“How did they fasten the stars on him?” asked the Kitten. She didn’t say who “he” was, but they knew, though it was quite another time.

“With a half-hitch and another half-hitch, then belay,” said the Princess, promptly. “Much better than sewing them, or pins. Don’t you think so?”

“Pins would stick him,” agreed the Kitten.

“Whereabouts did they fasten them?” asked Pat.

The Princess reached out her arm and picked a narrow pointed shell out from the hard sand. It lay broad and brown between them and the gray sea, worrying, whiteand-green at the other edge. Out over the sea whitish-gray fog was waiting all around in a circle. It went up and joined the gray sky over; and a salt smell blew out of it.

She began to draw in the sand with the pointed shell, and the Others watched it grow. She began at his head and worked back, quickly.

“Is it going to be Little Bear?” asked Pat.

“Yes,” said the Princess. “But I can’t make it really a likeness.”

“You could, Dearie, if you had a pencil and paper,” said Phyllisy. “Nobody could, in the sand with a shell.”

“It’s like him the way the map is America,” said Pat. “More—much.”

“Now make the stars,” said the Kitten, when she drew his last foot.

“No,” said the Princess. “You must do that.—Who’ll give a star to Little Bear?”

“What shall we give?” asked Pat. But the Kitten spied a clear, shiny pebble, and she didn’t need to be told; she pounced at it quickly, and purred when the Princess took it from her.

“‘And they fastened that star on the very tip of Little Bear’s tail,’” quoted Phyllisy. “Now we must all give stars.”

So they scurried over the sand and brought suitable pebbles to the Princess,—and some of them were shells,—and she showed them where to place them, where he truly wore them; but they placed only the principal ones, because it was a sketch, not a likeness.

“But you don’t see even this—of a bear—in the sky?” said Pat, doubtfully. It wasn’t as easy for her to make believe as it was for Phyllisy. Phyllisy loved it. As for the Kitten, it was no trouble for her; real or make-believe, it was all alike.

“No, indeed,” said Phyllisy, explaining to Pat, and perfectly familiar with it. “Just the stars of him, and play the rest. When it’s night, we’ll look, and see if we can find them ourselves.”

“You can’t when it’s cloudy,” said Pat. “And it’s cloudy to-night—will be.”

“And the Star People will have a holiday,” said the Princess.

“Will they?” asked the Others, though she had just said it.

“Sure as sure. When it’s a cloudy night and the sailors couldn’t see them wherever they were, they may go where they like.”

“They might go where they like in the daytime,” said the Kitten.

“So they might. But you have to sleep some time, Kit. And if you have to stay up all night to be looked at, you’d better take a long nap in the daytime. So, when it begins to be light, the Star People just quietly fade away in their places, then when night comes they wake up, fresh as daisies.”

“Suppose some time they would go off, and it was a clear night—and they moved around?” said Pat.

“I couldn’t imagine anything so dreadful,—nor the Star People, either! Don’t you fancy, because they haven’t any captain, that they have nothing to obey.”

“What?”

“They have Law!—and that’s something every one of them obeys without a single word, or ever stopping to argue. When anything is the Rule of the Sky, that ends it.—Unless you’re a comet.”

“Oh, comets!” exclaimed Phyllisy.” What do they do?”

“What don’t they do?” corrected the Princess. “They’re silly. Just a head, with the wildest, fuzziliest hair,”—she drew on the sand as she talked,—“that never saw a hairbrush—and tails!—switching and flying and spreading over everything and curling around!—and, as if one such tail weren’t bad enough, some of them must have two!”

The Princess stopped drawing, because the sand was filled up with comets, as far as she could reach. “That one is like the Kitten,” said Pat. “Yours would be, if it weren’t braided,” the Kitten answered.

“Only in looks, I’m sure,” said the Princess, politely. “The Star People try to be charitable, and when they hear of some fresh bad thing one of those flyaways has done, they say: ‘He doesn’t know enough to be good;’ and they don’t talk about it any more. But when any really horrid mischief is done, it’s always when a comet or two has been around.”

“What did one do?—some mischief,” Pat suggested.

“I should think you’d all rather hear about somebody good,” said the Princess. But the Others giggled—and wouldn’t.

“Make some more Star People while you consider, Dearie,” urged Phyllisy.

So the Princess moved along the sand (and they were glad it was a good, gray day, not glaring), and she drew more, the same way as Little Bear. They didn’t try to be likenesses, but you would know whom they were meant for,—Cassiopeia and the Dragon and Orion and more,—and the Others put in the stars. It used a great many pebbles and shells, though they put in only the principal ones. But they ought to be pretty ones, so they went a good way off to find them.

When they came back from farther off, they couldn’t guess what the long wavy line was meant for, that she was drawing beyond Orion—in deep loops down and back.

“This is the Starland River,” she explained. “The Ancients called it the Eridanus. That was the name of one of their own Earth rivers. Once Phaeton tried to drive the chariot of the Sun,—the Sun God was his father,—but he didn’t know how, and horses, chariot, and all plunged into the river, and he was drowned for his folly, but the chariot and horses came out shining again the next morning at sunrise. And Phaeton’s three sisters stood on the bank of the river and mourned and mourned for him, and wouldn’t go away. So Jupiter kindly changed them into poplar trees;—and right here—and here—and here”—she showed the places and the Others laid especial shells—“are the stars that mark the tall poplars on the bank. At least, that’s what I think. You may choose others if you like, but they are certainly there.”

The Princess surprisingly sprang up, and the pointed shell flew out of her hand, over the hard sand, and beyond the worrying green-white edge, into the gray sea.

“What did you do that for?” Pat remonstrated.

“Because-that-was-a-sign-that-it-wouldn’t-be-lucky-to-have-any-more-drawing-on-the-sand-because-that-was-Enough,” said the Princess.

“Will you tell it now?” asked the Kitten.

And she would; but back under the cliff, where there were rocks—smooth and hollowed by the ocean, long ago, and another one for a back,—and where those crazy comets on the sand wouldn’t be looking at them.

“You hardly would believe how happy the care of the Sailor’s Star made Little Bear,” said the Princess, when they were all comfortable,—“proud of his responsibility, and most grateful to the Star People.”

“Because they gave him stars?” asked the Kitten.

“Yes, and allowed him to have that responsible thing to do when he wanted it so much; and it made them happy to see his pleasure, and to feel that they all had a share in it—because he was their own dear Little Bear. Now, at the time this story happened, everything had been comfortable and pleasant for a long time. Little Bear hadn’t had his star so long he had forgotten the time before he had it; but he had grown used to having it on the end of his tail, and could keep it over the Pole without giving his mind to it. And nobody had seen a comet for ever so long, so they weren’t thinking about them.

“But, very early one morning, any one of the Star People who had been awake to look, might have seen, peeping up over the rim of the Sky, a small, vagabond head. He shook his fuzzy hair out of his eyes and came up a little farther, switching his long tail that had a wicked crook at the end of it, as he danced up and down like an elf! A more rascally Comet you wouldn’t care to see!”

The Others wriggled with appreciation, but they didn’t speak, to interrupt.

“The Star People were in their first sleep, and not dreaming of any harm; and what a chance for the worst, small comet in the Sky!

“What should he do? Hammer a dent in Cepheus’ crown? Tie a knot in the Dragon’s tail? He darted here and there,—rapid, uncertain little darts; nothing seemed quite worth while when he had such an opportunity.

“Cassiopeia stirred slightly in her chair, and the wicked imp dropped where he was, and wound himself all up, like a porcupine, holding himself together by the crook in his tail. You never would have guessed that he could tuck all his wild hair and streaming tail into a little round bunch, as quick as a flash! But she didn’t wake up, so he let himself go, and his hair and tail sprang out like a jack-in-the-box; and now he danced harder than ever, for rage!

“How he did hate Cassiopeia! He remembered how she had boxed his ears when he had come that way before, and he would rather do something to plague her than anything else. He looked about him, and saw Little Bear, fast asleep—never dreaming of any harm,—and he stopped short in his dance. He knew, now, what he could do; but, wicked little Comet as he was, he was almost frightened. This was much worse than anything any of them ever had done. But how it would plague Cassiopeia!—and set the whole sky by the ears. He puckered up his face and stuck out his tongue at her.”

“And she couldn’t see him,” Pat murmured.

“Then there was a whizz,—a switch of a long tail with a crook in the end of it,—a zigzag streak of light across the morning sky—and the Comet was gone!

“And the Star People were all sound asleep, and never dreamed he had been there.

“Oh, dear! It seemed almost a pity Little Bear had to wake up at all, with such trouble waiting for him. But the time had to come, and he stirred a little and opened one eye, and shut it again and rolled on to his side. There he lay for a minute; then he gave a soft sneeze that waked him up altogether. So he opened his eyes, that twinkled like stars, and looked about him. Every one else was still sleeping, and that seemed like wasting time, because it was a cloudy night, which meant a holiday. So Little Bear stood up and shook himself, and sparks seemed to fly from his fur, and then—his heart gave a great jump, and almost stopped beating!—The Sailor’s Star was gone!

“It was such a blow he could hardly see, and he sat down, quite dazed.

“In a few minutes Cassiopeia opened her eyes. Now, Little Bear felt as if he couldn’t stand it to have any one know what had happened to him. But the minute he saw Cassiopeia was awake, though it was the last thing he meant to do, and before he knew what he was about, he had run to her and put his head in her lap; and she knew in a second something was wrong.

“‘Why, Little Bear, what is it?’ she began to say—then she saw—and such an outcry! Everybody awoke, and the next minute, everybody was searching in every possible and impossible place;—all but Little Bear. He was too miserable to do anything but sit still, and wish the clouds would rise up and cover him all over.”

“Poor little soul!” said Phyllisy, and the Others crooned in sympathy, the Princess with them. Then she went on:—

“‘It’s no use. It isn’t here,’ said Cepheus, who had been down on his hands and knees, looking, just as hard as if he hadn’t been a king. (He tucked his sceptre under his arm while he was looking, except when he poked with it in a corner.) As he spoke, he stood up and straightened out the ‘crick’ in his back, and the others took it for a signal to stop the search.

“Cassiopeia had stopped some time before, without any signal, and sat in her chair, with Little Bear leaning against her knee again.

“‘No, I didn’t think it was any use,’ she said, significantly. ‘That star didn’t go without hands,—or claws!’—and she looked straight at Draco, who stood every night before Little Bear, to guard him, looking very terrible, though he hadn’t a tooth in his head. But no one would know that unless he spoke, and he had been hunting for the star as hard as any of them.

“‘Doeth thhe mean me?’ he asked, in surprise. (He lisped a little, on account of having no teeth.) Then, indignantly: ‘I thould think you’d be athamed!—I believe you took it back yourthelf!—Indian-giver!’

“Cassiopeia’s hand flew to the back of her dress where the star had been, and she began hotly: ‘The idea—’

“‘There, there,’ said Cepheus, soothingly, while Little Bear stirred uneasily, ‘don’t quarrel! It’s bad enough without that.’

“‘Maybe he didn’t take it himself,’ said Cassiopeia. ‘But it’s a very poor watch he kept. And this isn’t the first time something has been lost while he was asleep!’

“‘Shame on you!’ cried Cepheus. (And it was mean in her to call up the time when he lost the Golden Fleece.)

“‘Don’t mind her,’ said Perseus to Draco. ‘She doesn’t mean anything.’

“‘I don’t think Cathiopeia liketh me very well,’ said Draco, almost crying. ‘I can’t thtay awake all day. I alwayth did need a great deal of thleep.’

“‘Well, let’s not talk about it any more,’ said Cassiopeia, impatiently. ‘We’d better be doing something! It’s a good thing it’s so cloudy. I’ll tell you what you do,’ she went on, turning to Cepheus. ‘You go straight to Boreas, and tell him he mustn’t blow away one scrap of cloud until we find that star.’ Boreas had a great conch shell, like a trumpet, and when he shouted his orders through it, the clouds flew before the sound—just as he told them to go.”

“The North Wind,” said Pat. “I’ve heard about him. He lived in a cave.”

The Princess nodded. “‘I don’t think it looks very well for me to be running errands,’ said Cepheus.

“‘Looks or no looks, you go along,’ said Cassiopeia. ‘I’m going on one myself.’

“When Orion waked up that night he was pleased to see the clouds, because there was something he wanted to do. Every one knows he was a famous hunter; and there was no animal so fierce or so wild that he could not face it and conquer it. But that was not what he prided himself upon. What he liked to do, more than anything, and what he thought was his special talent, was gardening!

“He had his garden on the Milky Way, where he was forever planting things, and digging them up again to look at the roots, and transplanting them to see if they wouldn’t do better somewhere else, and pruning them and training them and spraying them; and the only rest and chance to grow those poor things had was when there was a long spell of clear weather, and Orion had to leave them alone! And with all his care, there wasn’t a place on the whole Milky Way that had so many bare spots in it as Orion’s garden!”

“Like mine,” observed Pat.

“Now, he had some young meteors just coming up; so, as soon as he was awake, he called his two dogs and set out for his garden. He was down on his knees examining the young plants, when the dogs began to bark. He looked up, and he was astonished to see Cassiopeia hurrying toward him.

“‘I knew where I should find you!’ she called, breathing hard. (She wasn’t exactly thin.)

“‘What over the Sun brings you here?’ exclaimed Orion.

“‘Somebody’s stolen the Pole Star!’

“‘No!’ cried he.

“‘Yes, they have. While we were asleep. It was there, all right, when Little Bear went to sleep, and when he waked up, it was gone.’

“Orion scowled fearfully. ‘There’s just one Star Person who would do such a thing—’ he began.

Cassiopeia interrupted him:—

“‘Now that’s all nonsense! Just because you hate the Scorpion, is no sign he would steal. You’d better come along with me, and we’ll have a meeting to see what to do.’

“As Cassiopeia and Orion were coming back together, they met Cepheus, returning from his errand.

“‘Did you see Boreas?’ called she.

“‘Yes,’ answered Cepheus, pushing up his crown. (It didn’t fit very well, and was always slipping down.) ‘He says he’ll do the best he can; but he can’t promise more than two days.’

“‘Oh, we’ll find it before then,’ said Orion, confidently.

“But before the two days were gone he began to feel very differently, and so did every one else. They talked and they talked, and suggested and consulted, and hunted, and went back and hunted again and again in all the places they had searched before; and every one almost began to look suspiciously at every one else.

“And it would have made any one’s heart ache, to see Little Bear. No one blamed him, but he couldn’t help feeling that it was his fault, and he wanted his dear Star, too. So he mourned and drooped, and all the sparkle went off from his beautiful soft fur, and out of his bright eyes; and when Perseus offered to let him take the Gorgon’s head to play with, he didn’t even care for that.

“Cassiopeia took him up into her chair beside her, and sang little songs to him. The one about the fishes, that he always liked.”

“What song?” asked the Kitten, quickly.

“This,” answered the Princess:—

“Little Bear liked to hear it, but Cassiopeia could see that it wasn’t really any comfort to him, and she was at her wit’s end to know what to do.”

“They ought to have thought it was a Comet,” said Pat.

“It was stupid in them, but they never once thought of them,” said the Princess.

“Don’t you know, it is like that sometimes,” said Phyllisy, “the most probable thing you forget all about.”

“That was the way with them,” agreed the Princess. “They thought of everything else, and the two days were almost gone when Boreas sent word that he couldn’t possibly wait any longer; but he wouldn’t blow the clouds clear off—only break them up, and send them flying about; so perhaps it wouldn’t be noticed that the Star was gone.

“‘That won’t do at all,’ said Orion. ‘We can’t take chances like that. But what can we do?’

“‘The next best thing,’ said Cassiopeia. ‘We must get another star as near like it as we can find.’

“‘I have one the same color; but it’s not the right size,’ said Cepheus.

“‘Let me have it,’ said Cassiopeia. ‘I’ll try to match it.’

“She took it from him; and the Star People came, one by one, and turned their backs to her, and she held up the star that was the right color by those that were the right size and in a place where they wouldn’t be missed; and you never would believe how many sizes and colors there were! It was enough to drive one crazy, and she was ready to give up in despair. At last she went back to one she had rejected before, on the back of Perseus’ elbow.

“‘It isn’t right,’ she said, ‘but it’s the best there is.’

“‘Oh, that’s not so bad,’ said Orion. ‘A man on horseback wouldn’t notice the difference!’

“‘That’s a very poor joke!’ snapped Cassiopeia—her nerves were quite frazzled. ‘Come, Little Bear!’

“And Little Bear came to her, and they fastened the false star on his tail; and he let them do it, quite quietly, though he felt as if his heart would break—and so ashamed! It was almost worse than no star at all, and seemed like trying to cheat the sailors who trusted him.

“All that night and the next and still another night, Boreas blew and shouted through his trumpet, and the clouds swept back and forth, whirling and tumbling, while Little Bear stood at his post, wheeling slowly around the false star, with his head drooped low and the silver glint all gone from his soft fur, and his heart almost breaking, whenever, through the rifts of the racing clouds, he saw the ships flying before the gale—sailing to all quarters of the world.

“And the other Star People were almost as unhappy as he was, because they loved him, and because such a dreadful thing had happened, and somebody must have been so very wicked. By the time the third night was gone they felt that it couldn’t possibly go on that way any longer; and every one went to sleep, perfectly worn out with trying to think what they could do, and how they could comfort Little Bear, if nothing else could be done.

“Orion was just in his first sound sleep, when a big, jolly voice called: ‘Are you all asleep there? Wake up, Orion!’

“Orion turned around, and there was Old Sol himself, fairly beaming with happiness and good humor, and—what do you think?—in his hand he held up the lost Pole Star!

“‘Wh-why, where did you find it?’ gasped Orion.

“‘Oh, this fellow had it tucked into the crook in his tail. I caught him, going by, and shook him up, and out it fell. So I brought it to you.’

“Then Orion saw that Sol held in his other hand the most disreputable little Comet that ever was seen! His hair and tail—what was left of them—were hanging in shreds. He had struggled to escape, and Sol had held him. Now, scarcely enough of him was left to be worth holding—just a rag! and his head seemed positively shriveled up.

“‘For the love o’ the Law!’ exclaimed Orion, ‘what’s that? A Comet! And we never once thought of it. Give me that star.’ He fairly snatched it from Sol’s hand, and started, as fast as he could run, North, waking every one as he ran, calling: ‘We’ve found the Pole Star!’

“The Comet seemed to think this was a good chance to escape, and wriggled cautiously between Old Sol’s fingers. ‘Oh, no!’ said Sol. ‘You’ll stay with me, where you won’t do any more mischief.’ And he put him in his pocket, and followed Orion, as fast as he could, to the North.

“And when he came in sight, Little Bear was just awake, with everybody crowding around him, and talking to him so fast he couldn’t understand what it was all about. But when he saw his own Star once more—then he knew! And Old Sol laughed to see Little Bear (who had been so patient and uncomplaining when he was most unhappy) give his tail such a switch and jerk that it sent the false star flying off—nobody knew where, nor cared! They kept right on talking—all at once, and nobody listening to anybody else—and saying how stupid it was in them not to have thought of the Comet.”

(“And it was,” said Pat, under her breath; but Phyllisy shook her head at her—not to interrupt.)

“Cassiopeia cried, a very little, while they fastened the Sailor’s Star once more on Little Bear’s tail; and the good old Dragon said, anxiously: ‘Be thure you fathen it thtrong!’

“And Little Bear quivered and trembled with delight, his eyes sparkling, even in the sunshine; and then—everybody began to be so sleepy they couldn’t hold their eyes open. So they all hurried back to their places and faded away again; while old Sol, with the Comet in his pocket out of harm’s way, glowed brighter and brighter with pleasure.

“But when night fell, calm and cloudless, who was so proud as Little Bear? His eyes twinkled brighter than any stars, and his soft fur glittered and shone, and he held up his head bravely as he swung around the Pole Star—watching the ships; while the sailors on the ships said: ‘How bright all the stars are to-night! The rains have cleared the air.’

“The next cloudy night, Little Bear sat beside Cassiopeia, in her great jeweled chair, and she sang songs to him once more—about the Fishes, and the other songs he liked. Best of all, the one she couldn’t sing to him when he was so unhappy, about his very own Sailor’s Star:—

“‘The Sta-a-ar’s unfailing,’” sang the Kitten, after her. And they two sang the last few lines again, together.

“Oh!” exclaimed Miss Phyllisy.

“What is it?” asked Pat.

“Orion’s leg is gone; I’ve been expecting it. A wave just went over.”

And another wave followed close, and shoved it back still higher, before it had time to run away out.

“He doesn’t mind,” said the Kitten.

“Not a bit,” said the Princess. “It wasn’t even a likeness. And where are the Comets?”

There wasn’t a sign of one left. And that was a sign that every one else had better be starting!