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.

“Now stop; from here,” said Phyllisy, “shut your eyes and we’ll lead you so you won’t see too soon.”

So the Princess shut her eyes, and Pat and Phyllisy led her and the Kitten went ahead over the lawn until they said, “Now, open!”

Directly before them was the great wicker chair from the piazza, sitting under a tree. But nobody would have known it was that chair at all—so trimmed and flowery.

There were pink and purple and white ones from the garden, and tall plumes of small feathery ones, that were wild ones, nodding on the back, and all lovely.

“Do you notice what they are?” asked Phyllisy. “We wouldn’t have any other kind.”

“Do you know why we had that kind?” asked Pat.

“They’re stars!” cried the Kitten.

“Because you said ‘asters’ meant stars,” said Phyllisy.

“And it’s Cassiopeia’s!—For you!” they all finished. “Do you like it?”

And the Princess reached around and gathered them all into one four-sided hug, because how she loved it she couldn’t otherwise tell. And Cassiopeia’s never had a quarter so many stars. “We didn’t leave one in the garden,—large enough to pick,” said Pat.

“That’s where you’re going to sit to tell the story,” said the Kitten.

“And when you’re ready, we’ll lead you up to it, and make ‘salaams,’” said Miss Phyllisy.

When she had admired more particularly the way they had done it, she was ready, and they went off to the next tree to come back properly, Pat and Miss Phyllisy leading the Princess, and the Kitten holding up her gown behind.

Then the Princess turned around and stood in front of the chair, and the Others stood facing her in a row.

“Salaam alekÛm,” said the Princess, bowing very low and saluting with her down-dropped hand from her feet, to her heart, to her forehead, in two scallops.

“AlekÛm essalaam,” replied the Others, saluting the same to her.

And to the Princess and Miss Phyllisy and the Kitten it was a kind of game they played, but it was not play at all to Pat. Even the little children said, “My compliments to you,” like that, where she came from.

“This story begins with Perseus and Andromeda sitting in a favorite place of theirs, where three tall poplars grow on the bank of the Starland River,” the Princess announced when she had taken her seat.

“The three sisters that were changed into them?” asked Phyllisy.

The Princess nodded. “Must have been.”

“Is it a real river?” asked Pat. “Like any river?”

“Like all the most beautiful rivers in the world in one, only changed into star-meanings—fireflies winking among the reeds, and fairy trees along the banks, with strange glowing fruit and blossoms on their shadowy branches. The poplars carry theirs proudly on their tops, like a crown.”

“It’s something Beyond, isn’t it, Dearie?—to understand just what it’s like,” suggested Phyllisy, “you have to know it inside, and stop.”

“That’s the only way,” said the Princess. “It’s gone in the telling—like fairy gold when you touch it. But the river was there in Starland, and there were Perseus and Andromeda having a cosy talk.

“‘What do you suppose ails Little Bear, to make him act so?’ said she.

“‘How does he act?’ asked Perseus.

“‘I don’t see how you could have helped noticing him. It’s ever since my birthday. He hops when he walks, and looks so important; and lately he has taken to going off by himself—nobody knows where. I believe he’s planning something.’

“‘Let’s watch him, and find out what it is.’

“‘Yes. That’s what I spoke about it for. But we mustn’t let him guess we are watching. It would spoil his fun.’

“‘Of course not,’ said Perseus.

“A few nights later, Perseus beckoned mysteriously to Andromeda. She was listening to old Aquarius. She often went to visit him, and it pleased him even more than it bored her, so she liked to do it.

“But when she saw Perseus, she made her escape as quickly as she could, and came to him.

“‘What is it?’ she whispered.

“‘Little Bear has just gone again. I saw him coming toward Orion’s garden. Orion was there, and Little Bear pretended he was going by—not anywhere in particular. Then Orion came out of the garden and went toward Sagittarius’ House, and Little Bear turned in, quick as a wink, and went through and on—down the Milky Way.’

“‘Come, quick!’ said Andromeda. ‘Are you sure you know which way he went?’

“‘Yes. We’ll find him easily enough.’

“Orion had come back to his garden, but they were in such haste they didn’t even see that he was there. He watched them whisk through, and as they were going out at the farther side, he called to them: ‘Did you come to see me?’

“‘No,’ answered Perseus. ‘What makes you think we did?’

“‘Because you are in my garden.’

“‘We aren’t now,’ said Andromeda over her shoulder—pushing Perseus ahead of her. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

“‘No. Only you might say good-evening.’

“‘We do,’ she called. ‘But we can’t stop now.’

“So she and Perseus ran on, and before long they caught sight of Little Bear. They crept cautiously nearer, where they could watch him unseen. He was hunting for something.

“‘What do you suppose it is?’ whispered Andromeda.

“‘I can’t make out—wait—there! What’s that he’s found?’

“‘It’s a meteor bush,’ said she.

“Little Bear stopped by the bush—looked at it—looked around him; then he trotted on—hunting for something.

“They watched him find another bush—and another; and each time look back and forth. It was very mysterious.

“‘He is fixing the places in his mind, so that he can come back to them again!’ exclaimed Andromeda.

“‘That’s it,’ agreed Perseus. ‘I wonder what for.’

“‘We’ll find out.—Be careful! He’s coming home.’

“They kept close until Little Bear had trotted by them and was out of sight. Then they went themselves to examine the bushes. But that didn’t help them to understand. They were the ordinary kind of wild meteors that never grow very large; and they were still quite green.

“So they gave up puzzling about it, and went back to be civil to Orion. But when he wanted to know why they were in such a hurry, they were so mysterious he thought they had a secret; and he never guessed that the secret was Little Bear’s, and one reason why they wouldn’t tell was because they didn’t know it themselves!

“They began to think they never were going to know, for Little Bear didn’t go off again and gave them no chance to find out.”

“I thought I knew, once,” said Miss Phyllisy. “But I don’t know so well now. Can you guess, Pat?”

Pat shook her head. “No. But she’ll tell us.” And the Princess went on to tell them, in her own way:—

“Cepheus awoke one night, the first of the Star People. As he turned his head quickly, something bobbed against his forehead; and he could see—out of the tail of his eye—something dangling that moved when he did. He took off his crown and looked at it. There was a rather wilted green meteor tucked into it. He knew he didn’t put it there himself, but he didn’t take it out, and while he was thinking about it, Draco woke.

“He gave his wings a flap to see that the joints worked right, and something fell out of the fold of one of them. What should it be but a little green meteor with a very short stem!

“‘That’th funny,’ he said. Then he stuck it on one of the sharp prongs of his wing, and came over to Cepheus.

“‘Thee what I’ve got,’ he said.

“‘So have I,’ said Cepheus. ‘Where did they come from?’

“‘Maybe it’th a joke. Do you thuppoth any one elth hath them?—I’m going to look.’

“‘Cathiopeia hath!’ he called, in a whisper. ‘Right on the arm of her chair bethide her.’

“Cepheus was perfectly willing to have some one else do the running about; so he waited, and in a few minutes Draco came back to him.

“‘Every thingle perthon around here hath one,’ he said. ‘Herculeth’ ith thtuck into the crook of hith thumb where he’th holding hith club; and Pertheuth’ hath two thnakes twithted around it on hith Gorgon’th head.’

“But the time was gone by to discuss it quietly, for Cassiopeia was awake. By chance, her meteor was the first thing her eye rested upon.

“‘What is that?’ she said to herself, and picked it up. ‘I’d like to know where that came from. See here!’ she called to Cepheus, and her voice began to sound excited. ‘Look at that!’

“He came toward her, and Draco followed him. ‘What is it?’ he asked, pretending not to know.”

“To be funny?” asked Pat.

“Yes. Cepheus was a bit of a wag in his way. ‘Can’t you see?’ Cassiopeia asked impatiently. ‘A little wilted green meteor!’

“‘What of it? It won’t hurt you.’

“‘Of course it won’t! But how did it come here?’

“‘You must have put it there yourself, to decorate.’

“‘Now you know better. Wouldn’t I know it if—Why! You’ve got one yourself!’ she almost shrieked.

“‘Have I?’ asked Cepheus, innocently.

“‘There—in your crown!’ and she pointed to it. And Draco could not keep still another second.

“‘We’ve all got them!’ he cried. Then Cassiopeia knew they had been pretending—to make sport of her; and that was the time everybody else had to wake up!”

“It was Little Bear put them,” said the Kitten.

“That was the very person. And Andromeda guessed it at once. But even she couldn’t guess why. So she chose to wait a little before she spoke. Perseus must have forgotten, or it took him longer to wake up; but suddenly it occurred to him too. Andromeda pulled his elbow just as the word was at his lips. ‘Don’t say anything,’ she whispered. ‘Look at Little Bear!’

“Perseus looked; and it was hard not to laugh. Little Bear did laugh—in his own way. He twinkled! He was close by Cassiopeia’s chair, and fairly bursting with importance and excitement, but he was so little they quite overlooked him.

“Cassiopeia went straight on talking.

“‘I want to understand it,’ she said. ‘It seems as if it must mean something, and I can’t see one bit of sense in it,—just little green meteors that won’t go off. What are they for?’

“‘Little Bear knows,’ said Andromeda, quickly. She was afraid his feelings would be hurt to hear his meteors spoken of disrespectfully.

“‘Little Bear!’ cried Cassiopeia; and the Star People fell back in a circle and left him in the centre, the twinkles running over his fur as he laughed inside and shook with excitement.

“‘Little Bear,’ said Cassiopeia, ‘did you do it?’

“Little Bear’s eyes danced with delight; then he buried his nose in Cassiopeia’s dress.

“‘Of course he did,’ said Perseus. ‘We saw him hunting for them.’

“‘But what is it for?’ she insisted.

“‘I know—I know!’ cried Draco. ‘Don’t you know what night thith ith? It’th the night Little Bear got hith Thtar!’

“‘And he means it instead of a birthday!’ cried Cassiopeia. ‘Don’t you remember? We said we’d keep it if we knew when it was.’

“Andromeda was on her knees beside Little Bear, her arms around him, when Orion and the Pleiades girls arrived—each with a little green meteor—to know what it meant. Then how they did chatter!—a regular Star People’s chorus.

“‘Now, wasn’t that the cleverest Little Bear you ever heard of?’ said Maia. ‘Just think of his picking them all with his little nose, for us.’

“‘And tucking them in where we’d be sure to find them,’ said Alcyone.

“‘I wish I’d seen him traveling back and forth while we were asleep,’ said Orion. ‘How many times do you suppose he went through my garden?’

“‘If we knew how many he brought at onthe, we could tell,’ said Draco. ‘Jutht count how many there are of uth.’

“It seemed as if they never would make an end of petting Little Bear and praising his cleverness, and wondering what he thought they could do with those silly, useless little meteors; but they were careful not to let him hear them say they were of no use. But when they had said it all again and again, Merope thought it was time to do something better.

“‘What shall we do for the party?’ she asked.

“They were troubled then; they would have liked to do something very particular, and it was hard to think of anything without taking time to plan. Cassiopeia advised them to put it off, but—to their astonishment—Hercules objected. He wouldn’t listen to any such word.

“‘We aren’t going to do anything of the kind,’ he said. ‘After that Little Bear has worked like that, and given something to every one of us, he’s going to have his party the same night, and not be kept waiting.’

“‘Very well,’ said Orion. ‘You plan it.’

“‘I will. Maybe it won’t be much; but it’ll be now.’

“‘It’s a surprise party, to have you plan it,’ suggested Andromeda. ‘And they’re always fun.’

“‘What shall we do?’ asked Electra.

“‘We’ll go to the Ship,’ announced Hercules, ‘and Little Bear shall be Captain. I guess we can have a pretty good party, if we haven’t been thinking about it.’

“The Star-Ship was across the river; and Hercules often went there, because it reminded him of a voyage he had taken before he was a Star Person, but they seldom went there together. So, only to go was a frolic.”

“Did they go in a procession?” asked the Kitten.

“Yes, just as they did on birthdays, and explained to the Zodiac People how they were celebrating because Little Bear had his Star. He marched at the head, and you can fancy whether he felt proud. They pretended they were a party of adventurers setting out on a cruise, and they took Castor and Pollux along with them.

“They crossed the river by the tall poplar trees and came to the splendid Ship. The stern went up high in a beautiful quirl, and the figure on the prow was the head of a woman.”

“That’s like the Jane Ellen,” said Phyllisy.

“Yes, but the ships were very different. This was the good ship Argo: Captain Little Bear. And they made a wonderful voyage, because they were all good sailors on the Sea of Make-Believe. There were storms and pirates; and they stopped at a cannibal island, off the coast of Borneo, rescued a captive damsel, who was just about to be eaten, and restored her to her parents in Scotland in three shakes of Little Bear’s tail. There never was a captain like him, nor such a happy Little Bear. And when they were tired of thrilling adventures, the Pleiades girls danced, and Castor and Pollux sang songs for them—while the Ship took care of herself.

“On shipboard, when the sea is smooth is a proper time to spin yarns; so, at the end of one of the dances, Maia said: ‘Now somebody must tell a story.’

“‘Hercules,’ said Andromeda. ‘This is his party.’

“‘His surprise party,’ corrected Orion. And they never were more surprised than to hear him say:—

“‘I will. What about?’

“‘Bears,’ said Andromeda. ‘Because it’s for Little Bear.’

“‘All right,’ agreed Hercules. ‘I’d just as soon have it that as anything.’

“They settled themselves around him to hear the story. ‘Now go on—about the bears,’ said Andromeda, giving Little Bear a squeeze.

“‘Before there were any Star People in the Sky, it was full of bears,’ began Hercules.

“‘Little Bears?’ asked Orion.

“‘No. Great, big, horrible bears.’

“‘Ath big ath Major?’ asked Draco.

“‘Bigger—twice over; and bad. They’d go roarin’ and fightin’ around, and they’d eat up a girl—like Taygeta, here—as quick as they’d look at her; but there weren’t any girls here to eat.’

“‘Were they polar bears?’ asked Perseus.

“‘No. They were—were—China bears. The worst kind there is. There weren’t any girls then, nor any Star People. There were just bears, and not so many stars as there are now. There were just exactly one thousand; but there were meteors—and the bears liked ’em better than anything.’ (Little Bear gave a shiver of joy, and Hercules went on.) ‘The meteors were big, too, bigger than any you ever saw. When they were ripe, they were bigger than a bear’s head; but sometimes they wouldn’t go off—and that’s what made the bears do what they did.’

“‘What did they do?’ asked Perseus.

“‘That’s what I’m telling you,’ said Hercules.

“‘S—sh!’ said Cassiopeia. ‘Don’t interrupt. When didn’t they go off?’

“‘For the biggest bear’s party. There was going to be a party, and the bears all came; and not one of them would go off.’

“‘The bearth?’ asked Draco.

“‘S—sh!’ said Cassiopeia. ‘The meteors, of course.’

“‘It thounded ath if he meant the bearth,’ explained Draco; but Hercules went on, undisturbed. It was remarkable how he could talk, now he was started. He looked right at Little Bear while he told his story, and Little Bear looked back at him in perfect delight.

“‘There wouldn’t one of ’em go off,’ he repeated, ‘and that made the great big horrible bears madder than hornets—and they went tearin’ around, and they would have smashed all the meteors and eaten each other up; but there was one bear that was a funny fellow, and he used to make ’em laugh. And they liked that sometimes, when they were tired of fightin’.

“‘So this bear said to the others: “I’ve thought of something. Let’s have some fun. I know what to do with these meteors.”’

“‘What?’ asked Perseus.

“‘S—sh!’ said Cassiopeia; and ‘You wait,’ said Hercules.

“‘So the other bears said: “All right. You tell us what it is.” And the funny bear told ’em what to do, and they all went to work, and they gnawed out the inside of the meteors. And they were bigger than the bears’ heads—so their heads went inside; and they gnawed ’em out until there wasn’t anything left but the thin shell; and they gnawed holes through that in places, besides—just the way the funny bear told ’em to. And it was a cloudy night, and those bears all worked like sixty, and before morning they had just a thousand meteors all gnawed out.

“‘The next night began by being cloudy too; but about two hours after dark, it all cleared off. The clouds rolled up from one side, all together, like a curtain in front of a tableau. And the first man that looked up at the sky fell right down in a fit, so everybody around had to attend to him. But when he began to come out of it, the rest of them looked up—just to see what the weather was; and every one of ’em yelled right out!’

“Hercules stopped and looked around at his audience. They were listening so breathlessly they couldn’t even ask questions, and he must have been proud of his success. He paused to enjoy it, until Cassiopeia said, ‘Oh, go on!’

“‘What do you suppose made ’em?’ he asked, looking at Little Bear,—‘made ’em yell, I mean. In that sky, there ought to have been just one thousand stars, spread around equally; instead of that, there were one thousand Chinamen’s heads, grinnin’ at ’em, over each other’s shoulders, all on one half of the sky.’ (‘Oh!’ gasped the Star People.) ‘Those horrible bears had popped one star inside of each of those gnawed-out meteors, and arranged ’em like that.’”

(“Like the heads on the Chinese plates,” whispered Phyllisy, and the Princess twinkled at her with her eyes.)

“‘Made jack-o’ lanterns of them,’ said Cepheus.

“‘Yes,’said Hercules. ‘One thousand jack-o’lanterns, because that funny bear said it would be a joke.’

“‘I should think it was,’ said Orion.

“‘Well, it wasn’t,’ said Hercules. ‘At least, it was the poorest joke those bears ever tried. It did for them! Of course, people couldn’t stand such goings on with the stars. So they said: “Those bears have got to be cleared out; and we’ll have some Star People to take care of our sky.” So they picked out some people they knew were good at huntin’ wild animals and weren’t afraid; and Orion and Perseus and I—and some more of us—came first; and we just cleared out those horrible bears that weren’t fit to be here, and made this the right kind of a Starland for us all to live in.’

“‘Did you drive them, every one, out?’ asked Alcyone.

“‘Yes,’ said Hercules. ‘At least—almost; but there was just one little bit of a bear that didn’t seem at all like the others,’—Little Bear wriggled with delight—‘and Orion said to me, “I guess we’ll keep this little chap. He seems a pretty good kind of a bear.” And I said, “All right. We’ll try him; but if he goes to cuttin’ up—out he’ll go, after the others!”’

“‘But he didn’t!’ said Andromeda, squeezing him, ‘and we couldn’t live without him! Is one single bit of that story true?’

“‘There’s Little Bear, to prove it,’ said Orion. And it was not fair to ask; for it was an absorbing story while it lasted, and that’s more than can be said for a great many stories,” finished the Princess.

“Not yours, Dearie,” said Miss Phyllisy. “Yours are always as good as that—and better.”

“They interrupt just like us, don’t they?” asked Pat.

“Just as we’re interrupting now,” said Phyllisy. “What came next, Dearie?”

She was looking off, over their heads, at the sky beyond the treetops; she looked back quickly, smiling at the Others. “Next, Miss Phyllisy? Not very much. When the laughter and talk about the story had died away, every one sat quiet, a little tired and ready to be serious—and they fell to talking about the Ship.

“‘Isn’t she beautiful?’ said Celeno. ‘Wouldn’t you love to see her sailing?’

“‘We shall, some time,’ said Orion.

“‘Do you really believe it?’ asked Maia.

“‘Surely,’ said Castor. ‘She’s lighter now than she used to be.’

“‘A good deal,’ agreed Hercules. ‘I measure every once in a while, and she keeps going up—every year a little.’

“‘Sing the song about it, Castor,’ said Andromeda. But he didn’t, because Draco exclaimed suddenly: ‘It’th going to clear!’

“They had forgotten all about the weather!

“‘Goodness!’ cried Cassiopeia. ‘I do believe it is! And we’ve all that way to go! Come this second, or we’ll be caught in it!’

“And, just as we’re going to scurry in before that big black cloud catches us, those careless Star People had to scamper, laughing all the way, back to their places, to be there before the clouds drifted away. They were lucky that it cleared so late. All they lost of the party was Castor’s song about the ship. And they knew it as well as he did.”

“But we don’t know it,” said Phyllisy.

Pat twisted her eyebrow and glanced up for an instant. “If we go now, we can’t scurry. It won’t come soon enough. You can tell it.”

The Kitten looked up, too, weatherwise. Then she folded her hands very comfortably in her lap. “It truly won’t,” she said. And the Princess believed her, and leaned back once more in the flowery chair.

“I’d like to sing it to you,” she said, “because it’s such a pretty song, and it explains what they meant by the Ship’s growing lighter.”

The wind of the shower stirred the plumes of asters behind the Princess’s head while she sang; but even when the song was ended they weren’t obliged to scurry. So they waited a little longer for an excuse to scamper, because they wanted to.

THE SONG OF THE SHIP