“Andromeda turned and dropped on her knees beside him to give him a hug, and his eyes twinkled like stars. “‘Bless his little heart!’ said Cassiopeia. ‘I wish we could keep his birthday, but nobody knows when it is.’ “‘But we love him just the same!’ said Andromeda, rubbing his fur the wrong way and ending with a little shake of his nose—and the sparks flew as if he were a garden of meteors himself. And that was really the end of the party.” The Kitten had something in her mind to do at once when she was perfectly sure the party was over. For that very minute when the Princess came to the end and Pat and Miss Phyllisy began to talk about it, she slipped her foot out from under her to have it ready to walk on. And the next minute, when Phyllisy looked around to see why the child wasn’t talking too, when it was rather especially her story, she was already starting away—and she didn’t care to tell what for. Because they wondered, and they knew she wouldn’t mind—it was only that she didn’t like to explain—they followed after. When she was clear away, the Kitten began to run, so when they came to the place in the garden where the balsams grew all in a row, she was there and had found a ripe one. There were very few flowers left, and a great many seedpods, and when they pinched them at the tip—or only barely touched them—they popped delightfully, but there didn’t any star shoot out. But they pretended there did; and—as Miss Phyllisy remarked—you couldn’t see actual fireworks if you set them off with the sun shining like that. IX A SURPRISE PARTY It seemed to the Others that the Princess was a _long_ time coming. And once they had been afraid they wouldn’t be ready in time. But they were—too soon, and it was the watching that made it seem so long. They _flew_ when they saw her, and hurried her along. “It’s something to surprise you,” said Miss Phyllisy. “We did it all this morning,” added Pat. “Thought of it and gathered them and everything,” chattered the Kitten, walking on all sides of them. “Don’t you tell,” warned Pat’s eyebrows. “You couldn’t guess, could you?” asked the Kitten. “Now stop; from here,” said Phyllisy, “shut your eyes and we’ll lead you so you won’t see too soon.” So the Princess shut her eyes, and Pat and Phyllisy led her and the Kitten went ahead over the lawn until they said, “Now, open!” Directly before them was the great wicker chair from the piazza, sitting under a tree. But nobody would have known it was that chair at all—so trimmed and flowery. There were pink and purple and white ones from the garden, and tall plumes of small feathery ones, that were wild ones, nodding on the back, and all lovely. “Do you notice what they are?” asked Phyllisy. “We wouldn’t have any other kind.” “Do you know why we had that kind?” asked Pat. “They’re _stars_!” cried the Kitten. “Because you said ‘asters’ meant stars,” said Phyllisy.