So they came to the place where the Princess was. And when they looked down there were treetops— But that is not a proper beginning when nobody knows who they were or anything about it. There were four of them,—the Princess and three Others. What the Princess’s name was isn’t to be told, and she was not a real princess. But that made no difference to the Others. She was the most wonderful person they knew, and everything a princess should be, and they loved her loyally. The Others were called Prudence, Pat, and the Kitten; but the true name of each one of them was the true name of the Princess,—that isn’t to be told and doesn’t matter. Prudence was the oldest, and very wise. (That was why she was Prudence, but more often the Princess said, “Miss Phyllis-y.”) She had brown eyes, clear and steady, and short hair. There was a perky little lock on one side of the middle of her forehead that reminded the Princess of a question mark. She was small and looked years younger than she was, and that made her funny when she was so sagacious. Pat was the tallest and the most impatient. (So they called her “Patience”—because she wasn’t!—and shortened it to Pat.) She talked with her eyebrows; and sometimes they would fairly frighten you if you didn’t know she couldn’t do it! Her hair was braided and tied tight, but usually a good deal of it escaped and ruffled before it reached the braids. She was over nine and Miss Phyllisy was not far from twelve, and they considered the Kitten extremely young,—which the Kitten didn’t deny. She was young, and she had other kitten-tricks,—like coming and sitting on a person’s knee without being invited when she wanted to, and other times being very independent and going her own ways; and she made soft little songs for herself,—that didn’t begin or end any more than a real kitten’s,—and purring sounds instead of talking when she was pleased. But she could talk faster than countless kittens when there was any occasion for it. That is who they were. And any one can fancy how they were frisking about in the garden and out,—and the nearer it grew to bedtime, the farther they kept from the house; and how they trailed up the crooked path on the side of the hill,—the Kitten following along, making a song for herself,—and finally came to the farthest, high, wild lookout place, with a railing at the edge overlooking the dark treetops. And there they found the Princess watching pale little stars coming out in the light sky. The Kitten didn’t come close until she was ready, and then she immediately cuddled up, sleepy; but the Others went straight to the Princess. She put her arm around them and they leaned against her, but they didn’t talk, they watched with her. And more stars came out where they looked steadily, and others came where they didn’t look, more than they could count, all silent, to look back at them. And the Princess was smiling to herself.—