So they came to the place where the Princess was. And when they looked down there were treetops—

But that is not a proper beginning when nobody knows who they were or anything about it.

There were four of them,—the Princess and three Others.

What the Princess’s name was isn’t to be told, and she was not a real princess. But that made no difference to the Others. She was the most wonderful person they knew, and everything a princess should be, and they loved her loyally.

The Others were called Prudence, Pat, and the Kitten; but the true name of each one of them was the true name of the Princess,—that isn’t to be told and doesn’t matter.

Prudence was the oldest, and very wise. (That was why she was Prudence, but more often the Princess said, “Miss Phyllis-y.”) She had brown eyes, clear and steady, and short hair. There was a perky little lock on one side of the middle of her forehead that reminded the Princess of a question mark. She was small and looked years younger than she was, and that made her funny when she was so sagacious.

Pat was the tallest and the most impatient. (So they called her “Patience”—because she wasn’t!—and shortened it to Pat.) She talked with her eyebrows; and sometimes they would fairly frighten you if you didn’t know she couldn’t do it! Her hair was braided and tied tight, but usually a good deal of it escaped and ruffled before it reached the braids. She was over nine and Miss Phyllisy was not far from twelve, and they considered the Kitten extremely young,—which the Kitten didn’t deny. She was young, and she had other kitten-tricks,—like coming and sitting on a person’s knee without being invited when she wanted to, and other times being very independent and going her own ways; and she made soft little songs for herself,—that didn’t begin or end any more than a real kitten’s,—and purring sounds instead of talking when she was pleased. But she could talk faster than countless kittens when there was any occasion for it.

That is who they were. And any one can fancy how they were frisking about in the garden and out,—and the nearer it grew to bedtime, the farther they kept from the house; and how they trailed up the crooked path on the side of the hill,—the Kitten following along, making a song for herself,—and finally came to the farthest, high, wild lookout place, with a railing at the edge overlooking the dark treetops. And there they found the Princess watching pale little stars coming out in the light sky.

The Kitten didn’t come close until she was ready, and then she immediately cuddled up, sleepy; but the Others went straight to the Princess. She put her arm around them and they leaned against her, but they didn’t talk, they watched with her. And more stars came out where they looked steadily, and others came where they didn’t look, more than they could count, all silent, to look back at them. And the Princess was smiling to herself.—

But that didn’t suit Pat very long, it made her uneasy. First she puckered her eyebrows, but nobody saw her; then she sighed, but nobody noticed; then she spoke,—“What are you looking at?”

The Princess still looked, but she squeezed with her arm. “Some people I know. Friends of a friend of mine.”

Pat didn’t understand, so she grew wary (that was one of her ways). She twitched her shoulder, but she wouldn’t be the next to speak—unless it were too long!

“What people, Dearie?” asked Prudence, when they had waited a minute and the Princess didn’t speak again.

“Most illustrious, highly exalted. A king and a queen, a royal dragon, and an indispensable little bear—wonderfolk,” ended the Princess, as if that explained it.

“You’re looking at the stars,” said Pat-who-would-n’t-be-imposed-upon.

“Star People, Pat. Can you guess now?”

“I think I can, Dearie. But you tell,” said Prudence.

The Princess took her arm away so she could point with it, and she put her head down beside a dreadfully scowling little girl’s, so they could look along and off the end of the same finger. It pointed where five stars made a zigzag in the sky. She pointed to one after another.

“Look like a ‘W,’ don’t they, Pat?—But there’s another star—very pale—and another off here. Now, see—tipped up—so—Isn’t that a pretty good chair? How would you like to sit there and overlook things?”

“Cassiopeia wouldn’t let her,” said Prudence. “That’s Cassiopeia’s Chair, Pat. She doesn’t allow any one to sit in it.”

“I don’t want to.” Pat spoke in a loud whisper.

“That is where you’re mistaken, Miss Phyllisy,” said the Princess. “She wouldn’t mind a bit. But she is sitting there herself, this minute.”

“Really, Princess? I didn’t know that!”

“Did you ever see her out of it?” (Miss Phyllisy giggled.) “There is one of the stars on her most loftical head. Do you see it?”

“Who said it was that?” asked Pat. Her manner was a trifle threatening, but she was ready to be friends.

“Said what?”

“Cas—what you called it. Why did you call it that?”

“Cassiopeia’s Chair? That is what it was named long and long ago.”

“Long as Ancients?” (The Princess knew all about the Ancients,—several kinds of them. She knew everything.)

“Long as that,” she answered. “They’re the very ones who named the Star People for us, saw the figures in the stars, and gave them the names of their own gods and heroes, animals,—all sorts of queer things. Useful lives they led, those Star People, ever after.”

“How were they useful?” asked Phyllisy.

“To the sailors, Beloveds, most of all, or any one who wants to find his way where there’s nothing on Earth to guide him. In the middle of the most vastest ocean or the most widest plain, all they have to do is to look up and see where the Star People are; then they’ll know where they are themselves, and where to go to be somewhere else. Of course the Star People can’t help any one who doesn’t know them,” she added.

“We don’t. We could be lost any time,” said Pat.

“You might have been once, but not after this. There’s a whole Royal Family right before your eyes now: Queen Cassiopeia on her throne and King Cepheus beside her and their pretty daughter, Andromeda.—That is one of Cepheus’ stars—and there’s another.” The Princess drew lines with her finger from the stars of the big “W” to the ones they wanted to find. And the Others picked them out, passing from star to star like crossing a brook, jumping from stone to stone. There were different colors, too, to help them. The Princess saw them plainly,—red stars and blue and yellow, and never before had the Others seen anything but all alike and plain shining. At first they believed it only because the Princess said so; then they began to see it themselves, but it was still too light to see very well. And they found a few stars of Andromeda.

“There is a beautiful young hero who belongs with them,” said the Princess. “He’s down below the treetops now; he will come up later. He is Perseus,—the Rescuer. He helped the Cassiopeia family out of terrible trouble when they were all Earth People.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Phyllisy. “Perseus-and-the-Gorgon?”

“No less. A friend of yours, Miss Phyllisy?”

Miss Phyllisy nodded, and Pat twisted her eyebrow.

“Well,—she’s eleven and nine months, and I’m only nine and seven months,” she said, just as if she were arguing something.

“I only happened to, Pat,” said Phyllisy.

“She’ll tell you some time; then you’ll know him too,” said the Princess. “I want to show you somebody splendid. Tip your heads up. Do you see four stars that make a long diamond,—three brighter and one not so bright at the point? That’s Draco’s head,—the great Dragon. See his spiky wings lifted. His tail comes down this way. Look,—a curl,—so.” She swung her finger around. “Isn’t he fine? Keep your eye right on him and I’ll tell you who he is. He isn’t one of your common, everyday dragons you meet so often.—Is your eye on him, Pat?”

Pat tipped her head up, then she tipped it down and nodded. The Princess squeezed the young Other One, who was sleepy, in the hollow of her arm, and began in a story-telling voice: “There was once a young man named Jason, who had a great many adventures. One of them was when he set out to bring home the fleece of a ram. (A ram is a grown-up lamb, Kitten.” The Kitten made a funny little bleating noise, like a mother-cat; but she was only partly awake.) “And this was a golden fleece. And it hung on a tree all-by-alone, where any one might have stolen it,—ONLY, it was guarded by a great dragon that lay curly at the foot of the tree, and never closed his eyes, watching it. And that was the very identical Dragon you’re looking at this minute.”

“Tell us what happened then, Dearie,—when he didn’t close his eyes,” urged Phyllisy, after they had looked again at the Dragon.

“He did!” the Princess closed the words off—snap!—so they were tight shut,—and the Others giggled. “Jason gave him some magic drops that put him to sleep, and carried off the fleece.”

“What did they do to the Dragon when they found the fleece was gone?”

“I wasn’t exactly there, Phyllisy; but you may judge by this, they made him a Star Person to reward him because he was a good reliable dragon until he met a Bewitchment that he couldn’t help.—And he’s very happy there in the Sky, half surrounding the indispensable Little Bear who carries the Sailor’s Star on the tip of his tail. He’s still guarding something very precious, you see.”

“You haven’t told us about the indispensable little bear,” said Phyllisy.

“Tell about little bear,” the Kitten murmured.

“Tell us,” said Pat, coaxing the Princess’s hand up and down.

The Princess didn’t answer at once. She was looking up into the twinkly blue—very far away—as if she were forgetting the Others. At last she spoke: “Little Bear is a very special friend and friend’s friend. I’d rather tell you about him another time,—when he isn’t listening.”

“Can he hear?” Pat whispered it.

“Surely,—and carry messages.”

“Will he do it?”

“He did,—brought me one and took one.”

“Oh-h,—what did he say?”

The Princess laid her fingers on her lips.

“Is it secrets?” asked Phyllisy.

“Long secrets.” Her voice smiled in the dusk. “But I’ll tell you the Word of it,—‘Faithful.’”

The Sky was dark and deep and crowded with stars. They sat very still and mysterious while a wind came out of Beyond. They could hear it turning back the leaves in the treetops,—saying, “H—ss-sh—” as it passed through, and all the stars winked.—

“Wake up, Kitten!” said the Princess.

But she didn’t have to wake up entirely, for the Princess held her hand coming back, down the rocky steps and along the paths, and her feet walked themselves.