he pleasure of your company to drink tea with the Princess,” it said. And the Others left all their occupations and came at once. She was expecting them, with the little tea-table set out and ready; but they might wash their hands in the Princess’s own bath-room, and have verbena water out of a tall bottle on them, if they liked; and they did—a great deal.
 
ANDROMEDA
 
 
“Poor Andromeda!” said the Princess. “She must have wished she had been born with piggy eyes and a turned-up nose when she found what came of her beauty. Here she is: chained to the rock, waiting for the sea monster to come and devour her, but still lovely.”
 
“She isn’t chained now?” said Pat. “In the sky?”
 
“Dear me, no! Never, since Perseus happened along with Medusa’s head in his wallet, and turned the sea monster into a rock. But this is the way they stand to be looked at,—a tableau, with Perseus coming to the rescue, and Cassiopeia looking on, thinking what a lucky escape they had, and that her child is truly much lovelier than any Nymph whatever. But she isn’t talking about it any more.”
 
“Perhaps she would have thought so, just the same, if Andromeda had looked piggy,” observed Phyllisy.
 
“Very true, Madam Owl,” agreed the Princess. “But whether or no, she certainly has four undeniably beautiful stars to wear—if anybody will find them for her.”
99The “tea” was in a high, cool, clinking pitcher of strange colored glass that let the light shine through, and it was golden and yet pinky, and tasted of fruits, but no kind any one could say. But they could have it in a teacup if they would rather. (The teapot was there too, by courtesy, to look on.) The Princess sat beside the table to pour it, with wide lace hanging over her arms, and coming out from under, but not catching when she handled the fragile cups, because she knew how—very deftly.
Pat chose a yellow cup, with butterflies and tiny roses, and Miss Phyllisy took one, white and very thin, with a dragon coiled around it and a red curly handle; but the Kitten had hers in a tall glass like the pitcher, and so did the Princess. And there were delicious little cakes, the kind the Princess had, and never any one else. It was most refreshing and restful to hot little girls out of a garden.
At last they said, “No, thank you, really,” when she asked if they would have another cup, because the cups were so small. Then the Princess went over to a comfortable chair near the long window, and watched the Others wandering about the room. Outside it would still be hot in the garden; but in the Princess’s own room it was cool and shaded, with interesting things to see, that they loved because they had seen them before.
“Suppose there were an Indian Squaw (and there was),” said the Princess, “and she was weaving a beautiful basket.”
“Is it that basket?” asked Pat.
100“That very identical basket you’re going to hand me.”
So Pat brought it to the Princess, and Phyllisy and the Kitten came too. “And suppose, when she came near the top, she wove in this row of brown points like the teeth of a saw”—their heads were close together, following the Princess’s finger with their eyes. “Wouldn’t any one know that she meant them for mountains?”
“Did she?” asked Phyllisy.
“She did,” said the Princess.
“Oh-h,” said the Others.
“Or,” said the Princess, “suppose there were an Ancient Egyptian—the Ancientest kind—who lived on the edge of a flat desert; and could never—alive or dead—go to a mountain without crossing miles of blazing sand. If he happened, at the same time, to be a King (and he did), with thousands of slaves to work for him, he might set them to work to build him a mountain. And what shape would it be when it was done?”
“What?” asked the Kitten.
“I know what I think,” said Phyllisy, “maybe.”
“Say it, Miss Phyllisy. I think so, too.”
“A pyramid?”
“Would it?” asked Pat.
101“What shape would it?” repeated the Kitten.
The Princess didn’t answer directly. “Let’s just once more suppose. Suppose there were a little girl, who wanted to draw the picture of a mountain. (And I saw the picture.)”—“M-m-mm” purred the Kitten.—“Her pencil went up one side—so,” the Princess slanted up with her finger, and the Kitten did the same with hers, “and down the other,”—their fingers slid down again—“like a letter ‘A,’ very much spread out and without any cross-piece. Now: could there well be three kinds of people more different than an Indian Squaw, an Ancient Egyptian, and a Kitten—I mean a little girl? And yet they agree precisely about how a mountain ought to look. Doesn’t it seem as if they must be right?”
The Others thought it did—looking at the Pyramid picture over the glass cabinet. Then the Princess leaned forward, with the lace all falling away, and her voice grew more impressive:—
“There is Some One else who thinks just as they do; and she doesn’t stop with thinking, she takes the best of care that there shall be one perfect example of a truly symmetrical mountain.”
“Oh-h,” said Phyllisy. “Was that what it was all for? I thought it was just conversation.”
102“Not at all,” said the Princess. “It was designed to lead you gradually up to that especial mountain.”
“Are you going to tell us?” asked Pat.
“If you don’t think it will tire you.” She said it very politely, like a question. And they all shook their heads—one great, vigorous shake. So the Princess began to tell it:—
“Sometimes, on her voyages, the Jane Ellen passes near a coast where there is a long line of white surf edging the blue water; then just as long a line of white sand; and back of both, the level forest extending back to the line of the coast mountains. And back of this coast range—so far away that it looks as if it were painted flat on the pale blue sky, with paint only a shade darker—rises the great triangle that, Taffy says, is the most satisfactory mountain in the world.
“And that is Xyntli’s mountain.”
“Did Taffy see it?” asked Pat.
“He did,” said the Princess, “from the sea. He sometimes thought he would like to go inland and see what it was like, near at hand. But the Jane Ellen never stopped there—there was nothing to stop for—and he never went. And that’s all he and the Jane Ellen had to do with it.
103“If he had left the ship and gone ashore to climb to the top of the range of hills, he would have seen that they sloped down again; and far away, over miles of green, rolling country, the great cone of the mountain lifts its bare slope out of the forest. And on the southern side, almost at the top, his sailor eyes might have made out the hole (with the peak of the mountain, like a pointed hood, behind it) that leads down into the depths where Xyntli sleeps—long naps that keep her young and beautiful in spite of her age.
“No one can tell how beautiful she is, because she wraps herself in a veil when she looks out; but her splendid, fiery-gold hair streams out of it, and floats and sparkles in the wind when she stands on tiptoe inside, to look out and see that the mountain is just as she wants it to be,—an even slope from top to bottom; clean rocks, with no creeping green things and trees littering up its sides.
“It must be trying to her (and she is a nervous person, too) to lie down to peaceful slumber for a hundred years or more, leaving her mountain the pink of perfection; and to wake and look out—only to see that the waters that run down its sides have collected into streams, and dug irregular channels for themselves (like scratches on the mahogany 104table!), and to listen and hear the winds whispering in the leaves of the forest:—
Creeping, creeping,
Forward stealing—
Up the mountain
Follow, follow;
Tiny rootlets,
Thrusting, feeling
Every crevice
(S-s-ssh!),
Silence keeping—
In the hollow
Of her mountain
Xyntli’s sleeping!
Silence keeping—
Soft gray mosses
Cover rocks,
And, onward creeping,
Claim the mountain!
Forward leaping,
Winged seeds!
You’ll soon be peeping
O’er the rim,
Where, in the hollow
Of the mountain,
Xyntli’s sleeping.
—and then to see that the forest actually is marching up the sides of her own fortress! Wouldn’t that be discouraging?
105“But Xyntli is not discouraged. Not she! She calls up her fiery snakes from below, and sends them crawling down the sides of the mountain, while she stands on the top, waving her wonderful smoky veil, and urging them on.
“Down they glide,—filling up the channels the streams have dug, hissing with hatred as they swallow the streams themselves, and devouring the advancing forest.
“At last the mountain stands once more, smooth and polished—the green army driven back to the valley.
“Then Xyntli is satisfied, and cuddles down in her hollow for another nap.
“It was during one of these naps—after it had lasted a very long time—that the Bee Baby was born.
“Year after year, the forest had marched steadily on; so the people who lived in the valley seldom thought how the snakes had come down and driven it back in the old days. The very old people occasionally shook their heads, and said: ‘When Xyntli wakens she will have her own.’ But the young people didn’t listen, and followed the forest, building their curious houses fairly upon the slope of the mountain.
“They were very strange houses indeed—a good deal like willow bird-cages. In a snowstorm they would have 106been about as useful for a house as a mosquito net for an overcoat. But there came never a snowstorm; and the house where the Bee Baby lived was built of slender branches of trees, set in the ground, side by side, and interwoven with palm-fibre—the light glimmered through it in little flecks. The roof went up to a point in the middle and sloped four ways. That was woven even closer, of the palm leaves, so the rain couldn’t come through. The house had only one room, and nearly the whole of one side was the doorway—with the roof extended over it a little way, like an awning. There was no floor but the earth, and no door. So, when the Bee Baby woke in the morning, all he had to do was to rub his big brown eyes with his little brown fists, and trot through the open doorway, to be in the warm sunshine, where there wasn’t a fence nor a bar between him and the whole enchanting world.
“There was no one to watch him very closely, either, because he had no mother. He did have a father; but he spent a great deal of his time driving a pair of drowsy oxen in a cart with two solid, wooden wheels. Such a queer cart!
“Of course his father knew that one of the brown babies that played and tumbled about in the village of 107bird-cage huts was his. But when babies wear only their own shining skins to cover them, it isn’t easy for a father who spends most of his time driving an ox-cart to pick out his particular baby.”
“Not any clothes—didn’t they wear?” asked Pat.
“Most of the little children didn’t. A few of them—who were very fashionable—wore one garment. It was a straight piece of cloth that covered their plump little bodies in front; the ends were gathered up in the back, and tied in a bow between the shoulders. It looked very stylish—but the Bee Baby was more comfortable. Stand up a minute, Kitten, and I’ll show you how it was.”
So the Kitten came and stood before her, and she showed them how the fashionable little children dressed, using a piece of Chinese embroidery for the straight piece of cloth. Then they settled down once more to listen.
“If an owl had looked through a chink in the wall, very early one morning, he might have seen the Bee Baby’s family—his aunts and his grandmother and four or five brown babies and children—all asleep on flat straw mats on the ground. But nobody but an owl could have counted exactly how many there were, it was still so dark.
“Then the first sunbeam slipped in at a chink, and put its finger on one of the poles in the side of the hut. It 108felt its way slowly down, until it touched a small, dark heap at the foot of it.
“And that was the Bee Baby.
“He sat up on his mat and looked around him at the other heaps.
“Not one of them stirred; and that was pretty stupid.
“Then he saw something interesting; his own little foot with the sunbeam resting on it, as he sat with his toes pointing straight up at the roof. He looked at it for a moment, and frowned as if he were anxious. Then he leaned forward and felt of it.
“It was a perfectly good foot; and feet are made to be walked on; and it is much more amusing to be walking than sitting on a mat in a dusky hut like a bird-cage. That, probably, is the idea that came into the Bee Baby’s head when he found his foot was so satisfactory; and a big dimple came in his cheek, but he didn’t make any noise.
“To get up, he rolled over on to his face and planted his feet firmly, only when they were quite solid, lifting his hands from the ground. And there he was, all dressed and ready to go out. He trotted over to the doorway and stopped a minute, looking out.
“The hut stood on the edge of a grove of tall cocoanut trees. There were bananas growing among them; and vines 109with gorgeous orange and red flowers creeping everywhere. Black and spotted pigs ran grunting through the vines and about the huts of the little village; it all looked clean and fresh in the early sunlight. The Bee Baby’s was the last hut of the village, at the edge of the grove, that stretched on beyond it, up the slope of Xyntli’s mountain.
“When one is not much over two years old, one can’t think of everything, and the Bee Baby didn’t notice that which the older people had been watching for a month—Xyntli was awake!
“After a sleep of two hundred years—and more—one night she had stirred and turned herself, shaking her mountain and the village on its slope. The next morning a thin, gray streamer floated from the top of the cone; and the old people said: ‘Xyntli’s veil! Oh, when she sees—’ And they shook their heads.
“Since that day the veil had floated, sometimes like a broad banner, then again Xyntli drew it in until it was gathered down inside. But yet, she had not looked out and seen how the forests and streams were defacing her mountain.
“And the Bee Baby didn’t look up at the great blue triangle. The kitchen was at the right of the house; and he had a feeling that said: ‘Breakfast.’ So those good 110little feet carried him over to the big stone where the women ground corn to make the flat cakes that he liked to nibble with his brand-new teeth. The stone oven where they were baked was there too; and the Bee Baby found some cakes lying on the grinding-stone. He had to stand on his tiptoes and feel over the stone, to find them; but he knew where to feel, and where to find a banana, too. So why should he wake the cook?
“With the flat cakes in one hand and the bitten banana in the other, he set out, following the level sunbeams into the green grove. He knew just where he wanted to go, and trotted straight on until he came to an old tree.
“If it had been a tree that he was looking for, it wasn’t much to see. It hadn’t a green leaf on it, and only a few scraggly branches. But he was not a bird, nor a squirrel; he was a Bee Baby. And considered as a beehive, it left nothing to wish for. There was the fine hollow trunk to store the honey; and a round knot-hole near the ground, for the bees to pass in and out, all day long, in sunshiny weather. And that funny brown baby never seemed tired of watching them—hurrying off, and coming back dusty with pollen, and with masses of it in the pockets on their legs, or laden with clear, sweet honey. Sometimes a bee lit on his finger. Then the wise baby sat quite still, and 111never brushed it off; so he didn’t find out that it carried a needle in its tail—as sharp as its temper. (But he was careless about letting the dimple come in his cheek. It’s a wonder the bees didn’t fly in, it was so deep and red and sweet.)
“When the baby came to the tree this morning, even he could see that something was different. The bees were not going about the business of the day—gathering honey—in their usual orderly fashion. No, indeed! They were running in and out of the knot-hole, helter-skelter; and such a humming as there was inside the tree!
“He came close to the trunk to listen, and a gray cockatoo sat on a tree near by and watched. And it’s a pity there was no one else to see what a quaint little figure he was, with one arm clasping the tree-trunk, as far as it would go, with a cake still grasped in his chubby hand, and his ear pressed against the rough bark—listening—listening—
“‘Buzz-z-z-z,’ hummed the bees; and the baby listened, with lips apart,—serious and wondering.
“Then that soulless cockatoo ‘squawked’ as if it were the funniest thing in the world, and swung herself, head down, around the branch where she had been sitting; and then worked her way into the next tree, clutching the 112vines with beak or claw, squawking all the way. She had neither manners nor dignity; and she was a grandmother, too.
“Her noise startled the Bee Baby so he toppled over; but he didn’t mind, and sat where he fell, to finish his cake and to watch.
“The buzzing in the hive was louder now, and there were very few bees outside. Then—all at once—they began to come out in numbers, and flew wildly about before they collected on a low branch near by. You can’t imagine how many there were—all in a dark cluster clinging to the vine. The baby never had seen anything like it, and his eyes were round with amazement. He got up from the hummock, to see more plainly.
“Perhaps because he disturbed them, as he came near, the whole mass rose together in the air, and flew up a natural path through the forest. And straight after them went the Baby!
“But it was not a fair race; for they had wings to fly, and several thousand eyes apiece to see where they were going; and he had only his two small feet to carry him, and his one pair of eyes to watch the bees. So he couldn’t look where his feet were going; and the next thing that happened—he tripped and fell on his nose.
113“It didn’t hurt him, and he picked himself up; but the bees were gone, and he could only follow on in the direction they had flown.
“He was such a baby, it isn’t likely he even remembered what he was looking for; but there were other things to see beside bees; and a green forest, with birds and monkeys and all kinds of little living creatures in it, is a fine place to be in.
“So he strayed on, amusing himself in his baby way, until he had gone really a considerable distance from the village, and was on a ridge of high land that ran up the mountain.
“Suddenly, something was the matter with the ground, and try as he would, he couldn’t stand up on it—it was swaying—and the forest was full of strange noises; and a black cloud covered the sun so that it grew dark all in a moment. The great trees groaned and waved their branches, as if they too were trying to balance themselves on the rocking Earth. Those that were young and supple held their own; but a few that were old and dry fell crashing, and carried others down in their fall.
“But though the trees cried and shrieked in their distress and amazement,—and the monkeys and birds too,—the Bee Baby never made a sound. He lay pressed 114close against the ground in the awful darkness; as chickens cower when the mother hen sees the hawk’s shadow, and sounds her warning to them.
“He was like a little frightened animal, too, when the rocking stopped, and the forest gradually grew quiet around him; and he crept along the ground, through the green tangle, to where a tree had fallen against a cleft in the rocky ledge, carrying a mass of vines down with it, and making a sort of den or shelter.
“The brown baby crawled into the farthest corner, and huddled down close under the rock, to wait helplessly for whatever was to come.”
The Princess paused. “Poor little soul!” said Phyllisy. “Please go on, Dearie.” And after a moment, she began to speak again:—
“Of course you know—though the Bee Baby didn’t—what was making all this disturbance; and if he hadn’t left home so early that morning, before his people were awake, they wouldn’t have forgotten all about him. But when they were awake, they found enough to think of in watching Xyntli.
“There stood the giant cone of the mountain, with the thin gray streak of her veil floating from the top.
“It looked very peaceful.
115“Suddenly—without further warning—Xyntli stood, straight and tall, in the top of the mountain, borne up on the servant-winds that live with her inside!
“Her veil wrapped her from head to foot, and its loose folds were blown upward by the breath of the winds. Her hair streamed through its topmost folds like gleaming flames; and the blue flashes that shot forth from the veil might have been the anger that flared in her blue eyes when she saw the outside of her mountain!
“Now, for the snakes!
“She gave a strange, wailing cry—like the wind, or flames rushing up the black throat of the chimney—and down in the depths of the mountain her fiery serpents came writhing out of their caverns, obedient to her call. The blue cone and the whole countryside shuddered with their motion; and as their hot breath scorched the inside of the mountain, thick black smoke arose like thunderclouds, and blotted out the sun. Then the heads of the fiery monsters peered over the rim at the mountain’s top, and they came crawling, gliding down its sides.
“And the very fiercest, hungriest of them all was rushing straight to the village of bird-cage huts, nestling in the hollow upon the slope of the mountain!
“It was a splendid sight—the mighty cone, purple in 116the midday darkness, with the green forest at its base, and the serpents, like rivers of fire, pouring down its sides. Smoke and flame rose, streaming upward, where they passed.
“And in the midst of the murky clouds, on the mountain-top, stood Xyntli, beautiful exceedingly, in her iridescent, gray veil, with her glittering, red-gold hair. Swaying lightly on the shoulders of her servant-winds, waving her arms and crying, she urged on her fiery snakes, that were to restore her kingdom to her as she would have it—clean, smooth, unbroken;—the pattern of a perfect mountain!
“But the people in the village saw the terror, not the beauty; and they thought only of their flight from it.
“They huddled the babies and the old people who couldn’t walk and their few poor possessions onto the ox-carts. Some of them tried to drive the spotted pigs before them; and any one who has tried to drive one pig (a plain one at that) can imagine how much confusion it made when there were dozens and dozens. And it’s not to be wondered at, that the aunts and the grandmother didn’t count correctly. So they didn’t miss the Bee Baby until they were far away; and the body of Xyntli’s hideous snake lay stretched across the blackened hollow where the little huts had stood in the green grove.
 
THEY THOUGHT ONLY OF THEIR FLIGHT
117“There is a curious thing about a snake. It has a habit of slipping out of its skin, and squirming away, leaving the old one behind, looking quite like itself.
“Xyntli’s snakes were unusual in many ways; but in this they certainly did something very like the rest of their tribe. When they had gone down the mountains and filled up the hollows with their bodies, their fiery hearts seemed to die out of them where they lay. One might think they were asleep, or dead; but I believe it was only their cast-off skins they left behind, while the real snakes stole back into the mountain, to be ready when Xyntli wanted them again.”
“I believe it, too; that’s what they did,” said Pat.
“If they didn’t, they wouldn’t be there always, when she called,” agreed Phyllisy.
“It seems so to me,” said the Princess. Then she took up the story again: “At last Xyntli stopped her wild motion and looked down on her mountain.
“The snakes had done their work well this time. There were no hollows left, and no green thing but one slender spur of forest, like a finger pointing up the slope, and that was hardly worth noticing.
“The smoke was thin now, and blue. Xyntli stood, swaying softly on the mountain-top. Then she sank 118slowly, drawing her veil after her. Now she was nearly gone; now, only a gleam of her red hair flickered against the sky; now—she was quite gone—
“When—suddenly she shot up, straight, towering above the cone, and flung a long fold of her veil wide over the land; and from it fell a shower of fine powder, soft as snow, that filled all the cracks and crevices and covered the horrid bodies of the snakes, and choked every green thing left in its track.
“Then—as suddenly—Xyntli vanished! and in her hollow mountain, slept once more.”
The Princess’s voice died away in a hush that lasted a long moment, as if some one really were sleeping.
Then Pat drew a deep breath: “Well! I should say! For pitysakes! I hope she’s done mischief enough for once!”
“She didn’t mean it for mischief. She had to make the mountain clean, didn’t she, Dearie? She couldn’t help it if they were in the way,” said Miss Phyllisy, with the wise little mind the Princess loved in her, clear and fair and earnest.
“But she wouldn’t be sorry,” Pat insisted.
“No; she went straight off to sleep,” Phyllisy admitted. “And that poor little baby!—We’re ready to go on, Dearie, whenever you’re rested.”
119And after a few minutes the Princess was ready also.
“There isn’t much that goes on on Mother Earth that the Star People don’t know about,” she began, whisking them away to Starland without any warning. “On clear nights, when they are standing still to be looked at, they watch—and watch. And Old Sol keeps watch by day. So there is not much that escapes them: certainly not Xyntli and her naps, and particularly her wakings!
“She was a tantalizing person in this way: though they might look at her naps—that were nothing to see but a place!—as much and as long as they liked, no sooner was she fairly awake than the clouds would gather thick, and the Star People had to seize every chance to look through chinks. Any one who had a good sight had to tell it over to the others, again and again. But they did have glimpses, and Sol too; and after it was all over they could see what had been done. So they had a pretty clear idea of her and her actions.”
Pat nodded her head, as if she had, too; but she didn’t speak.
“When Xyntli vanished in her mountain the sky was full of heavy clouds; so when night came the Star People stationed themselves wherever there seemed the chance for a tiny gap, through which they might look.
120“Now, Old Sol dearly loved the Bee Baby; and he had told the Zodiac People all about the quaint little child who was so happy by himself, in the sunshine, watching the bees. So the Star People understood just what Andromeda meant when she exclaimed, from her chink in the cloud:—
“‘The Bee Baby is left all alone by himself in that strip of forest on the ridge!’
“‘Are you thure? I didn’t thee him,’ said Draco, at another chink.
“‘You’re always imagining things,’ said Orion.
“‘I didn’t imagine this,’ insisted Andromeda. ‘The light from Lady Moon’s lantern shone through for a moment, and I saw him plainly—standing in front of a dark hole in the rock. Then he ran back, as if he were frightened.’
“‘Well, I’d like to know what his people are made of!’ said Cassiopeia. ‘They don’t deserve to have a child, if they can’t take better care of him than that!’
“‘Maybe they aren’t so bad,’ said Hercules. ‘I don’t believe Xyntli asked ’em which way they’d rather be chased out. When they saw those snakes coming they hadn’t any time to go back for stray babies! I don’t mind snakes, myself, big or little, but I want ’em cold! They are, too—mostly.’
121“‘Too what?’ asked Perseus.
“‘Cold,’ answered Hercules; ‘toads, too.’
“‘I thought you said you’d rather have them cold?’
“‘I would. And they are—mostly.’
“‘Then why did you say they were too cold?’
“‘I didn’t. I want ’em that way. And they are, too.’
“‘But you’—
“‘There’s a conundrum about that,’ interrupted Orion. (He couldn’t stand it, to have them go on arguing.) ‘I’ve forgotten what it is; but the answer is: Because a hot snake is better than a cold hop.’
“‘Why! that isn’t it—at all!’ said Andromeda.
“‘I should think you were all cold snakes and toads yourselves!’ broke in Cassiopeia, indignantly. ‘Arguing like that, with that poor child all alone in the middle of desolation! What do you propose to do about it?’
“‘There isn’t anything we can do,’ said Cepheus. ‘It isn’t our place.’
“‘Xyntli is the one who ought to do something. She made all the trouble,’ said Andromeda.
“‘Don’t you be so silly,’ said Cassiopeia. ‘This is a serious matter.’
“‘I thouldn’t like her to bring up my child,’ said Draco. ‘The ’th too exthitable.’
122“‘We can decide about yours when you have one!’ said Cassiopeia. ‘Now, who is going after that baby? Because I think they’d better be starting.’
“‘What over the sun are you talking about?’ asked Orion. ‘Going where?’
“‘We are going to adopt that Bee Baby. If some one doesn’t start at once, I shall go myself!’
“‘Adopt the Bee Baby!’ cried every one in chorus. They were too much astounded to say anything original; they could only repeat her words—though they knew it was rude.
“‘That was what I said,’ said Cassiopeia.
“‘But you can’t,’ said Orion. ‘No one ever thought of doing such a thing. It isn’t the Rule of the Sky.’
“‘Do you know any Rule that says we can’t?’ asked Cassiopeia.
“‘No,’ answered Orion; and that disposed of him.
“‘How could you take care of him?’ asked Perseus. ‘He’d keep getting lost; and he mightn’t like it.’
“‘It’s a pity if I can’t take care of one small child, and make him happy!’ said Cassiopeia. ‘I’ll learn.’
“‘Wouldn’t he just love to watch Sol’s bees!’ said Andromeda. ‘It would be a good thing to have some one to watch them; there’s always such a fuss when they swarm.’
123“‘Yeth, indeed!’ said Draco. ‘Don’t you remember latht time?—when they got away when no one wath notithing, and every one thought they were a comet?’
“‘Yes,’ said Cassiopeia. ‘It might have made a great deal of trouble. I think we really need him. I’m going now. Is any one coming with me?’
“‘No!’ exclaimed Cepheus. ‘I forbid it! I am your husband, Cassiopeia; and I will be obeyed!’
“Every one looked at him—startled to hear him speak like that. He stood holding up his sceptre in a magnificent attitude, and looked absolutely majestic. Cassiopeia was too much astonished to speak for a moment, but Andromeda slipped her fingers into his and laid her cheek against his shoulder; and when he bent his head to listen to her pretty coaxing in his ear, his crown tilted a trifle, and he looked like his usual, cloudy-night self. So no one was surprised to hear him say:—
“‘Yes, I suppose so. But your mother needn’t go.’
“‘I’ll go,’ said some one who hadn’t spoken before.
“It was Lady Moon.”
(“Oh-h,” said the Others, softly, and very glad; and the Princess smiled back at them.)
“The moment she spoke, the Star People felt every perplexity smoothed away, and it all became simple and plain. 124There wasn’t the slightest reason in the Heavens, why they should not take that lonely little baby for their own, to care for and to love.
“The clouds in piled-up masses lay low on Xyntli’s mountain; and it was an easy matter for the Star People to follow Lady Moon down from level to level. When they reached the limit of the cloud-stairway, they could see once more; how right it was that they should wait—their blazing glory hidden—while Lady Moon, her lantern darkened, should slip unseen down the bare shoulder of the mountain, to the strip of forest, left like a dark finger pointing up the slope.
“Ah, but think of a helpless, frightened little child—only two years and a scrap over—alone in a dark cave in that awful desolation!
“How must he have felt—that little Bee Baby—when, suddenly, a soft light shone into the cave, and he looked into the face of the loveliest of ladies, who was holding her lantern so that it disclosed to her—huddled into the farthest corner of the cave—a small brown heap. Only the eyes, like a little frightened animal’s, looking out of it, showed that it was alive.
“And the baby?
 
HIS WONDERING EYES LOOKED FROM LADY MOON’S SHOULDER
125“When he looked into that pitying face, and saw the tender arms held out to him, his own went out in answer; and then he was held close—nestled like a young bird or a tired baby—as he was—in the shelter of that loving breast.
“Then, what baby king had ever such a royal progress as that brown little child?
“His wondering eyes looked from Lady Moon’s shoulder, as she carried him up the stately stairway of mass upon mass of cloud, whose lowest step was the mighty mountain, and whose highest led to the measureless Heavens! And grouped along its heights were the radiant Star People, whose splendors might have frightened him if their faces had not been so kind with loving welcome. All those of whom we have talked, and many more, assembled to welcome one little helpless child.
“It was worth it, to see his eyes shine and the happy dimple come in his cheek. He clasped one arm, tight, around Lady Moon’s neck, and stretched out the other to these new friends, without a trace of fear. Why should he be afraid? Hadn’t he loved the shining sun, and all beautiful things, his whole two years of life?
“So he listened to the song Lady Moon sang low to him; and as they passed along, the Star People caught the refrain, and took it up:—
126“The sorrow is over;
Thy Star life’s begun.
Hear the golden bees humming
For joy at thy coming,
Oh, little Bee Baby,
Dear child of the Sun!
“Listen!” said the Princess.
There was a sound, very small and clear and silvery:—One—two—three—four—and One more!
And that was a Bewitchment! Everybody must vanish at once!