the Kitten sang, over and over, making different tunes each time. She sang it softly, to herself, but it was loud enough to be heard.

“Dear-my-soul!” said the Princess. “Whatever will happen when you’re a seven-year-longlegs, ’stead of six? Skeeters, you know.”

The Kitten stopped singing and rubbed her leg where there were lumpy spots above her socks.

“She’ll have stockings when they get too long,” said Pat.

“And the next thing we know, she’ll begin to be a Cat! Why don’t you have birthdays like the Star People’s?”

“What kind?” asked the Kitten.

“Steady and reliable,” said the Princess. “Everybody is exactly the right age to begin, and then they never grow any older.”

“But they are different ages,” Pat objected.

“The right age for them,” the Princess explained. “Haven’t you noticed that they were?”

The Others thought about it for a minute, and decided that they couldn’t very well be different.

“But if they are always going along the same, perhaps they wouldn’t notice their birthdays,” said Phyllisy.

“Indeed, they would,” said the Princess, earnestly. “They’re particularly good about remembering dates and anniversaries and times of the year. And they’d never think of letting a birthday go by without noticing it.”

“Would they have a party?” asked the Kitten.

“They do usually. Do you think it would help you along a little through one of those nine days, to hear about one of them?”

And the Kitten seemed to think it would.

“Whose birthday is it going to be?” asked Pat.

“Andromeda’s, the same year that the Sailor’s Star was stolen; and Orion gave the party. You remember the young meteors that he had planted were just coming up in his garden when Cassiopeia came to tell him what a misfortune had happened? All those same young plants had kept on growing and growing, unusually well, and Orion was as proud of them as a comet with two tails. They promised to be ripe just in time for Andromeda’s birthday, and he said he would like to give the party.”

“To eat them?” asked Pat.

“Never!” said the Princess. “I thought you knew about meteors: when they are exactly ripe you give them a bit of a pinch. Pop! goes a beautiful starlet with a trail of gold-dust behind it.”

“Fireworks,” said the Kitten.

“That’s the way a balsam seed pops,” said Phyllisy.

“Yes, it reminds me of it,” agreed the Princess. “When they are ripe one has to be very careful not to hit them, or they go off too soon. Orion wouldn’t even pick off a leaf or pull up a weed, he was being so careful to save every one for the birthday celebration; and how he did have to watch the dogs, to keep them out!

“The night before, it was partly cloudy, and Orion almost drove Cassiopeia wild, dodging about behind the drifting clouds, making his last arrangements. Little Bear, too. It seemed as if he were possessed, he who was always so quiet and steady—‘The best Little Bear that ever happened!’ Andromeda used to say, when she gave him a bear-hug, and then rubbed his soft fur the wrong way, from his tail clear down his nose, to feel the tingles and see the sparks fly. But no sooner had they begun to talk about her birthday than he began to be excited; and this last night it seemed as if he could not keep still. Whenever a cloud lay so that he could, he would go clear to the edge of it to watch Orion. Once, Cassiopeia could scarcely believe her eyes: there was Orion, talking to Lady Moon behind the clouds; then she saw Little Bear crowding in between them, looking up at them eagerly. Orion was too much engrossed to notice him, but Cassiopeia called at the top of her voice (and it was a very high top), ‘Come here this minute, Little Bear! I should think you were crazy!’

“He heard her, and came prancing back, zigzag, as fast as he could dodge from cloud to cloud. When he was back in his place, barely in the nick of time, his eyes almost twinkled out of his head, and his fur shone so that Cassiopeia could hardly see his stars. She couldn’t help laughing, though she was annoyed. It was bad enough for Orion to dodge around like that; but his legs were so long he could get back to his place always before the clouds floated off.

“The next night no one could have asked for better star-weather, just plain clouds, not a jumpy kind to keep them wondering every half-hour what it was going to do.

“A little before midnight the Star People began to come to the party. Orion was the first to arrive, then Hercules and Draco.”

“Not Little Bear?” asked the Kitten.

“He was there without arriving—Andromeda and Cepheus and Cassiopeia and Perseus and Little Bear. Very soon there was such a noise and chattering down the Sky that one might have thought a whole flock of magpies was coming: but Orion and Draco and Cassiopeia knew better, and magpies don’t squeal and giggle quite like that.

“‘Jutht hear thothe Pleiadeth girlth,’ said Draco. ‘I don’t thee how any one can be tho thilly.’

“‘That’s because you never were a girl,’ said Cepheus. At that, Andromeda began to giggle too; and the more she tried to stop, the harder she giggled.

“‘Now, what’th the matter with her?’ asked Draco.

“And then Andromeda squealed, and laughed so she choked, and Perseus had to thump her on the back, while she gasped: ‘To think of Draco’s being a g-gu-girl!—Oh!’

“‘She’s one, all right,’ remarked Orion, ‘and here are the others.’

“Maybe they were silly, but the seven Misses Pleiades certainly were pretty to look at as they came in sight. Their gowns were of thin golden gauze, with a multitude of tiny stars woven into the underdress; their interlacing beams made a pattern, like gold embroidery, and they shimmered faintly through the mist-like tissue that veiled them.

“They wore no other stars but one above the forehead. The stars of six of the sisters were very brilliant, but the seventh was puzzling. When one gave a quick glance and looked away one could see the star quite plainly; but when one looked directly at her it was gone! It was like the place where a star had been. This sister’s name was Merope, and her eyes were so sweet and gentle that the people who loved her never missed the star from her soft brown hair.

“The tallest of the sisters, whose name was Maia, came ahead (as much as any one could be ahead where they all walked in a bunch!), and she called to Orion: ‘Oh, weren’t you mean! Why didn’t you wait for us?’

“‘Didn’t you hear us calling you?’ cried Taygeta.

“‘We thought we’d be late,’ said Electra (no one thought of waiting for an answer), ‘Taygeta kept us waiting so.’

“‘I never!’ said Taygeta. ‘It was Alcyone!’ Then they all looked at each other and giggled again, and Andromeda giggled with them, where she and Merope stood with their arms around each other’s waists. It was a giggling match, and Cepheus and Cassiopeia and Orion and Hercules and Perseus and Draco and Castor and Pollux—”

“The Zodiacs?” asked Phyllisy.

“Yes, the Gemini Brothers.”

“Did Sol let them?” asked Pat.

“Of course, for a party. They came just after the Pleiades girls. They all looked at the gigglers, and they smiled because they were young and pretty, and they seemed to know what they were laughing at, but the others couldn’t guess what it was, to save them!”

“Weren’t they silly?” said Pat. “But we do it, too.”

“And quite big girls—much bigger than we,” added Phyllisy.

“Even worse, Miss Phyllisy. I’ve noticed it,” said the Princess.

“Finally Cepheus said: ‘You might as well go home, Orion. These girls don’t want a party to-night.’

“‘Oh, yes, we do!’ they cried. ‘Only Taygeta—’ Then they were off again.

“‘Come, come!’ said Cassiopeia. ‘Just pretend you have a little sense!’

“‘Draco has!’ cried Andromeda. ‘He never was a girl!’

“Then everybody laughed together—Draco, and all; and when they were quieted down they were ready to begin the party.

“Andromeda and Perseus took Little Bear and went off a little way, while Orion placed the other Star People in two lines that led up to Cassiopeia’s Chair. She and Cepheus stood at the head of the lines, on either side of the chair. And then they began to sing Andromeda’s Birthday Song:—

“As the Star People sang, Perseus led Andromeda slowly up to them. Little Bear walked ahead; and he was so proud and, at the same time, so excited, that he hardly knew whether he wanted to walk in a very dignified way, or to prance and dance. The consequence was, he did both. Every few steps, he made a funny little skip; then he was so embarrassed to think he had done it that he’d rub his paw over his nose, and almost tip over, because he was walking along all the time.

“How they did laugh at him! all but Andromeda; she looked very serious and grave, because it was a Ceremony. As she walked, with her hand in Perseus’, between her friends to the chair where her father and mother stood waiting for her, she was so sweet and modest and stately—like a little queen—that no one who saw her could have helped loving her.

“There was no doubt how Cepheus and Cassiopeia felt about it, when she stopped before them, and Perseus and Little Bear stepped back; then she clasped her hands and recited, in her clear, fresh voice, her little verse:—

“A father-and-mother kiss on one’s birthday isn’t the gayest part of it, but we know it’s the best—don’t we, Kitten?—and Andromeda is the only Star Person who can have it. That is one reason why they love to keep her birthday; it can be so complete.

“Cassiopeia and Cepheus placed Andromeda in the great chair, and the Star People came, one by one, and knelt and kissed her hand, then fastened a star-daisy in her hair—they kissed her pretty pink cheek too, when they had done it; but that was just love and extra, not part of the ceremony; so they made her a beautiful crown, and she looked more like a queen than ever.

“When this was over she stepped down from the chair and took Perseus’ hand, and, with Little Bear ahead once more, they went down the Sky. Orion followed with Maia; then Castor and Taygeta, and Pollux and Alcyone. Hercules took Merope, because she was so gentle and never laughed at him. That left three of the Pleiades girls,—Electra, Celeno, and Sterope,—but Draco said: ‘That’th all right. I gueth I can walk with three girlth. I’m long enough!’ How they squealed and giggled! But that was the way they arranged it; and Cepheus and Cassiopeia came at the end of the procession.”

“Where was it going?” asked Pat.

“First, they were going all around the Zodiac to carry greetings to the people who were shut up. They always did it on birthdays, and they liked that part, but it took a good while, and this time Orion was impatient to have it over. He wanted to have them come to his especial share of the party.

“And at last they came in sight of his garden; and Little Bear skipped the funniest prance yet, when he saw what was waiting for them. This was what Orion was talking about the night before, to Lady Moon.” The Princess stopped just long enough to let the Others wonder what it could be.——

“A moonbow,” began the Princess, and the Others said, “Oh-h!”

“A moonbow,” she repeated, “isn’t so gayly colored as a rainbow, but it is shinier, and the most delightful thing you can imagine, to sit on, to see a meteor party. And kind Lady Moon stood with her lantern behind the edge of a cloud, so that the light shouldn’t interfere with the meteors, and held the bow steady, exactly in the best place.

“Cassiopeia declared she never could walk up; but she did—to the top, and sat down, with Little Bear cuddled up by her side with his toes straight out in front of him, between her and Andromeda. The others settled themselves on either side—all except Hercules and Draco. Draco would have taken too much room; and Hercules said:—

“‘I guess I’ll stay here. If that cloud should happen to flop around, that thing would go out like winkin’. I’ve seen ’em do it.’

“The Pleiades girls shrieked, and pretended they were coming down; and Draco said: ‘Never mind. I’ll catth you if it meltth.’

“‘You sit still,’ said Orion. ‘That moonbow is there to stay. Lady Moon and I know about that.’ But they never meant to get down; they only liked to make a fuss.—What is it, Kitten?” The Princess could tell, by the way she wriggled, when she wanted to know something.

She held her foot tight and rocked on her tucked-under leg when she asked it: “Was the Bee Baby too young to invite?”

“He would have been rather young for a party; but that wasn’t the reason he didn’t come. This birthday was before there was any Bee Baby. Little Bear was the only child they had.”

“All right,” said the Kitten. “Then what did they do?”

“At last, when they were all settled on the moonbow, Orion went into his garden. He stooped over one of the bushes, very carefully, lest he should rub against some of the others, and gave just the right kind of a pinch,—then, ‘Ah-h,’ said the Star People, as a lovely meteor flew up—up, over their heads, leaving a little trail of gold-dust behind it.

“That was the beginning; and Orion had good reason to be proud of his garden, for each meteor seemed lovelier than the last. They couldn’t decide whether the blue ones were prettier than the red or the green; or those that flew in straight lines than those that flew in spirals, they were all so beautiful.

“So it went on with hardly a mishap. Almost every meteor was just ripe, and Orion joggled only two so that they went off too soon; and he had come to the last two bushes. They stood side by side and were the finest in the garden; that was why he had saved them for the last.

“‘What are those dogs after?’ asked Cepheus. Orion had left them with Sagittarius, in the Zodiac, for fear of accidents.

“‘Where?’ called Orion, who couldn’t see from the garden, so well as they from the moonbow.

“‘There they come,’ said Cassiopeia, and they all craned their necks to see.

“‘Yap! yap!’ cried the dogs, and on they came; and just ahead of them—barely out of reach—was—? A comet, of course! What else could it be? It was only a scrap of a comet, with a stub of a tail, and how it was scrabbling along!

“It was heading straight by, when it saw Orion standing by his meteor bushes; and what did that bad, mischievous little comet do, but turn square off, with a flirt of his saucy tail under the dogs’ noses, and make directly for the two bushes! Straight after it came the dogs—and three Orions couldn’t have stopped them, they hated a comet so—and rip—smash! they ran right through the bushes, and thirty meteors at once flew up in one splendid blaze!

“Orion’s first thought was that it was a misfortune, and spoiled the end of his party. But Cassiopeia said, as soon as she could get her breath: ‘I think that was perfectly splendid! And you never would have had the heart to send them all off at once, like that!’

“‘Yes, indeed!’ said every one else; and Orion thought so, too.”

“I’d rather,” said Pat. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Much rather,” agreed the Princess. “Who would choose deliberately to have a party fizzle out, when it might go in

a blaze of glory? It was time to go home, anyway; so they climbed down from the moonbow.

“‘Oh, hasn’t this been the loveliest party we ever had?’ said Andromeda.

“‘Yes, it has,’ said Merope. ‘And I know who has enjoyed it more than anybody.’

“‘Who?’

“‘Little Bear.’

“Andromeda turned and dropped on her knees beside him to give him a hug, and his eyes twinkled like stars.

“‘Bless his little heart!’ said Cassiopeia. ‘I wish we could keep his birthday, but nobody knows when it is.’

“‘But we love him just the same!’ said Andromeda, rubbing his fur the wrong way and ending with a little shake of his nose—and the sparks flew as if he were a garden of meteors himself. And that was really the end of the party.”

The Kitten had something in her mind to do at once when she was perfectly sure the party was over. For that very minute when the Princess came to the end and Pat and Miss Phyllisy began to talk about it, she slipped her foot out from under her to have it ready to walk on. And the next minute, when Phyllisy looked around to see why the child wasn’t talking too, when it was rather especially her story, she was already starting away—and she didn’t care to tell what for.

Because they wondered, and they knew she wouldn’t mind—it was only that she didn’t like to explain—they followed after. When she was clear away, the Kitten began to run, so when they came to the place in the garden where the balsams grew all in a row, she was there and had found a ripe one.

There were very few flowers left, and a great many seedpods, and when they pinched them at the tip—or only barely touched them—they popped delightfully, but there didn’t any star shoot out.

But they pretended there did; and—as Miss Phyllisy remarked—you couldn’t see actual fireworks if you set them off with the sun shining like that.