up the stately stairway of mass upon mass of cloud, whose lowest step
was the mighty mountain, and whose highest led to the measureless
Heavens! And grouped along its heights were the radiant Star People,
whose splendors might have frightened him if their faces had not been so
kind with loving welcome. All those of whom we have talked, and many
more, assembled to welcome one little helpless child.
“It was worth it, to see his eyes shine and the happy dimple come in his
cheek. He clasped one arm, tight, around Lady Moon’s neck, and stretched
out the other to these new friends, without a trace of fear. Why should
he be afraid? Hadn’t he loved the shining sun, and all beautiful things,
his whole two years of life?
“So he listened to the song Lady Moon sang low to him; and as they
passed along, the Star People caught the refrain, and took it up:—
“The sorrow is over;
Thy Star life’s begun.
Hear the golden bees humming
For joy at thy coming,
Oh, little Bee Baby,
Dear child of the Sun!
“Listen!” said the Princess.
There was a sound, very small and clear and
silvery:—One—two—three—four—and _One more!_
And that was a Bewitchment! Everybody must vanish at once!
VII
LADY MOON’S LANTERN
On the terrace there was a Pergola—that was two rows of white columns
with criss-cross bars overhead and vines growing over it. There were
built-in seats between the columns, but there were always chairs
besides.
There was no one in it. Down below, in the garden, there were Shapes
flitting about in the dusk. They came up out of it, to the Pergola, all
together; and they were the Princess and the Others.
A large spider was spinning down, with a clear yellow sky behind it, at
the far end of the Pergola. They were obliged to watch it. It dropped
and sprung, elastic, on the end of its thread—then dropped—and sprung;
and then it clawed up again, working its legs. They could see them
distinctly against the sky, though it was quite a distance away. Out at
their end, the sky was cool, with a white moon in it; so there were two
kinds of shadows: large, blurred ones from the last daylight; and in
them, moon-shadows of the vines on the long white seats and on the floor
and down one side of the Princess’s dress—sitting in a chair. The
moon-shadows were very faint, but they were a clear pattern, and the
daylight shadows had no edges; soon there would be only moon. It was
very interesting.
And the slide of Lady Moon’s lantern was about three quarters open.
“Wasn’t it lovely she took him?” said Phyllisy. “I’d rather she than
anybody else.”
“But it stopped short,” said Pat.
“That was a proper end of a story, with everybody happy,” said the
Princess. “You wouldn’t want any more than that, would you?”
“The people weren’t, with the houses and everything spoiled.”
“But they built new ones, very quickly. It doesn’t take long to build a
house like a bird-cage. They drove the loaded ox-carts only a little way
down the slope of the mountain; and before you could think, there was a
new village just like the old, and everything was just as it was before.
The brown babies and the spotted pigs ran and tumbled about, and the
women went right on grinding corn to make more and more flat cakes; but
they didn’t do much housework or sewing, and everybody slept a good deal
in the midday heat; then when the cool evening came they gathered
together to visit comfortably, while the children played about in the
moonlight.”
“Like us?” asked the Kitten.
“Like us,” said the Princess. “Only you aren’t playing about; you are
listening to more story.”
“Oh, is it more?” asked Pat.
“A tiny bit,” said the Princess. And the Others wriggled down into their
places to listen quite differently from the way they listened when it
was conversation. She began to speak in a still voice:—
“So it was one night when the full, round moon shone, silver-bright
above the treetops. One of the women sat a little apart, and watched it
soaring among the stars. And as she looked, it seemed to her it was not
quite round; a tiny slice was gone from one edge.
“‘See the moon!’ she called to the others, pointing upward.
“They gathered near; and as they watched it, the dark shadow crept
forward, across the face of the moon.
“‘What is it?’ asked the children.
“‘I know not,’ said the old grandmother. ‘It comes so at times; but
never have I seen it like this. Before, it has covered the whole moon,
or gone over one edge—like a great shadow. But this is round, like a
dark ball, and small. See, the moon shows around it.’
“It was as she said: a thin thread of light, like a silver ring, almost
surrounded the dark something that came between their eyes and the moon.
“‘It is just like the Bee Baby!’ said one of the children. ‘Don’t you
remember how round his little head was?’
“‘I wonder what became of him,’ said another.
“‘Perhaps he’s there—in the sky,’ said a third.
“But the grandmother said: ‘You are foolish children. He is dead.
Xyntli’s snakes could tell—’
“Wise children know when to stop arguing with older people about things
that only children understand. So they said no more to the grandmother,
but drew away, and talked and whispered to each other—while the small
round shadow passed on, across the bright lantern of the moon, and left
it clear once more.”
[Illustration:
THE SMALL ROUND SHADOW PASSED ON ACROSS THE BRIGHT LANTERN OF THE MOON
]
“But it was truly the Bee Baby,” said Pat. “And now they could know what
became of him.”
“What did he do to the moon?” asked the Kitten, because she didn’t
exactly understand.
“What do you think about this?” asked the Princess. “If a little
child—so tall”—she showed, with her hand—“follows a beautiful lady with
a lantern hung on her arm, don’t you think, once in a great while, his
round little head _might_ come in the way, and interfere with its
light?”
“It did. That was it,” said the Kitten comfortably.
Then, with Lady Moon throwing leaf patterns and white light down upon
them, and the whole world very still, the Princess told them a song:—
“Who loves to follow wherever you roam,
Lady Moon?”
“Bee Baby.”
“Is he happy in Starland?—so far from his home?”
“He may be.
“Over Milky-Way meadows
Fly the bees, living gold;
There he strays, blessed Lamb,
Safe, with love for his fold.”
“Who comes to nestle so close in your arm,
Lady Moon?”
“Bee Baby.”
“Is he falling asleep, to a Starland lullaby’s charm?”
“Hush—he may be!”
VIII
ANDROMEDA’S BIRTHDAY
“Nine more days,
And then comes a birthday,”
the Kitten sang, over and over, making different tunes each time. She
sang it softly, to herself, but it was loud enough to be heard.
“Dear-my-soul!” said the Princess. “Whatever will happen when you’re a
seven-year-longlegs, ’stead of six? Skeeters, you know.”
The Kitten stopped singing and rubbed her leg where there were lumpy
spots above her socks.
“She’ll have stockings when they get too long,” said Pat.
“And the next thing we know, she’ll begin to be a Cat! Why don’t you
have birthdays like the Star People’s?”
“What kind?” asked the Kitten.
“Steady and reliable,” said the Princess. “Everybody is exactly the
right age to begin, and then they never grow any older.”
“But they are different ages,” Pat objected.
“The right age for _them_,” the Princess explained. “Haven’t you noticed
that they were?”
The Others thought about it for a minute, and decided that they couldn’t
very well be different.
“But if they are always going along the same, perhaps they wouldn’t
notice their birthdays,” said Phyllisy.
“Indeed, they would,” said the Princess, earnestly. “They’re
particularly good about remembering dates and anniversaries and times of
the year. And they’d never think of letting a birthday go by without
noticing it.”
“Would they have a party?” asked the Kitten.
“They do usually. Do you think it would help you along a little through
one of those nine days, to hear about one of them?”
And the Kitten seemed to think it would.
“Whose birthday is it going to be?” asked Pat.
“Andromeda’s, the same year that the Sailor’s Star was stolen; and Orion
gave the party. You remember the young meteors that he had planted were
just coming up in his garden when Cassiopeia came to tell him what a
misfortune had happened? All those same young plants had kept on growing
and growing, unusually well, and Orion was as proud of them as a comet
with two tails. They promised to be ripe just in time for Andromeda’s
birthday, and he said he would like to give the party.”
“To eat them?” asked Pat.
“Never!” said the Princess. “I thought you knew about meteors: when they
are exactly ripe you give them a bit of a pinch. Pop! goes a beautiful
starlet with a trail of gold-dust behind it.”
“Fireworks,” said the Kitten.
“That’s the way a balsam seed pops,” said Phyllisy.
“Yes, it reminds me of it,” agreed the Princess. “When they are ripe one
has to be very careful not to hit them, or they go off too soon. Orion
wouldn’t even pick off a leaf or pull up a weed, he was being so careful
to save every one for the birthday celebration; and how he did have to
watch the dogs, to keep them out!
“The night before, it was partly cloudy, and Orion almost drove
Cassiopeia wild, dodging about behind the drifting clouds, making his
last arrangements. Little Bear, too. It seemed as if he were possessed,
he who was always so quiet and steady—‘The best Little Bear that ever
happened!’ Andromeda used to say, when she gave him a bear-hug, and then
rubbed his soft fur the wrong way, from his tail clear down his nose, to
feel the tingles and see the sparks fly. But no sooner had they begun to
talk about her birthday than he began to be excited; and this last night
it seemed as if he could not keep still. Whenever a cloud lay so that he
could, he would go clear to the edge of it to watch Orion. Once,
Cassiopeia could scarcely believe her eyes: there was Orion, talking to
Lady Moon behind the clouds; then she saw Little Bear crowding in
between them, looking up at them eagerly. Orion was too much engrossed
to notice him, but Cassiopeia called at the top of her voice (and it was
a very high top), ‘Come here _this minute_, Little Bear! I should think
you were crazy!’
“He heard her, and came prancing back, zigzag, as fast as he could dodge
from cloud to cloud. When he was back in his place, barely in the nick
of time, his eyes almost twinkled out of his head, and his fur shone so
that Cassiopeia could hardly see his stars. She couldn’t help laughing,
though she was annoyed. It was bad enough for Orion to dodge around like
that; but his legs were so long he could get back to his place always
before the clouds floated off.
“The next night no one could have asked for better star-weather, just
plain clouds, not a jumpy kind to keep them wondering every half-hour
what it was going to do.
“A little before midnight the Star People began to come to the party.
Orion was the first to arrive, then Hercules and Draco.”
“Not Little Bear?” asked the Kitten.
“He was there without arriving—Andromeda and Cepheus and Cassiopeia and
Perseus and Little Bear. Very soon there was such a noise and chattering
down the Sky that one might have thought a whole flock of magpies was
coming: but Orion and Draco and Cassiopeia knew better, and magpies
don’t squeal and giggle quite like that.
“‘Jutht hear thothe Pleiadeth girlth,’ said Draco. ‘I don’t thee how any
one can be tho thilly.’
“‘That’s because you never were a girl,’ said Cepheus. At that,
Andromeda began to giggle too; and the more she tried to stop, the
harder she giggled.
“‘Now, what’th the matter with _her_?’ asked Draco.
“And then Andromeda squealed, and laughed so she choked, and Perseus had
to thump her on the back, while she gasped: ‘To think of Draco’s being a
g-gu-girl!—_Oh!_’
“‘She’s one, all right,’ remarked Orion, ‘and here are the others.’
“Maybe they were silly, but the seven Misses Pleiades certainly were
pretty to look at as they came in sight. Their gowns were of thin golden
gauze, with a multitude of tiny stars woven into the underdress; their
interlacing beams made a pattern, like gold embroidery, and they
shimmered faintly through the mist-like tissue that veiled them.
“They wore no other stars but one above the forehead. The stars of six
of the sisters were very brilliant, but the seventh was puzzling. When
one gave a quick glance and looked away one could see the star quite
plainly; but when one looked directly at her it was gone! It was like
the place where a star had been. This sister’s name was Merope, and her
eyes were so sweet and gentle that the people who loved her never missed
the star from her soft brown hair.
“The tallest of the sisters, whose name was Maia, came ahead (as much as
any one could be ahead where they all walked in a bunch!), and she
called to Orion: ‘Oh, weren’t you mean! Why didn’t you wait for us?’
“‘Didn’t you hear us calling you?’ cried Taygeta.
“‘We thought we’d be late,’ said Electra (no one thought of waiting for
an answer), ‘Taygeta kept us waiting so.’
“‘I never!’ said Taygeta. ‘It was Alcyone!’ Then they all looked at each
other and giggled again, and Andromeda giggled with them, where she and
Merope stood with their arms around each other’s waists. It was a
giggling match, and Cepheus and Cassiopeia and Orion and Hercules and
Perseus and Draco and Castor and Pollux—”
“The Zodiacs?” asked Phyllisy.
“Yes, the Gemini Brothers.”
“Did Sol let them?” asked Pat.
“Of course, for a party. They came just after the Pleiades girls. They
all looked at the gigglers, and they smiled because they were young and
pretty, and _they_ seemed to know what they were laughing at, but the
others couldn’t guess what it was, to save them!”
“Weren’t they silly?” said Pat. “But we do it, too.”
“And quite big girls—much bigger than we,” added Phyllisy.
“Even worse, Miss Phyllisy. I’ve noticed it,” said the Princess.
“Finally Cepheus said: ‘You might as well go home, Orion. These girls
don’t want a party to-night.’
“‘Oh, yes, we do!’ they cried. ‘Only Taygeta—’ Then they were off again.
“‘Come, come!’ said Cassiopeia. ‘Just pretend you have a little sense!’
“‘Draco has!’ cried Andromeda. ‘_He_ never was a girl!’
“Then everybody laughed together—Draco, and all; and when they were
quieted down they were ready to begin the party.
“Andromeda and Perseus took Little Bear and went off a little way, while
Orion placed the other Star People in two lines that led up to
Cassiopeia’s Chair. She and Cepheus stood at the head of the lines, on
either side of the chair. And then they began to sing Andromeda’s
Birthday Song:—
“The stars sang together at the little maiden’s birth;
They watched her through the years
Of gladness and of tears;
And they said: ‘She’ll come to dwell with us when she shall leave the
Earth.
“‘She shall bring an earthly blessing in which we have no part;
We can only shine by night,
When the sun has sunk from sight;
She shall bring the sunshine with her—though it’s hidden in her heart!’
“A thousand, thousand greetings to the maiden, ever young!
As the years the birthdays bring,
The stars together sing
The praise of maid the sweetest whose praise was ever sung!
“As the Star People sang, Perseus led Andromeda slowly up to them.
Little Bear walked ahead; and he was so proud and, at the same time, so
excited, that he hardly knew whether he wanted to walk in a very
dignified way, or to prance and dance. The consequence was, he did both.
Every few steps, he made a funny little skip; then he was so embarrassed
to think he had done it that he’d rub his paw over his nose, and almost
tip over, because he was walking along all the time.
“How they did laugh at him! all but Andromeda; she looked very serious
and grave, because it was a Ceremony. As she walked, with her hand in
Perseus’, between her friends to the chair where her father and mother
stood waiting for her, she was so sweet and modest and stately—like a
little queen—that no one who saw her could have helped loving her.
“There was no doubt how Cepheus and Cassiopeia felt about it, when she
stopped before them, and Perseus and Little Bear stepped back; then she
clasped her hands and recited, in her clear, fresh voice, her little
verse:—
“With heartfelt joy and thankfulness,
I come to you, that you may bless
Your happy child to-day.
You, whom I owe all reverence
And love and prompt obedience,
Accept them now, I pray!
“A father-and-mother kiss on one’s birthday isn’t the gayest part of it,
but we know it’s the best—don’t we, Kitten?—and Andromeda is the only
Star Person who can have it. That is one reason why they love to keep
her birthday; it can be so complete.
“Cassiopeia and Cepheus placed Andromeda in the great chair, and the
Star People came, one by one, and knelt and kissed her hand, then
fastened a star-daisy in her hair—they kissed her pretty pink cheek too,
when they had done it; but that was just love and extra, not part of the
ceremony; so they made her a beautiful crown, and she looked more like a
queen than ever.
“When this was over she stepped down from the chair and took Perseus’
hand, and, with Little Bear ahead once more, they went down the Sky.
Orion followed with Maia; then Castor and Taygeta, and Pollux and
Alcyone. Hercules took Merope, because she was so gentle and never
laughed at him. That left three of the Pleiades girls,—Electra, Celeno,
and Sterope,—but Draco said: ‘That’th all right. I gueth I can walk with
three girlth. I’m long enough!’ How they squealed and giggled! But that
was the way they arranged it; and Cepheus and Cassiopeia came at the end
of the procession.”
“Where was it going?” asked Pat.
“First, they were going all around the Zodiac to carry greetings to the
people who were shut up. They always did it on birthdays, and they liked
that part, but it took a good while, and this time Orion was impatient
to have it over. He wanted to have them come to his especial share of
the party.
“And at last they came in sight of his garden; and Little Bear skipped
the funniest prance yet, when he saw what was waiting for them. This was
what Orion was talking about the night before, to Lady Moon.” The
Princess stopped just long enough to let the Others wonder what it could
be.——
“A moonbow,” began the Princess, and the Others said, “Oh-h!”
“A moonbow,” she repeated, “isn’t so gayly colored as a rainbow, but it
is shinier, and the most delightful thing you can imagine, to sit on, to
see a meteor party. And kind Lady Moon stood with her lantern behind the
edge of a cloud, so that the light shouldn’t interfere with the meteors,
and held the bow steady, exactly in the best place.
“Cassiopeia declared she never could walk up; but she did—to the top,
and sat down, with Little Bear cuddled up by her side with his toes
straight out in front of him, between her and Andromeda. The others
settled themselves on either side—all except Hercules and Draco. Draco
would have taken too much room; and Hercules said:—
“‘I guess I’ll stay here. If that cloud should happen to flop around,
that thing would go out like winkin’. I’ve seen ’em do it.’
“The Pleiades girls shrieked, and pretended they were coming down; and
Draco said: ‘Never mind. I’ll catth you if it meltth.’
“‘You sit still,’ said Orion. ‘That moonbow is there to stay. Lady Moon
and I know about that.’ But they never meant to get down; they only
liked to make a fuss.—What is it, Kitten?” The Princess could tell, by
the way she wriggled, when she wanted to know something.
She held her foot tight and rocked on her tucked-under leg when she
asked it: “Was the Bee Baby too young to invite?”
“He would have been rather young for a party; but that wasn’t the reason
he didn’t come. This birthday was before there was any Bee Baby. Little
Bear was the only child they had.”
“All right,” said the Kitten. “Then what did they do?”
“At last, when they were all settled on the moonbow, Orion went into his
garden. He stooped over one of the bushes, very carefully, lest he
should rub against some of the others, and gave just the right kind of a
pinch,—then, ‘Ah-h,’ said the Star People, as a lovely meteor flew
up—up, over their heads, leaving a little trail of gold-dust behind it.
“That was the beginning; and Orion had good reason to be proud of his
garden, for each meteor seemed lovelier than the last. They couldn’t
decide whether the blue ones were prettier than the red or the green; or
those that flew in straight lines than those that flew in spirals, they
were all so beautiful.
“So it went on with hardly a mishap. Almost every meteor was just ripe,
and Orion joggled only two so that they went off too soon; and he had
come to the last two bushes. They stood side by side and were the finest
in the garden; that was why he had saved them for the last.
“‘What are those dogs after?’ asked Cepheus. Orion had left them with
Sagittarius, in the Zodiac, for fear of accidents.
“‘Where?’ called Orion, who couldn’t see from the garden, so well as
they from the moonbow.
“‘There they come,’ said Cassiopeia, and they all craned their necks to
see.
“‘Yap! yap!’ cried the dogs, and on they came; and just ahead of
them—barely out of reach—was—? A comet, of course! What else could it
be? It was only a scrap of a comet, with a stub of a tail, and how it
was scrabbling along!
“It was heading straight by, when it saw Orion standing by his meteor
bushes; and what did that bad, mischievous little comet do, but turn
square off, with a flirt of his saucy tail under the dogs’ noses, and
make directly for the two bushes! Straight after it came the dogs—and
three Orions couldn’t have stopped them, they hated a comet so—and
rip—smash! they ran right through the bushes, and thirty meteors at once
flew up in one splendid blaze!
“Orion’s first thought was that it was a misfortune, and spoiled the end
of his party. But Cassiopeia said, as soon as she could get her breath:
‘I think that was perfectly splendid! And you never would have had the
heart to send them all off at once, like that!’
“‘Yes, indeed!’ said every one else; and Orion thought so, too.”
“I’d rather,” said Pat. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Much rather,” agreed the Princess. “Who would choose deliberately to
have a party fizzle out, when it might go in
[Illustration:
THREE ORIONS COULDN’T HAVE STOPPED THEM
]
a blaze of glory? It was time to go home, anyway; so they climbed down
from the moonbow.
“‘Oh, hasn’t this been the loveliest party we ever had?’ said Andromeda.
“‘Yes, it has,’ said Merope. ‘And I know who has enjoyed it more than
anybody.’
“‘Who?’
“‘Little Bear.’
“Andromeda turned and dropped on her knees beside him to give him a hug,
and his eyes twinkled like stars.
“‘Bless his little heart!’ said Cassiopeia. ‘I wish we could keep his
birthday, but nobody knows when it is.’
“‘But we love him just the same!’ said Andromeda, rubbing his fur the
wrong way and ending with a little shake of his nose—and the sparks flew
as if he were a garden of meteors himself. And that was really the end
of the party.”
The Kitten had something in her mind to do at once when she was
perfectly sure the party was over. For that very minute when the
Princess came to the end and Pat and Miss Phyllisy began to talk about
it, she slipped her foot out from under her to have it ready to walk on.
And the next minute, when Phyllisy looked around to see why the child
wasn’t talking too, when it was rather especially her story, she was
already starting away—and she didn’t care to tell what for.
Because they wondered, and they knew she wouldn’t mind—it was only that
she didn’t like to explain—they followed after. When she was clear away,
the Kitten began to run, so when they came to the place in the garden
where the balsams grew all in a row, she was there and had found a ripe
one.
There were very few flowers left, and a great many seedpods, and when
they pinched them at the tip—or only barely touched them—they popped
delightfully, but there didn’t any star shoot out.
But they pretended there did; and—as Miss Phyllisy remarked—you couldn’t
see actual fireworks if you set them off with the sun shining like that.
IX
A SURPRISE PARTY
It seemed to the Others that the Princess was a _long_ time coming. And
once they had been afraid they wouldn’t be ready in time. But they
were—too soon, and it was the watching that made it seem so long. They
_flew_ when they saw her, and hurried her along.
“It’s something to surprise you,” said Miss Phyllisy.
“We did it all this morning,” added Pat.
“Thought of it and gathered them and everything,” chattered the Kitten,
walking on all sides of them.
“Don’t you tell,” warned Pat’s eyebrows.
“You couldn’t guess, could you?” asked the Kitten.