Quite suddenly the Princess was there, at the head of the path where four steps came down the terrace,—all silken and wonderful and growing up into a rose at the top, that wasn’t a rose but a hat!

The Others dropped everything and ran, and she waited until they got there and hung on her arms. And they walked around her to look at it in the back.

“What kind of a party was it?” asked Pat.

“They were married and lived happy ever after, and there were bridesmaids all in a row,” said the Princess. “So there wasn’t any more to that;—and if anybody wanted me to tell them about how the Pole Star happened, I should say this was the most suitable time.”

“It is for us, very convenient,” said Miss Phyllisy. “We’ll come this minute.”

They waited while the Princess gathered up her skirt where it trailed,—soft outside, but fluffy under,—and threw it over her arm, to start fair: One, two, three, and away!

The Kitten won, because she truly ran very fast and she looked straight ahead, but Pat wanted to see behind at the same time, to know if the others were gaining.

By the Shadow Pool, they two watched the Princess with Prudence beside her—very companionable—walking the last bit of it—across the little bridge below, then turning up the dark path on the edge of the ravine, with trees arching over from the hillside. Looking out the other way through a gap in the trees, they could see—like a picture in a frame—the steps coming down the terrace and the path curving down by the petunias, all in the sun, then dropping away out of sight into the trees that it came out of to cross the bridge.

In here it was cool and deep shade, in tall woods on the steep hillsides that opened out like a “V.” There were rocks with maidenhair and moss in the banks behind; and in the point of the “V”—higher than any one could reach—a thin waterfall came over the edge of the rock, and fell a little way, and slid the rest into the still pool with goldfish in it, and others that were the same color as shadows in water and scarcely showed unless they darted across. The water went on over another edge that was made for it, and ran away at the bottom of the ravine,—hunting for the sea; but the fishes lived there for always. There were seats around the pool in convenient places where a tree or a rock made part of it and twisted wood the rest. But there was one broad seat with a high twisted back against the rocks behind, and a long flat rock before it for a footstool, that was stately for the Princess.

She pulled out long pins,—curious ones, carved at the top,—and the hat that wasn’t a rose, but grew up as if it were part of her, came off and left her altogether finished without it, with coils on top.

And because the Princess was willing, Miss Phyllisy put it on her own head. The Shadow Pool was a mirror, so she could see if it looked as if it were growing there, and Pat looked with her. But Pat looked also at the back of Miss Phyllisy’s head. “It ought to be more hair—done up,” she said. Phyllisy twisted her head to see in the pool, and she put up her hand and felt down her hair behind; it ended in a point in the middle of her neck,—the locks crossing in from the sides,—like a very small duck’s tail, about an inch. The Kitten slipped her finger under and turned up the lock, and it curved around the finger.

So Phyllisy took the hat off and they put it carefully where it wouldn’t fall, and “would be all right, Dearie,”—and they settled down in their most usual places: Phyllisy, where she could look into the pool from across and see the Princess upside down; Pat, in the narrow seat in the crotch between two trees,—but she would move to another pretty soon, because she always did,—and the Kitten, sitting on her foot in the seat next largest to the Princess’s.

“It is about the last, youngest Star Person of all; and how there came to be the Pole Star,” said the Princess.

“We’ve told the Kitten what she didn’t hear, all she could understand;—so you won’t have to plan about that,” said Prudence.

“I could understand before,” said the Kitten. “I heard, too,—myself.”

“Oh, Dearie,”—Prudence had “Dearies” to spare for others beside the Princess,—“you were asleep, and you couldn’t be expected to understand it all; you’re such a little girl—under seven.”

“I’m going to tell it most particularly to you, Kitten. Now, see if you don’t,” said the Princess.

She leaned a little forward on the stately seat, her elbow on her knee, and the silken folds fallen down on the broad stone. She looked for a long moment, her eyes shining straight out. And then she began:—

“Once upon a time, so long ago that nobody can remember when, a beautiful ship was sailing along under a spanking breeze with all sails set. The name of the ship was the Jane Ellen, and she was named for the Captain’s wife. At her prow was the figure of a mermaid, with long waving hair; and the head of the mermaid was like the head of the Captain’s wife. But that was when she was young. Now she sat at home and knit; but to the Captain she looked just like the lovely mermaid, and he kept the Jane Ellen spick and span from truck to keel,—the finest ship afloat, as she was the best of wives.”

(No one could tell stories as the Princess told them. The things she told she knew so well, it was as if she were seeing them, and words were waiting for her and came orderly, just as she needed them to make it plain.)

“Now, as the ship was sailing along on this fine starlight night, and everything favorable, the Captain in his cabin felt a great jolt, then a s-scrape, and the ship leaned away over, and everything that could slid down to one side. The next minute it tilted the other way, and most of them slid back again, and then the ship went on as before.

“The Captain jumped up and put his head out of the cabin window and looked fore and aft along the deck. He saw a man coming toward him, and called, very sharply, ‘Mr. Morganwg!’^[1]

“It was the Mate of the Jane Ellen. He was young and big, and he had gray eyes and black hair and heavy black eyebrows that almost met over his eyes, and he could look very stern, but his eyes laughed; and he could sing, and if he had had time, he could have played on a harp, because he was a Welshman, and his name was Taffy. But he didn’t have time, because if you are mate of a ship like the Jane Ellen, you have a great deal to do, and have to be everywhere at once, to see that things are done as the Captain wants them.

“‘What was that?’ asked the Captain.

“‘We struck on Porpoise Rock, sir,’ said Taffy.

“‘Who’s steering?’

“‘Nelson.’

“‘Well?—he knew the rock was there, didn’t he? It’s marked on his chart plain enough. There’s no excuse, a bright starlight night like this.’

“‘Yes, he knew it,’ said the Mate, ‘but he says he didn’t make enough allowance for the stars moving. He says if there were one star, only, that he could depend on to be in the same place every night, it would be all right.’

“‘Well, there isn’t,’ said the Captain.

“‘I know it,’ answered the Mate. ‘But you know yourself, it’s confusing to steer by them.’ Taffy spoke quite respectfully, but he often made suggestions to the Captain when no one was listening, and the Captain loved him like his own son.”

“Do they move?” asked Pat.

“Yes,” said Phyllisy. “Don’t you know?—rise and set.”

Pat looked at the Princess to see if that was what she meant, and she nodded, and went on:—

“‘H’m!’ said the Captain. ‘You go and drop anchor right now. I won’t have any more paint scraped off from this ship. Then you come here and we’ll talk it over. Something’s got to be done.’

“‘Very well, sir,’ said Taffy, touching his cap. And a few minutes later a great quivering and trembling went through the ship as the anchor chains slid out; and then they lay quiet, rocking gently on the waves, and everybody went to bed except the Lookout and the Captain and the Mate.

“No one knows just what was said in the Captain’s cabin, or whether he or Taffy made the suggestion, but this is what happened:—

“The next morning, just before sunrise, the Mate stepped out of his cabin and walked for’ard. He leaned over the fo’c’s’le hatch, which stood open, and called, ‘Bos’n!’

“‘Ay, ay, sir,’ answered the Bos’n from below. The next minute he stood beside Taffy on the deck.

“‘Assemble ships!’ ordered the Mate.

“‘Ay, ay, sir,’ said the Bos’n again. He had a whistle hanging from a string around his neck that he used for a signal to the sailors, but he didn’t use that now. Instead he took from a pocket inside his shirt another whistle. It was no larger than the first, but when he put it to his lips and blew,—the sound was so high and clear it seemed as if it must go all around the world! And before very long,—just as if it had gone, and was broken up on the way, and was coming back in little pieces,—from every direction came a faint, thin little answering whistle.

“And then the Captain and the Mate and the second Mate and the four Quartermasters and the Bos’n and the sailors and the cook and the cabin boy—who were all on deck by this time—saw appearing, one by one, on the horizon, little specks, that as they came nearer, showed themselves to be ships of all descriptions,—schooners and brigs and barkentines and barks and frigates and luggers and full-rigged ships. And every time one of the little specks appeared the Lookout would call from the masthead, ‘Sail ho!’ and the Captain would say, ‘Where away?’ and the Lookout would answer, ‘Two points on the weather-bow,’ or wherever it happened to be.

“All the morning long, all these different kinds of ships tacked and jibed and went about and missed stays and luffed and beat to wind’ard, and in all these ways drew nearer and nearer, until, just as the Quartermaster made it seven bells, the last one of them hove to, and the Jane Ellen lay surrounded by fifty-two ships of every kind you ever saw,—but none so fine as she!

“Then from the peak of the Jane Ellen fluttered a string of little flags,—red and yellow and white and green,—and the little flags said to the captains of the other ships, ‘Will you please come aboard the Jane Ellen?’ Then from every ship a boat put out, and was rowed to the side of the Jane Ellen, where a rope-ladder was let down to the water’s edge. Her Captain stood on the deck by the rail, with the Mate standing by, and shook hands with every captain as he came over the side, and said, ‘I’m glad to see you, sir!’

“When they all had come aboard and were assembled on the hurricane deck the Captain made them a speech, while the Mate went and told the cook to ‘look alive with lunch, to have it ready when the “Old Man” gets through with the powwow!’

“This is the Captain’s speech: ‘I suppose you wonder why I called you together? Perhaps you noticed a big mar on the Jane Ellen’s bows, where the good new paint is scraped off?’ All the other captains nodded. ‘That happened last night,’ said our Captain. ‘We ran on Porpoise Rock; and my quartermaster, Nelson, said he ran a-foul of it because he didn’t make enough allowance for the stars moving. I’ve got as good quartermasters as any ship afloat, but I know—you all know—that kind of thing happens to all of us.’ The captains nodded again. ‘The trouble isn’t with the man at the wheel, it’s just here,’—and the Captain struck the palm of one hand with the forefinger of the other several times, and they all looked at it to see what it was,—‘He hasn’t the right kind of stars to steer by!’ The captains all looked up at the sky, and blinked, because it was just noon and the sun was very bright, and then looked at one another, and one of them said, ‘What kind of stars could we have? We’ve got all there are.’

“‘Oh, these stars are all right, but they move about so! Night after night they go ’round and around! A man is almost too old to take his trick at the wheel before he learns to make allowance for it. Now, we’ve been fair and honest, and we’ve steered by these stars—and sworn by them—as long as there have been ships and sailors, and the Star People ought to do something to help us out. So I propose to send some one to put it to them fairly, and see if they can’t keep one star always in the same place. Then we could start from that, and know where we were.’

“‘How are you going to get up there?’ asked the same captain who had spoken before.

“‘We’ll show you after lunch,’ said the Captain of the Jane Ellen. ‘That is, if you all agree?’

“The other captain asked, ‘Do you all agree?’ and they all nodded.

“Then the other captain said, ‘Three cheers for the Skipper!’ and fifty-one captains shouted, ‘Hurrah!’ three times. So that was settled, and they went down to the cabin for lunch.”

“What did they have?” asked the Kitten.

“Plum duff,—full of raisins,” said the Princess.

“Did they like it?” asked Pat.

“You’d have thought so if you’d seen them. Every one took a second helping until Taffy was almost discouraged. He was in a hurry to be through. But at last they were finished and back on the deck to hear what the Captain had to propose.

“‘Now,’ said the Captain, ‘we shall have to borrow your masts and some anchors.’ They nodded, and the Captain called; ‘Mr. Morganwg! You may set to work.’

“‘At once, sir,’ said Taffy, and called, ‘Bos’n!’

“‘Ay, ay, sir,’ said the Bos’n, running up.

“‘Call the men,’ ordered the Mate.

“The Bos’n blew his ordinary whistle, and at the same time the captains began to go over the side of the Jane Ellen to return to their own ships. They all looked very smiling and good-natured but one man,—the one who hadn’t cheered.

“When it came his turn to say good-by, he just humped up his shoulder and growled, and then he turned around and said, very loud, ‘The rest of you can do as you like, but I’m blowed if you take my mainmast for any such foolishness!’ Then he went down the side of the ship and was rowed away.

“The captains who heard him looked perfectly disgusted, and Taffy said to his captain, ‘Shall I attend to him, sir?’

“‘Yes!’ said the Captain, and they all nodded.

So, before they did anything else, Taffy and the Bos’n and his men went to the rude Skipper’s ship (it was a brigantine, the Wandering Willie), and they set all the sails, and tied the ropes in hard knots instead of just belaying them, as every one knows is seamanlike. Then they weighed the anchor, and got off as quickly as they could,—and off went the Wandering Willie! And it had gone only a little way when the wind changed, and the Skipper shouted in the roughest voice, ‘Ease ’er off!’ And when the sailors tried, they couldn’t untie the knots, and the ship keeled over, farther and farther, until, all at once, she turned bottom up, and every one had to swim back to the other ships! The crew were glad of it, because they were better off; and the rude captain, who couldn’t swim very well, had to be thankful to be pulled aboard and allowed to ship before the mast on the Jane Ellen. And he learned in time to be a very good sailor.”

“That was just right for him,” said Pat.

“That’s what I think,” said the Princess. “But while all this was happening, the work was going on on all the ships. The first thing they did, they brought twenty-four large anchors, and anchored the Jane Ellen, twelve on a side and her own two at the bows, so she couldn’t even wabble. Then they drew up all the other ships in a long line, one after another, with a space between, and unstepped the mainmast of every ship. When every ship had her mainmast lying on the deck, beginning with the Jane Ellen, they spliced them all together, the top of one to the bottom of the next one. It took them all that afternoon and part of the next morning to do it.

“Meanwhile, other sailors had brought twenty mizzen-masts to the Jane Ellen, and, one after another, they were carried up her mizzen-mast and spliced to the top of the one below. When they were all in place some hoisting-tackle was made fast to the top, pulley-ropes were run through it and carried out over the other ships and fastened to the spliced mainmasts, about a third of their length away.

“By this time it was four bells in the afternoon, and everybody was pretty tired, so the Captain said they might rest for an hour, all except the cook, and he had to serve out grog. So all the seamen had their grog, and lay around on the deck and looked up at the tall mizzen-mast and the hoisting-tackle, and thought what a good captain they had, and that the Jane Ellen was the finest ship afloat.

“Six bells had hardly finished striking when the Mate jumped down from the rail where he had been sitting, and called, ‘Bos’n!’

“The Bos’n sprang up and said, ‘Ay, ay, sir!’

“‘Pipe the men aft,’ ordered the Mate.

“‘Ay, ay, sir,’ said the Bos’n again, and blew his whistle.

“The seamen all jumped up nimbly and came trooping aft to the foot of the mizzen-mast. There some of them brought a winch, and some more arranged the pulley-ropes and passed them around the winch, and carried them fore and aft, and arranged more tackle around the heel of the mainmast, and did a great many things to them that I don’t know anything about, but the Mate did, for he directed it all, without stopping even to think. And the Captain came and looked on, and he looked as proud as if he had done it himself!

“At last everything seemed to be done, and Taffy asked, ‘Are you all ready, Bos’n?’

“‘Just waiting for Tom Green to sing the chanty, sir,’ said he. And in a minute, Tom Green came.

“He wasn’t a very large sailor, but he had one blue and one brown eye, and red and blue anchors and ships and stars and a weeping-willow tattooed on his arms; and he wore his sleeves rolled up high to show them. And he stood up on a water cask in the stern, and the sailors all stood ready, in long lines, with the ropes in their hands.

“Then the Mate said, ‘Are you ready, Bos’n?’ and the Bos’n said, ‘Ay, ay, sir!’

“‘Then, hoist away!’ ordered the Mate.

“The Bos’n blew his whistle, and Tom Green began to sing the chanty, and this is how it began:—

The Princess laughed with her eyes at the Others, while she held the last long note until it seemed to die away in the woods, and they laughed back, but they didn’t speak, and she went on, quite seriously:—

“I give you only one verse of it, but there were ninety-three, and it told all about their life on the ocean wave and what they wanted to do, and Tom Green made most of it up as he went along,—so perhaps he worked as hard as any of them!

“Now, every time when they sung the refrain, the sailors all pulled together on the ropes, and little by little—inch by inch, almost—the great long mainmast rose in the air. And on all the other ships the sailors stood watching, because they had nothing else to do, and they all joined in the chanty, and the sound of it mounted up through the clouds. There never was a chanty like it since the world began!

“It had been bright, sunshiny weather when the work began, but all the afternoon the clouds had gathered until the sky was completely overcast, like a solid roof of gray, and when the mast rose up, about one quarter of it pierced the clouds. At last it stood, straight and tall, the heel firmly fixed on the step above the deck of the Jane Ellen, and the top hidden from sight in the cloud roof, and a shout went up that must have reached the heavens! Then everybody drew a long breath, and went to rest, and waited for it to be quite dark.”

The Princess paused. “Perhaps you, yourselves, would like to stop and hear the rest another time?” she suggested. But they were sure they wouldn’t. So, after only a moment, while Pat changed to another place, she went on:—

“When it was time, and every one was on deck (the other captains had come aboard again), the Captain of the Jane Ellen looked up at the great tall mast, going up and up until it went out of sight in the clouds, and he said to the other captains, ‘Whom shall I send up to talk to the Star People?’ And the other captains said, very decidedly, ‘You’ll have to send an able seaman.’

“So the Bos’n picked out the very best able seaman there was, and he stepped out before the captains. He swayed his body when he walked, and hitched up his trousers, and he could dance a hornpipe better than any man aboard, and wrap his leg four times around a rope when he climbed. He was just the man to climb to the top of that great tall mast.

“The Captain looked at the Able Seaman, and said, ‘You go aloft there; and when you get to the top, you tell the Star People you want to talk to their captain. Do you understand?’

“The Able Seaman pulled his forelock and said, ‘Ay, ay, sir,’ and the Captain went on: ‘You tell him, we want one star that we can depend on, to steer by. We’ve steered by them ever since there were ships, and they move about all the time, and we can’t stand it any longer! We’ve done the fair thing by them, and now they can do the fair thing by us, or by Jiminy! we’ll throw the whole lot of ’em over, and they’ll be out of a job!—Do you understand?’

“The Able Seaman pulled his forelock and said, ‘Ay, ay, sir.’

“‘Then, up you go!’ and the Able Seaman turned away and came to the foot of the great tall mast.

“There were two ropes that ran from the top to the bottom. He wound his leg four times around one of them, and took hold of the other and began to climb. And everybody watched him go up and up, and grow smaller and smaller until he wasn’t nearly so large as a fly. And then he went clear out of sight in the clouds. And they couldn’t have seen him at all, any of the way, if they hadn’t thrown a strong light on him as he went up.

“Then—though there was nothing to see, and their necks ached—nobody could take his eyes from the spot where he disappeared. And before very long they saw a little speck, smaller than a fly, appear again and come down the great tall mast,—so tall it took thirty-eight minutes to come down from the place where it entered the cloud. The captains hardly could wait for him to get down.

“‘What did you find?’ asked the Captain.

“‘A lot of Star People—I dunno who they was,’ answered the Able Seaman.

“‘Well,—what did they say?’

“‘They wanted to know what that singin’ was, this afternoon.’

“‘But what did they say about the star?’

“‘I didn’t ask ’em.’

“‘Didn’t ask them!’

“‘No. I come back to ask what to say about the singin’. You didn’t tell me that.’

“‘Thunder!’ said the Captain. ‘Did you come clear down here to ask me that? You get back, as quick as ever you can, and tell them what I said. Of course you’re to answer a civil question!’

“‘Ay, ay, sir,’ said the Able Seaman without winking; and he climbed up the mast again. And all the captains watched him as before, only their necks ached a little harder.

“He was gone a trifle longer, and then back he came. It only took thirty-six minutes this time, because he was more used to it (beside the time it took to go up, of course, and the time he was above the clouds).

“‘Well?’ said the Captain.

“‘I tol’ ’em it was the chanty. And I asked to speak to the captain, an’ a big man said they hadn’t no captain,—they’re a Republic.’

“‘Then what?’ asked the Captain, as the Able Seaman paused.

“‘Then, I didn’t know who to ask for,—so I—’

“‘Thunder-ation!’ cried the Captain. ‘Did you come clear down here again, to ask me that? You go back—quick—and don’t you come down again till you finish your errand!’ And the Able Seaman said, ‘Ay, ay, sir,’—and all the other captains looked at each other and said, ‘Thunderation!’ or some other word that meant the same thing.

“Then the Able Seaman climbed up the mast again, and nearly all of them watched him. But some of the captains who had short necks couldn’t watch another minute, until one of them lay down on his back on the deck; then a good many of them did the same thing, and were more comfortable.

“And this time he was gone a long time—so long, the Captain was just going to send up the second-best able seaman to see what was the matter, when they saw him coming down. It took a little longer, because the leg of his trousers caught in the third twist of the rope, and he had to unwrap his leg and twist it around again. It took forty-one minutes this time, and it seemed forever to the captains! Three or four of them waited at the foot of the mast, and caught at him as he slid down.

“‘What did they say?’—‘Will they do it?’—they asked eagerly.

“The Able Seaman breathed hard. ‘You wait a minute—till I get—my breath.’

“They waited. Finally the Captain said: ‘Now?’ and the Able Seaman pulled his forelock and said: ‘I tol’ ’em, sir,—just as you said,—an’ they all talked an’ talked—’

“‘Who talked?’ asked the Captain.

“‘I dunno their names. I ain’t no navigator.—There was the big man, an’ a woman sittin’ in a chair, an’ another man, and a feller with a head in his hand—all snakes!—an’ a big dragon kep’ pokin’ his blame head in all the time,—an’ some more people; an’ they all talked to onc’t.’

“‘What did they say? Will they give us the star?’

“‘I can’t make out,’ said the Able Seaman. ‘I guess they was willin’, but they didn’t seem to know what to do, and they was quarrelin’ about who’d do it.’

“The Captain looked around. ‘Mr. Morganwg!’ he said. (The Mate was there almost before he spoke.) ‘It’s no use. You’ll have to go.’

“‘Certainly, sir,’ said Taffy, and his eyes shone when he said it, and he turned and walked to the foot of the mast.

“He weighed two hundred and eleven pounds, but he walked so lightly his feet seemed hardly to touch the deck; and when he sprang into the ropes and began to go up the mast, he made the Able Seaman look like an apprentice! And the captains all stood and watched him, and they were so pleased and so sure it would be all right, their necks almost forgot to ache.”

“He wanted to go,” said Phyllisy, when the Princess paused.

“He’d better have gone before, and saved all that time,” observed Pat.

But the Princess said nothing for a moment. Then she went on with the story: “Up and up climbed Taffy, higher and higher, until it seemed to him a thick cloud came down and wrapped him about so he could see only a few feet ahead of him. But he knew it didn’t come down at all. It was he who had climbed up into the clouds. So he kept steadily on, and very soon it began to grow thin; and as he came out of it he saw a sight that almost took his breath away, and made him lose his hold of the rope. But he wouldn’t even look, but kept climbing on until he reached the top of the fifty-second mast, and with one leg wrapped easily around one rope, and his elbow resting on the gilt ball on the top of the mast, and his chin in his hand, he was as comfortable as a boy in an apple tree. Now he had time to look about him,—and he could take it, for the Star People were so busy talking among themselves they hadn’t seen him come.

“Two persons seemed to be the centre of the group. One was a tall, splendid man with a sword on his belt and a shaggy lion’s hide hanging carelessly over his arm. Set in his belt and on his head and in the clasp around his knee were great blazing stars, and two dogs were at his heels.”

“Orion,” said Phyllisy, “I used to know him ages ago.”

The Princess nodded: “Yes. Taffy knew him at once.—The person to whom he was talking was a beautiful lady (not so very young), who sat in a massive, star-jeweled chair, and was alternately crying and scolding, while a man, evidently her husband, leaned over the chair and tried to quiet her. Near by stood a young man, looking very sulky; and from his hand swung a curious object. It was a woman’s head, with snakes instead of hair.”

“Snakes?” said Pat, her voice sliding up and down on it.

“Snakes,” said the Princess, firmly.

“For pitysakes!”

“They had once been quite stiff and wriggly snakes, and had stood up on end, each one of them, and squirmed, but now they were limp and raggy. And Taffy didn’t wonder when he saw how Perseus was absent-mindedly swinging it by one or another of the snakes, and letting it wind up and unwind again around his finger.

“Like Orion and his dogs, these people and others who crowded near were studded and decked with shining stars; and it was by their stars, that he knew so well, that Taffy recognized these Star People in their unaccustomed places.

“‘Yes, I could!’ the lady in the chair was saying. ‘And he isn’t the one to say, anyway!’

“‘What’s the matter?’ asked Taffy; and they all jumped, and then all began talking at once, so he couldn’t understand a word they said.

“‘Hus-sh!’ he said, holding up his hand. And they gradually stopped talking, all but Orion. (And Cassiopeia kept on saying things to her husband—but that didn’t count.)

“‘Who are you?’ asked Orion.

“‘I’m the Mate of the Jane Ellen,’ said Taffy. ‘And I want to know what’s the trouble. It doesn’t seem much to ask for—just one star.’

“‘No,’ answered Orion, ’it doesn’t. And we’re all willing. But who is going to hold that star?—and how are we going to know it’s always in the same spot?’

“‘I should think you might agree about that easily enough,’ said Taffy.

“‘Well, we can’t,’ said Orion. ‘I can’t do it; I have other things to attend to.’

“‘And you won’t let any one else!’ broke in Cassiopeia. ‘You know how I just sit in my chair, and I’d love to hold it.’

“‘She can’t,’ said Orion. ‘Pretty thing for a woman to do!’

“‘I’m not a woman,’ observed Perseus.

“‘Don’t you say another word!’ said Cassiopeia. (‘And stop twirling that Gorgon!—You make me nervous.) You know perfectly well, you have to keep away the monster from my darling child.’

“Perseus said no more, but he looked sulkier than ever.

“‘No, he can’t,’ said Orion. ‘And beside that, you’re used to seeing us move about. Now if one of us gives up his own place, it will mix you all up.’

“‘That’s true,’ said Taffy. And just as he spoke, something rubbed against his hand,—something that sent a little prickly shock through him at first, and at the same time, the very softest thing he ever had felt or imagined.

“He looked down and saw a little bear—but such a little bear! His long fur was, in color, a beautiful blue-gray, and the tip of each hair seemed to have been dipped in moonlight or powdered with star-dust, for it shone and glinted in the starlight as he moved; and his eyes twinkled like two little stars themselves; and curiously enough for a little bear, he had a great long tail. And unlike any of the Star People, he hadn’t a star on him anywhere.

“‘Hello, little one!’ said Taffy. ‘What are you doing here?’ And he bent down to stroke Little Bear. Little Bear leaned against his leg; and as his hand sank in the soft, soft fur, and again the electric tingles ran up his arm, it was as if they took the message to his brain: ‘Oh, dear Taffy, let me take care of the Sailor’s Star!’

“It came so clearly to him, Taffy spoke again: ‘Would you really like it?’—and the answer came, like a long, ‘Oh-h!’ of rapture.

“‘See here,’ said Taffy to the Star People. ‘Why don’t you let this little chap have it? That would settle it.’

“‘Little Bear?’ said everybody. Then everybody looked at everybody else, and said, ‘Why not?’—because they all loved Little Bear; and they were glad to find a way to settle the dispute and stop talking.

“Taffy told them what to do; and Cassiopeia was the first one to take a lovely star from the back of her dress, where it never had been seen by the sailors and wouldn’t be missed; and they all agreed that, if she couldn’t hold the Sailor’s Star herself, she should be the one to give it. And they fastened that star on the very tip of Little Bear’s tail. Then Orion and Perseus and the Big Dragon, who came and looked on, and the rest of them gave more stars to fasten on Little Bear, and he stood pressed against Taffy’s knee while they did it; and his fur sparkled and shone and his two bright eyes twinkled, bright as any of the stars, while little electric thrills of pleasure and gratitude ran to Taffy’s heart as his hand stroked the beautiful fur that was softer than anything in the whole World!

“‘There!’ said Orion, as he fastened the last star and pushed one of the dogs back with his foot, while Little Bear growled, a soft small growl. ‘He’s fine as a birthday cake! Now I want to know how you are going to be sure that star is always in the right place?’

“‘Easy enough!’ said Taffy. ‘You know where the North Pole is, don’t you?’

“‘Of course we do,’ said Orion, and the other Star People echoed: ‘Of course!’

“‘Then, all Little Bear has to do is to keep the star directly over that Pole. And he’ll do it,’ said Taffy, laying his hand on Little Bear’s head—and the message thrilled through it: ‘Oh, I will, dear Taffy! The Sailor’s Star shall never wander!’

“When the Mate stepped on to the deck of the Jane Ellen it was almost morning, and all the captains who weren’t asleep had such stiff necks they hardly could turn their heads to look at him. And when he touched his cap and said to the Captain of the Jane Ellen: ‘It’s all arranged, sir,’ they were so worn out they were glad to go back to their own ships and go to bed without asking a single question. It wouldn’t have been any use if they had, for the Captain took Taffy straight into his own cabin and shut the door; and that was the last any one saw of them that night.

“The next morning every one was as busy as a bee; and they worked so fast that before evening every mast had been put back, and the twenty-four anchors returned to their own ships, and they were all ready to sail.

“During the afternoon the clouds had broken up, and the sun went down in a clear sky. As darkness fell, the crew of each ship assembled on the deck, with every eye fixed on the Northern sky.

“Taffy stood beside the Captain of the Jane Ellen while the rose-red faded into yellow, and palest green, and violet, and a few large stars came out, one by one. Then,—faint at first, then, brighter and brighter,—the stars that told Taffy Little Bear was at his post! And a great shout went up from all the ships, that must have reached the sky! It seemed to Taffy that the stars glowed brighter, and he could almost feel the touch of soft fur, softer than anything in the world, and a little thrill went to his heart, that said: ‘You see, Taffy dear, I’m here!’

“Then the fifty-two ships set sail in every direction, and the Jane 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.