But that didn’t suit Pat very long, it made her uneasy. First she puckered her eyebrows, but nobody saw her; then she sighed, but nobody noticed; then she spoke,—“What _are_ you looking at?” The Princess still looked, but she squeezed with her arm. “Some people I know. Friends of a friend of mine.” Pat didn’t understand, so she grew wary (that was one of her ways). She twitched her shoulder, but she wouldn’t be the next to speak—unless it were too long! “What people, Dearie?” asked Prudence, when they had waited a minute and the Princess didn’t speak again. “Most illustrious, highly exalted. A king and a queen, a royal dragon, and an indispensable little bear—wonderfolk,” ended the Princess, as if that explained it. “You’re looking at the stars,” said Pat-who-would-n’t-be-imposed-upon. “Star People, Pat. Can you guess now?” “I think I can, Dearie. But you tell,” said Prudence. The Princess took her arm away so she could point with it, and she put her head down beside a dreadfully scowling little girl’s, so they could look along and off the end of the same finger. It pointed where five stars made a zigzag in the sky. She pointed to one after another. [Illustration: THEY WATCHED WITH HER ] “Look like a ‘W,’ don’t they, Pat?—But there’s another star—very pale—and another off here. Now, see—tipped up—so—Isn’t that a pretty good chair? How would you like to sit there and overlook things?” “Cassiopeia wouldn’t let her,” said Prudence. “That’s Cassiopeia’s Chair, Pat. She doesn’t allow any one to sit in it.” “I don’t want to.” Pat spoke in a loud whisper. “That is where you’re mistaken, Miss Phyllisy,” said the Princess. “She wouldn’t mind a bit. But she is sitting there herself, this minute.” “Really, Princess? I didn’t know that!” “Did you ever see her out of it?” (Miss Phyllisy giggled.) “There is one of the stars on her most loftical head. Do you see it?” “Who said it was that?” asked Pat. Her manner was a trifle threatening, but she was ready to be friends. “Said what?” “Cas—what you called it. Why did you call it that?” “Cassiopeia’s Chair? That is what it was named long and long ago.” “Long as Ancients?” (The Princess knew all about the Ancients,—several kinds of them. She knew everything.) “Long as that,” she answered. “They’re the very ones who named the Star People for us, saw the figures in the stars, and gave them the names of their own gods and heroes, animals,—all sorts of queer things. Useful lives they led, those Star People, ever after.” “How were they useful?” asked Phyllisy. “To the sailors, Beloveds, most of all, or any one who wants to find his way where there’s nothing on Earth to guide him. In the middle of the most vastest ocean or the most widest plain, all they have to do is to look up and see where the Star People are; then they’ll know where they are themselves, and where to go to be somewhere else. Of course the Star People can’t help any one who doesn’t know them,” she added.