The Princess looked around the Zodiac ring, to see what was left out; and it was all done but signs in the Fishes, and three more she had not put in when she made them. She put them in now, in the corners of the Houses. So it was finished; and it had taken a good while—drawing and talking and starring them all; but, because she wasn’t tired, they moved along a little farther and began afresh. It was a tremendous man, with lumpy arms and legs; and that was Hercules, the strongest person in the Sky. “I’ve heard about him,” said Pat. “He killed lions, and strangled some snakes when he was just a little baby in his cradle—immense ones; he must have been always strong.” “I suppose he inherited it,” said the Kitten—very grown-up. “Just hear the child!” said Miss Phyllisy. “What does that mean, Kit?” “I know,” the Kitten insisted. “He _could_ do it.” “Course he could!” said the Princess; “and because of _that_. He came of a very fine family—none better. He was a God of the Greeks.” “A _God_!” exclaimed Pat. “Do _you_—_mean_—to _say_—that _Hercules_ was a _God_?” “I do,” said the Princess; and, “One of those Ancients, you know, Pat,” explained Phyllisy. But Pat paid no attention. “Well! For pitysakes! _Hercules_—a God!” she said once more. And that was all; and nobody will ever know why it surprised her so. “That’s what he was,” said the Princess, drawing away, very industrious,—“a demi, to begin with, and they made him a whole one. He was highly cultivated and accomplished, besides being so strong. But he had a great deal of trouble, and had to work very hard; and altogether it quite broke him down. It made him always on the lookout for unfortunate signs. Now that he’s a Star Person, he isn’t particularly intellectual, but he is perfectly amiable; and that is a great deal to be thankful for, when you consider how strong he is.” And by that time he was ready for his stars. Miss Phyllisy suddenly thought of something. “Oh, Dearie!” she exclaimed. “There’s somebody you never drew.” “Who is that, Miss Phyllisy?” “The Big Bear. You never talk about him.” The Princess made little marks in the sand, all in a row, that didn’t mean anything. When she spoke it was in a slow, thinking-it-out way: “There is something curious about that Bear, that makes him _not_ do the things the other Star People do; and this is it:”—she spoke very impressively,—“The Great Bear doesn’t know whether he’s a bear or a dipper!” “Oh-h!” cried the Others. “What _do_ you mean?” asked Phyllisy. [Illustration: CASSIOPEIA “Of course it isn’t a _likeness_,” said the Princess, putting a quirl on her crown, “but you can tell something by it. And do you think Cassiopeia looks like the kind of person who would boast of her own beauty?” The Others looked at her critically.—“She looks to me more domestic,” said Phyllisy. “Did she?”