“Some old mythologies _say_ she did, but it was truly Andromeda’s beauty she was so proud of. The trouble was, Cassiopeia wasn’t satisfied with knowing in her own heart that her child was the loveliest thing the sun shone on; she talked about it. And at last it came to the Sea Nymphs’ ears. They heard in all the waves—like coming out of a shell—‘Andromeda is fairer than the Sea Nymphs: Cassiopeia says so,’—and off they went to their father, crying: ‘Vengeance, Father Neptune, upon the impious Cassiopeia!’ That was the way they talked, only a great deal more of it. And rather than hear them whining and teasing he consented to punish Cassiopeia. She and Cepheus were obliged to chain Andromeda to a rock on the seacoast to be devoured by a horrible sea monster; and that would have been the end of her and her beauty if Perseus hadn’t come to the rescue.” Then they stopped talking about that, because it was time to put on Cassiopeia’s stars. ] “He’s confused,” said the Princess. “You see, before he was a Star Person he was a performing bear, and in one of his tricks—the best one—he stood on his head so much it affected his brain. Now he is a Star Person, and he’s quite harmless, but he thinks perhaps he’s a Dipper. And, of course, when he thinks that he can’t go about or talk; and there’s nothing for him to dip, so he doesn’t lead a very amusing life.” “Wouldn’t the Star People let him go with them?” asked the Kitten. “Certainly they would—be glad to. But he doesn’t want to. And they let him have his way. They call him ‘Major’; and that pleases him when he thinks he’s a bear, and when they see he has a ‘dipper-fit’ they don’t talk to him at all, because he doesn’t like it.” “I should think they’d be glad,” said Pat. “What could they talk about?” “Nothing intelligent,” agreed the Princess, “so they let him alone, to be happy in his own way.” “Is Little Bear his child?” asked the Kitten. “No, Kitten. They aren’t related; they only both happen to be bears and neighbors. Major never goes away from his place—almost never,” she corrected herself. Then she stopped, and began again, talking to herself. “There was once—such a time as they had—” She shook her head, but she did’t say any more. “Aren’t you going to tell it?” asked Pat. “Bimeby,” said the Princess, suddenly energetic. “I’m going to draw him now. “Now, my Hearties! How’s that for a bear? and just crying for stars. Look alive! and see what you’ll see when he has them on.” They placed his pebbles, and seven were especially large, and all the time Pat kept saying: “I don’t see anything. What is it?”—and all the Princess would say was, “Look at him hard,—his stars,—never mind his legs.” And then Phyllisy saw something that made her laugh. “Oh, Dearie! Is that what made you think of it?—The Dipper—what he thinks?” “S-sh,” said the Princess. “What are you laughing at? Tell me now,” said Pat.