed the Princess. “But whether or no, she
certainly has four undeniably beautiful stars to wear—if anybody
will find them for her.”
]
The “tea” was in a high, cool, clinking pitcher of strange colored glass
that let the light shine through, and it was golden and yet pinky, and
tasted of fruits, but no kind any one could say. But they could have it
in a teacup if they would rather. (The teapot was there too, by
courtesy, to look on.) The Princess sat beside the table to pour it,
with wide lace hanging over her arms, and coming out from under, but not
catching when she handled the fragile cups, because she knew how—very
deftly.
Pat chose a yellow cup, with butterflies and tiny roses, and Miss
Phyllisy took one, white and very thin, with a dragon coiled around it
and a red curly handle; but the Kitten had hers in a tall glass like the
pitcher, and so did the Princess. And there were delicious little cakes,
the kind the Princess had, and never any one else. It was most
refreshing and restful to hot little girls out of a garden.
At last they said, “No, thank you, _really_,” when she asked if they
would have another cup, because the cups were so small. Then the
Princess went over to a comfortable chair near the long window, and
watched the Others wandering about the room. Outside it would still be
hot in the garden; but in the Princess’s own room it was cool and
shaded, with interesting things to see, that they loved because they had
seen them before.
“Suppose there were an Indian Squaw (_and there was_),” said the
Princess, “and she was weaving a beautiful basket.”
“Is it that basket?” asked Pat.
“That very identical basket you’re going to hand me.”
So Pat brought it to the Princess, and Phyllisy and the Kitten came too.
“And suppose, when she came near the top, she wove in this row of brown
points like the teeth of a saw”—their heads were close together,
following the Princess’s finger with their eyes. “Wouldn’t any one know
that she meant them for mountains?”
“Did she?” asked Phyllisy.
“She did,” said the Princess.
“Oh-h,” said the Others.
“Or,” said the Princess, “suppose there were an Ancient Egyptian—the
Ancientest kind—who lived on the edge of a flat desert; and could
never—alive or dead—go to a mountain without crossing miles of blazing
sand. If he happened, at the same time, to be a King (_and he did_),
with thousands of slaves to work for him, he might set them to work to
build him a mountain. And what shape would it be when it was done?”
“What?” asked the Kitten.
“I know what I think,” said Phyllisy, “maybe.”
“Say it, Miss Phyllisy. I think so, too.”
“A pyramid?”
“Would it?” asked Pat.
“_What_ shape would it?” repeated the Kitten.
The Princess didn’t answer directly. “Let’s just once more suppose.
Suppose there were a little girl, who wanted to draw the picture of a
mountain. (_And I saw the picture._)”—“M-m-mm” purred the Kitten.—“Her
pencil went up one side—so,” the Princess slanted up with her finger,
and the Kitten did the same with hers, “and down the other,”—their
fingers slid down again—“like a letter ‘A,’ very much spread out and
without any cross-piece. Now: could there well be three kinds of people
more different than an Indian Squaw, an Ancient Egyptian, and a Kitten—I
mean a little girl? And yet they agree precisely about how a mountain
ought to look. Doesn’t it seem as if they must be right?”
The Others thought it did—looking at the Pyramid picture over the glass
cabinet. Then the Princess leaned forward, with the lace all falling
away, and her voice grew more impressive:—
“There is Some One else who thinks just as they do; and she doesn’t stop
with thinking, she takes the best of care that there shall be one
perfect example of a truly symmetrical mountain.”
“Oh-h,” said Phyllisy. “Was that what it was all for? I thought it was
just conversation.”
“Not at all,” said the Princess. “It was designed to lead you gradually
up to that especial mountain.”
“Are you going to tell us?” asked Pat.
“If you don’t think it will tire you.” She said it very politely, like a
question. And they all shook their heads—one great, vigorous shake. So
the Princess began to tell it:—
“Sometimes, on her voyages, the Jane Ellen passes near a coast where
there is a long line of white surf edging the blue water; then just as
long a line of white sand; and back of both, the level forest extending
back to the line of the coast mountains. And back of this coast range—so
far away that it looks as if it were painted flat on the pale blue sky,
with paint only a shade darker—rises the great triangle that, Taffy
says, is the most satisfactory mountain in the world.
“And that is Xyntli’s mountain.”
“Did Taffy see it?” asked Pat.
“He did,” said the Princess, “from the sea. He sometimes thought he
would like to go inland and see what it was like, near at hand. But the
Jane Ellen never stopped there—there was nothing to stop for—and he
never went. And that’s all he and the Jane Ellen had to do with it.
“If he had left the ship and gone ashore to climb to the top of the
range of hills, he would have seen that they sloped down again; and far
away, over miles of green, rolling country, the great cone of the
mountain lifts its bare slope out of the forest. And on the southern
side, almost at the top, his sailor eyes might have made out the hole
(with the peak of the mountain, like a pointed hood, behind it) that
leads down into the depths where Xyntli sleeps—long naps that keep her
young and beautiful in spite of her age.
“No one can tell how beautiful she is, because she wraps herself in a
veil when she looks out; but her splendid, fiery-gold hair streams out
of it, and floats and sparkles in the wind when she stands on tiptoe
inside, to look out and see that the mountain is just as she wants it to
be,—an even slope from top to bottom; clean rocks, with no creeping
green things and trees littering up its sides.
“It must be trying to her (and she is a nervous person, too) to lie down
to peaceful slumber for a hundred years or more, leaving her mountain
the pink of perfection; and to wake and look out—only to see that the
waters that run down its sides have collected into streams, and dug
irregular channels for themselves (like scratches on the mahogany
table!), and to listen and hear the winds whispering in the leaves of
the forest:—
Creeping, creeping,
Forward stealing—
Up the mountain
Follow, follow;
Tiny rootlets,
Thrusting, feeling
Every crevice
(S-s-ssh!),
Silence keeping—
In the hollow
Of her mountain
Xyntli’s sleeping!
Silence keeping—
Soft gray mosses
Cover rocks,
And, onward creeping,
Claim the mountain!
Forward leaping,
Winged seeds!
You’ll soon be peeping
O’er the rim,
Where, in the hollow
Of the mountain,
Xyntli’s sleeping.