THE STAR PEOPLE

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS
ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited
LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd.
Toronto

THE STAR PEOPLE

BY
GAYLORD JOHNSON

WITH DRAWINGS ON SAND AND BLACKBOARD
BY “UNCLE HENRY AND THE SOCIETY
OF STAR-GAZERS”

“Why did not somebody teach me the constellations, and make me at home in the starry heavens, which are always overhead and which I don’t half know to this day?”
—Thomas Carlyle.

New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1921

All rights reserved

Copyright, 1921
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

Set up and electrotyped. Published June, 1921.

TO
BABY ANNE

WHAT HAPPENED IN STARLAND

TO HELP YOU FIND
THE STAR PEOPLE IN THE SKY

Whenever Uncle Henry draws a line to point out one of the star people you will find a figure, close to what he says, like this: (10).

Find the same figure on one of the maps inside the front or back cover, and you will see the line that Uncle Henry drew—and find the star person or animal easily in the sky.

Numbers 1 to 17 can be located on the front cover maps. Numbers 18 to 32 can be found on the maps inside the back cover.

To Use the Maps

Face South and hold the map for the proper season over your head—with the top of the book toward the West and the bottom toward the East. You will then see the Star People in the same places they appear in the sky.

The maps are drawn for 9 o’clock on April 1st, July 1st, October 1st, and January 1st, but they will be found serviceable in the preceding and following month. When necessary consult the maps for the season coming before or after.

WHERE TO FIND THE “PEOPLE” YOU WANT

Star People on Maps but not Talked About by “The Society”

THE STAR PEOPLE

FIRST EVENING

IN WHICH THE SOCIETY OF STAR-GAZERS IS FORMED AND DISCOVERS TWO BEARS—ONE WITH A STRETCHED TAIL

Uncle Henry sat on the porch of “Seven Oaks” Cottage, watching the new moon sink into the woods across Sand Lake.

The ripples of the motor-boat that had carried “Sister” and “The Children’s Father” away from the dock had gone from the glassy water. Over across the lake, at Pentecost station, they would catch the ten o’clock train, to be gone a week.

Uncle Henry had urged “Sister” to go. He had said he was perfectly sure of being able to look after Peter and Paul and Betty for just seven days, but now that “Sister” was really gone Uncle Henry felt the size of the task he had undertaken.

Of course he wasn’t alone. There was big, wholesome Katy, the maid. “Competent Katy,” he had at once named her to himself on his arrival two weeks before. The sleeping, eating, and dressing of twin ten-year-old boys and a seven-year-old girl would go on as usual without Uncle Henry’s assistance.

In the daytime he planned to take them fishing, berry-picking, sailing, and bathing. Target-practice with Peter and Paul’s air-rifle would help, too, and there would be walks in the woods, and up to Brighton’s farm house for the milk every evening.

But between supper and bed was a gap that Uncle Henry thought might be hard to fill. He must think of some games. He didn’t want to be a poor companion for his adored niece and nephews for even an hour of the time.

Uncle Henry blew a cloud from his pipe and watched it eddy slowly away, filtering through the leaves of the oak-branches at the side of the porch. Then he looked up to the vaporous band of the milky way. Stars hung in it, sparkling. It was like a chiffon streamer with tiny diamond spangles—or a cloud of smoke, blown, with sparks, from the pipe of Pan.

You will see right away that Uncle Henry was a poet, even if Pan’s pipe wasn’t the smoking kind. It might have been, as easy as not. Uncle Henry was wondering whether this last fancy might be made into a poem for his college paper, when the children’s voices floated up from the beach. They were sitting on the smooth sand and singing in unison,

“Star bright, star-light—
Many’s the star I see tonight.
Star bright, star-light—
Tell me, is it true?

I wish I may, I wish I might
Get the wish I wish tonight—
Star bright, star-light,
Tell me, is it true?”

Uncle Henry took his feet off the porch-railing and allowed his chair to use all of its feet again. Then he leaned out by a post and looked straight up into the blue-black vault of a moonless July night sky. The stars were beautifully clear.

Evidently Peter, Paul, and Betty were singing praise to the fact. They had clapped enthusiastically for themselves, and were now beginning the encore—a repetition of “Star bright, star-light.”

Uncle Henry’s face had become thoughtful, and now he stepped down from the porch, and strolled down the boards to the dock. There he stood craning his neck backward and looking up, until the children had once more finished the verse, laughing and clapping. Evidently the applause for themselves was not enough this time, for there was no encore.

Peter, his eye on Uncle Henry, flopped down on his back and began gazing upward, too. In a moment he called,

“Uncle Hen?”

“Yes, Pete,” from the dock, where Uncle Henry was star-gazing in the opposite direction.

“Why do they call ‘the big dipper’ the ‘great bear’—and is there any ‘little dipper’? Betty says there isn’t, ’cause she never saw it.”

Uncle Henry stepped off the dock upon the smooth sand, kneeled down, and without answering began collecting little smooth pebbles.

Peter sat up and asked in surprise,

“Don’t you know, Uncle Hen?”

Surely this genius, who could make new kinds of kites, and willow-whistles that “worked fine,” was not going to fail now. The other children turned to him, expectant too. Betty herself was willing to be proved wrong about the existence of the “little dipper,” rather than admit a limit to Uncle Henry’s wisdom.

“Let’s make a nice, smooth place on the sand,” said Uncle Henry, his hands now full of those mysterious pebbles. These he put into his pocket and began, on all fours, to smooth sand industriously.

“Come on, youngsters,” he invited, “and I’ll let you settle the questions yourselves. We’ll make a game of it,” he added.

The trio breathed easier. Uncle Henry did know, and was going to tell—in a new, interesting way. Three pairs of hands started smoothing sand, with some waste of energy, but with rapid results.

“Now,” said Uncle Henry, squatting down before the leveled place, and pouring out the pebbles in a little pile, “how many stones do you need to make the dipper, Pete? We’ll draw it on the sand, with pebbles for stars.”

Three necks craned upward in unison, and the two boys’ voices answered, almost together,

“Seven.”

Betty gazed a moment longer, and said,

“Eight.”

Uncle Henry looked interested.

“Where do you see the eighth, Betty?” he asked.

“Right close where the handle bends,” announced Betty.

“Correct,” said Uncle Henry, “that shows you have good eyes. The Arabs used to call that little star ‘the proof,’ because it is a test of good eyesight to see it. The star at the bend of the handle is also called ‘the horse,’ and that faint little star over it ‘the rider.’ You can make the dipper itself with seven pebbles, though. Go ahead and do it, Peter,” Uncle Henry finished, “and take good-sized stones, to show that they’re bright stars.”

When Peter had finished, the smooth patch of sand looked like this in the light from Uncle Henry’s pocket electric torch.

Betty insisted upon adding a tiny stone above “the horse,” to represent her discovery, “the rider.”

“Now,” said Uncle Henry, looking upward, “I’ll help you this much in finding all of ‘the great bear.’ The handle of the dipper is his tail. Everybody try to find the rest of him. Put down a pebble in the right spot for every star; big ones for bright ones, and little stones for faint ones.”

“Ooh,” interrupted Betty, “I got his nose!”

Here is where Betty put it.

“—and his shoulders!” she added in a moment, putting them in with small pebbles.

“I got his front leg!” announced Paul excitedly, adding three pebbles rapidly.

Then the bear looked like this.

It was Peter who contributed his hind legs and his “skeleton,” made of finger-drawn lines in the sand. Like this.

And when Uncle Henry had drawn an outline in the sand with his finger, the “great bear” was done to everybody’s satisfaction.

While they were all looking at it, Uncle Henry recited,

“Ursa Major’s Latin—
And it means, ‘the greater bear.’
Ursa’s ‘bear,’ and Major’s ‘bigger,’
If you want to see his ‘figger,’
At the dipper’s handle stare—
That’s the tail of Ursa Major.
Find his shoulders, nose, and toes—
Who first named him, no one knows.”

“Did you say, ‘Noah’—or ‘no one,’ Uncle Henry?” asked Betty.

“I said, ‘no one,’ but have it ‘Noah’ if you like,” said Uncle Henry. “Maybe Noah named him. He was interested in animals, and Adam ought not to have the only right to name them.”

“Now let’s find the little dipper!” urged Peter, anxious for a victory over Betty’s doubts of its existence.

“When we find it,” announced Uncle Henry solemnly, “it won’t be a dipper at all; it will be another bear—a little bear. You know that Noah had two of everything in his ark.”

“I told you there wasn’t any little dipper!” shrilled Betty at Peter.

“Uncle Henry said we’d find it, though,” countered Peter, looking hopefully at the oracle.

“So we will,” laughed Uncle Henry, “the little dipper and the little bear are the same thing!”

“Come on!” urged Paul, “how do we start, Uncle Henry?”

Uncle Henry got up on his knees and drew a long straight line in the sand with his forefinger. ([1]) It went up through both stars in the middle of the great bear’s body, and a long way beyond. Over three times the distance between the two stars the line went beyond them. Uncle Henry put down a fair-sized pebble at the end.

“There,” he said, “is the tip of the little bear’s tail. Go ahead and find him; but I warn you—it’s a very long tail, and you’ll have to imagine his legs and nose.”

There was a moment’s silence. Then Peter said,

“I can’t see any bear, but I can make out a dipper.”

“Make it,” said Uncle Henry.

When Peter finished putting down little pebbles the little dipper was very plain, just above the great bear’s back.

Then Uncle Henry solemnly drew an outline around the seven small pebbles.

“Oooh, what a funny bear!” laughed Betty, when Uncle Henry’s finger had finished. “His tail is so long!”

“Bears always have short tails,” said Peter, looking reproachfully at Uncle Henry, as if that person was responsible. There was, however, a note of expectancy in Peter’s voice. He expected a satisfactory explanation from Uncle Henry.

“This bear once had as short a tail as any other bear,” said Uncle Henry, quite undisturbed.

“Who stretched it?” inquired Paul breathlessly.

“You will note,” began Uncle Henry, “that the tip of the little bear’s tail is a star that is right at the top of the North Pole. You can’t see the pole, but it’s there—and long ago somebody tied the tip of the little bear’s tail fast to it. As the earth turned around year after year, and the pole turned with it, the little bear was swung round and round by his tail. That would make anybody’s tail stretch, wouldn’t it?”

There was a moment’s quiet. Then Peter said roguishly,

“You can’t kid us into believing that, Uncle Hen—but we’ll sure remember it.”

All Uncle Henry said was,

“Your mother doesn’t like you to talk slang, Peter.”

Uncle Henry had scored again, and knew it.

“To-morrow night we’ll find the dragon, and the man who drives the great bear around the pole, and his dogs, and maybe the lions and the swan,” promised Uncle Henry, as he looked at his watch and stood up.

“Oooh, great!” cried the trio together.

“We’ll have a reg’lar Noah’s Ark on that sand, won’t we?” said Betty.

“We’ll call it ‘Noah’s Ark in the Sky,’” Uncle Henry agreed, as the children followed him up the walk to Seven Oaks Cottage.

SECOND EVENING

THE HERDSMAN’S DOGS CHASE URSA MAJOR—AND THE TERRIBLE DRAGON WRIGGLES AWAY IN FRIGHT

The next evening Peter, Paul, and Betty were all down on the beach as soon as supper was over.

Peter and Paul had that morning made a fence of laths around the sand drawings of the two bears—big, and little, so that “Rags,” their Airedale puppy, could not spoil them.

Now that “Rags” was asleep under the cottage, Peter and Paul removed the fence and smoothed the sand carefully for several yards around the bears, while Betty collected a quite unnecessarily large number of pebbles to represent the stars that would be found, with Uncle Henry’s help, when the twilight faded.

When all this was done the trio sat down beside the smoothed space and called to Uncle Henry, on the porch, that one star was already out and he had better hurry.

“I’ll come when you can see Ursa Major’s tail,” called back Uncle Henry, and the children had to wait, although they shrilly announced each new star that glowed into sight in the darkening sky, and repeatedly urged Uncle Henry to “come on and begin!”

The seven stars of the big dipper were all plainly visible when Uncle Henry came down the board walk and sat cross-legged on the sand.

The first thing he did was to extend the line joining the last two pebbles in the great bear’s tail until it was about five times as long as before, and curved slightly downward as it went. ([2])

“Now, Betty,” he said, “give me a pebble—a good big one. This is a bright star we’ll begin with; see if you can find it,” and Uncle Henry put down the pebble at the end of the line, like this.

The three exclaimed, “I see it!” almost together.

“All right, then, we’ll find ‘Boötes,’ the herdsman who drives Ursa Major round the pole,” said Uncle Henry. “He has two dogs to help him besides. We’ll find them too.”

The children gazed upward for some time, intently silent.

“I guess,” observed Betty finally, “that you’ll have to tell us whether that big star is the bear-driver’s head—or one of his ‘booties,’ Uncle Henry.”

A duet of groans from Peter and Paul followed this example of the lowest form of wit.

“I can’t see anything that looks like a man the least bit,” she went on, oblivious of the groans, “but I can see a kite, with that big star at the place where the tail would be fastened on.”

“Fine,” said Uncle Henry, “Make the kite then, Betty—and then we’ll find the herdsman after we’ve flown the kite a while. That’s the wonderful thing about Starland. If you get tired of one of the beasts or people in it—presto! You can change him into anything he looks like to you. Boötes is really much more like a kite than a man, so let’s make the kite. Put the pebbles down, Betty.”

Betty did, and they looked like this.

“That was easy!” exclaimed Peter.

“Never you mind, Mr. Peter!” Betty burst out warmly, “I found it first, anyhow!”

“We’ll let Peter find the bear-driver’s head,” said Uncle Henry judicially.

Peter promptly picked the big star at the tail-end of the kite.

“You’re wrong,” said Uncle Henry, “but I don’t blame you. Arcturus is much too bright and beautiful to be only a big, bright button on the lower edge of Boötes’ shepherd’s kilt—but that is all it is. The star at the top end of the kite is his head, and the two stars at the ends of the cross-stick of the kite are his shoulders. About halfway from them to Arcturus you can find the belt of his kilt, and——”

“Oh, I see his legs!” interrupted Paul. “He’s running after the big bear.”

“Put them in, Paul,” said Uncle Henry.

Paul did, and the figure of Boötes grew to look like this.

“But he hasn’t any arms!” said Peter.

“Yes, he has,” explained Uncle Henry, “his left one is up in the air, and his right one holds a shepherd’s crook upon his right shoulder. Like this.”

Uncle Henry added pebbles and lines until Boötes was finished.

“What awful short legs he has!” criticised Betty.

“That must be why he’s never caught the great bear,” smiled Uncle Henry.

“What’s he shaking his fist for?” inquired Paul, pointing to the herdsman’s left hand. “Is he so mad because he can’t catch Ursa Major?”

Uncle Henry did not reply, but drew two long lines from the uplifted hand downward to a point just below the end of the big bear’s tail.

“Oh, I know!” piped Betty, and throwing herself on her back, she began to star-gaze industriously.

Peter and Paul looked at each other inquiringly.

“The dogs!” said Peter. “Betty’s looking for them. They’re on leash of course. Those lines are the leashes.”

Uncle Henry smiled his pleasure.

“The hunting dogs—or, as you would say it in Latin, Canes Venatici, are largely imaginary. There are six stars—three in each dog, and all faint except one, named Cor Caroli.”

“I see the bright one!” said Peter, and put down a fair-sized pebble to represent it. When the children had found the five other faint stars and Uncle Henry had finished drawing the dogs, Boötes and his hunting hounds, Asterion and Chara, looked like this.

“Why do they call the bright star at the tail of Chara, Cor Caroli, Uncle Henry?” asked Paul.

“It is Latin for ‘heart of Charles,’” said Uncle Henry, “and the Charles they mean is Charles the Second of England, but don’t ask me why, for I don’t know. Perhaps the dog Chara ran away with Cor Caroli. I understand that Charles the Second lost his heart pretty often, and perhaps one time he didn’t get it back. Beware, Paul! I am Father William out of Alice in Wonderland; ‘you have asked me three questions and that is enough.’”

“Are you going to make a poem for us to-night, too?” inquired Betty hopefully.

“Let me see,” said Uncle Henry thoughtfully. “Great bear, Boötes, pronounced Bō-ō-tees, and two dogs—they ought to make some kind of a poem. How’s this? I’ll let you name it after you’ve heard it.”

“The big bear runs, the herdsman runs,
His dogs, they both are chasing.

While Ursa growls, Boötes howls,
His dogs, they both are barking.

For Ursa stole Boötes’ bowl
Of hot milk, set acooling.

His mouth burns yet, the bowl’s upset,
The milky way is streaming.”

“The milky way to catch a bear,” suggested Paul, as a name for the poem.

“Who spilt the milk?” volunteered Peter.

“The herdsman hasn’t ever caught Ursa Major,” said Betty reflectively, “so he’s wasting his time chasing him. ‘Don’t cry over spilt milk’ would be a good title, I think. He ought to be tending his silly sheep, if he has any.”

“I’ve got it!” exclaimed Peter, “‘Ursa was a big bear; Ursa was a thief.’ Like ‘Taffy the Welshman,’ you know.”

Since no one else had a better title, the “Society of Star-Gazers,” as Paul had named it, let it go at that, and allowed Boötes to persist in his pursuit of the great bear for his ancient mischief.

“I thought you were going to show us the lions to-night, Uncle Hen,” said Peter.

“So I am, Peter,” said Uncle Henry. “Tell me what you see just below and between Ursa Major’s hind feet.”

All the children looked, and Peter answered,

“Three faint stars, like a triangle.”

“Put them in with pebbles,” said Uncle Henry, and Peter did.

“That’s one lion; the little one. Now we’ll find the big one and draw them both.”

Then Uncle Henry drew a long line through the two stars at the root of the great bear’s tail, and extended it to the three little pebbles in a triangle under the bear’s feet, and through the triangle, and beyond as far again. At the end of this line he put a large pebble. ([3])

“There,” said Uncle Henry, “is the star Regulus, which is in the big lion’s heart. See if you can find the rest of him.”

Betty soon picked out the lion’s head, and Paul added his hind quarters, and when Uncle Henry had drawn outlines around both big and little lions they looked like this.

“Now show us the Swan,” urged Peter.

“Yes, and the Dragon!” reminded Paul.

“You children haven’t forgotten a single one I promised,” laughed Uncle Henry. “Well, here goes; everybody find the dipper again.”

Everybody did.

“Now draw a line straight up through the middle of the dipper’s bowl and keep on with it a little over three times the length of the dipper’s handle. ([4]) Put a large pebble there and see if you can find the star. It’s in the swan’s tail, and he looks as if he was flying overhead, with his wings spread, and his long neck stretched out ahead of him.”

“Is he sort of like a cross?” inquired Betty after a moment.

“Right,” said Uncle Henry. “Put him in with pebbles.”

This shows how to find and draw the swan the way the children and Uncle Henry did.

“Now the dragon, Uncle Hen!” urged Peter.

“Are you sure,” said Uncle Henry, “that you promise not to have any bad dreams about the dragon if I show him to you before you go to bed?”

“Sure!” chorused the Society of Star-Gazers.

“Well,” said Uncle Henry, “the dragon is very terrible, but he is afraid of bears, so he is squirming away as fast as he can from them. He is wriggling a little faster too, because Ursa Major is on one side of him and Ursa Minor on the other. Draw a line through the stars in the tips of the swan’s wings, back toward the head of the bear-driver, and you’ll find the dragon’s head about halfway. ([5]) It’s a little triangle of stars, and from that the dragon’s body winds around the little bear’s body and down above the big bear’s back.”

“I see all of him!” exclaimed Paul.

“Here are the pebbles,” said Uncle Henry, “put the dragon, or Draco, where he belongs.”

Paul did, and Uncle Henry finished him.

“To-morrow night,” said Uncle Henry, “we’ll find some more of the star people and sky animals. They even have musical instruments in this Skyland of ours, so we’ll find the lyre that the sky ladies play on! One of the sky gentlemen is a great archer, too, so we’ll find him shooting his bow and arrow at a giant scorpion, and——”

“Oh, let’s find that now!” pleaded Peter and Paul in unison.

Betty did not join in the chorus. She was asleep, with her head in Uncle Henry’s lap.

“To-morrow night,” smiled Uncle Henry. “Betty will want to hear, too, about the sky lady’s mandolin, or harp, or lyre, or whatever it is.”

Then he picked up the little girl without waking her, and the boys followed him up the walk into “Seven Oaks”—and bed.

THIRD EVENING

UNCLE HENRY’S MAGIC TURNS THE LYRE INTO A UKELELE—AND THE ARCHER’S ARROW MISSES THE LOVELY SWAN AND HITS THE HORRID SCORPION

Betty had been informed by her brothers that Uncle Henry had promised, after she fell asleep, to show the lyre that the star ladies play when they have nothing else to do.

Since she had a new ukelele herself, and was learning to play it, her interest in all stringed instruments was keen, and as soon as the Society of Star-Gazers had come together on the beach the next evening, she demanded that the lyre be found.

“All right,” said Uncle Henry, “find the swan’s wing, on the side of him toward the dragon. Get that? Well then, look for a very bright star between that wing and the swan’s neck, and about the length of the swan’s neck away from the tip of the wing. You can’t miss it, for it’s the brightest star anywhere near. Its name is Vega, and some one has called it ‘the arc-light of the sky.’” ([6])

“I see it!” cried Betty and the boys together.

“Look for two smaller stars that make a triangle with Vega, and then for three more that make a long diamond shape. That’s right, Peter, put down the pebbles and finish the lyre.”

“It’s sort of a harp on a foot!” said Betty in disappointment. “I want to make a ukelele of it.”

“Sure, easy as breathing,” agreed Uncle Henry, and promptly rubbed out Lyra from the sand, and made it over.

After all, Betty was the baby and might have her own way whenever Uncle Henry had anything to say about it. And let no one say that the ancients had all the imagination, after seeing the ukelele that Uncle Henry made of Lyra.

“We strive to please,” he said as it was finished, and Betty clapped her hands.

“Now we want to see the archer shoot the giant scorpion!” demanded Paul, speaking for the masculine part of the audience.

“Just a minute,” said Uncle Henry, “I’m coming to him. You can see one of his arrows if you look on the other side of the swan’s neck, just opposite to Betty’s ukelele. The archer shot at the swan and missed it.”

“Serves him right for trying to kill the beautiful swan. I love ’em!’” said Betty, with feeling.

“You’ll need to use very small pebbles,” warned Uncle Henry, “for Sagitta is rather small and quite faint.”

“What’s Sagitta?” asked Peter.

“Latin for ‘arrow,’” said Uncle Henry.

When the arrow was found and drawn, it was in this position.

“Now the archer!” demanded Paul.

“All right,” said Uncle Henry. “Paul, draw a line straight out from the head of the swan, right on in the direction he is flying, and go about twice the length of the swan’s neck.” ([7])

Paul did.

“Now tell me,” asked Uncle Henry, “does anybody see anything, about there, that looks like a bow and arrow?”

The children searched the sky at a point a little over two swan’s necks ahead of the swan’s bill, and Peter cried triumphantly,

“I see it! I see it!”

“Make it then,” said Uncle Henry, “and keep the bow in the right position to the swan’s neck.”

When Peter had all the pebbles in their right positions, Uncle Henry drew in the archer’s body, and bow and arrow, and they looked like this:

“He’s just getting ready to shoot at the scorpion!” exclaimed Paul.

“Yes,” said Uncle Henry, “and the other star people have to look out too. The people who lived long ago called Sagittarius, our archer, “the Bull Killer.” They did this because when the stars of the archer rise in the east, they seem to drive all the stars of Taurus, the Bull, over the western edge of the world. So they said that Sagittarius killed off the Bull. We’ll find Taurus next winter.”

“Now let’s find the scorpion,” urged Peter.

“Wait a minute!” begged Betty, “I see another dipper.”

Peter was impatient. Dippers were not interesting, compared with giant scorpions.

“Betty,” he remarked, “wouldn’t believe there was a little dipper a few nights ago, and now she’s seeing ’em everywhere.”

But Betty had her way as usual, and the Society of Star-Gazers paused before passing on to the scorpion.

“Where do you see the new dipper, Betty?” Uncle Henry inquired with interest.

“It’s right back of the leg the archer is kneeling on.” ([8])

“You’re quite right,” Uncle Henry agreed, “and it’s called ‘the milk dipper,’ because it’s right on the edge of the milky way.”

“Why that’s the bowl Ursa Major tried to get Boötes’ hot milk out of, and burned his mouth, and upset!” explained Betty, with a sudden inspiration.

“So it is,” agreed Uncle Henry, “although I must confess I never thought of the milk dipper when I made up that rhyme for you youngsters.”

“Now the scorpion!” insisted Peter.

“Oh, have your old scorpion, then, Mr. Peter!” exploded Betty, “I don’t want to see the horrid thing. I’m going to the cottage and show Katy the milk dipper.”

And she went.

So it was with Peter and Paul alone that Uncle Henry found the scorpion that Sagittarius, the archer, is always aiming at. ([9]) It would have been easy for Betty to find, for it really looks a good deal like a scorpion. See if you don’t think so when you’ve found it.

After Uncle Henry had shown the boys how the big, red star, called Antares, in the heart of the scorpion, has a reddish color, Peter suggested that it was probably red because the Archer had already shot an arrow through the scorpion’s heart, and made it bleed.

After that, since neither the boys nor Uncle Henry ever wanted Betty left out of anything, and since they knew she would have stayed if Peter and she hadn’t wanted different things at the same time, the Society of Star-Gazers adjourned until the next evening.

On the porch, however, Uncle Henry made up this poem and repeated it to Peter and Paul before they went in to bed.

“The Scorpion’s heart has bled,
Antares-star is red,
The Archer made an arrow-wound,
But Scorpio isn’t dead.

The Archer draws his strong-bow,
To shoot a sharp new arrow,
I hope he hits the Scorpion,
And kills the poisonous fellow.”

FOURTH EVENING

THE VIRGIN IS TOO BUSY FEEDING HER SKY POULTRY, SO CASSIOPEIA GETS THE UKELELE TO PLAY

Betty, in spite of her pretended lack of curiosity about the scorpion, was down on the beach the next evening ahead of the other members of the Society of Star-Gazers. Uncle Henry found her in the twilight, sitting cross-legged before the sand-drawing of Scorpio.

As she searched the southern sky to find the constellation, she was singing Uncle Henry’s verses about the archer and Scorpio over and over, to a tune of her own improvising.

The boys had made bows and arrows from green saplings during the morning and had raced about for some time with “Rags,” in search of giant scorpions to shoot at. They discovered them in the most unexpected objects—trees, rocks, and even boats. The hunt had been accompanied by a war chant, with the scorpion verses for words. It was a faint echo of this that Betty was crooning to herself now.

As Uncle Henry approached her she looked up at him and said,

“Aren’t there any ladies among the star people, Uncle Henry? You told about the lyre that they play on, but you haven’t shown any of them to us.”

“Well, Betty,” said Uncle Henry, sitting down beside her, “there are several ladies in our star country, but only two of them are in our sight in the summer time. Let’s get the boys and we’ll find both the ladies and take a vote to decide which of them shall have your lyre-ukelele to play on.”

Betty called, in her high little voice, for Peter and Paul to hurry, and they raced down from the porch with “Rags” in tow.

“Uncle Hen,” asked Peter, “‘Rags’ wants to know if there aren’t any more dogs in the sky?” “Sure,” said Uncle Henry, “sky folks are very fond of dogs. We’ve found the two that belong to the herdsman. Besides them, there are two others, but we can’t see them ’til next winter. And, of course, there’s Cerberus, the ugly, monstrous three-headed dog that Hercules killed. We’ll find him to-night.”

“Oh, that’s great!” said Peter, and he and Paul settled down with “Rags” between them. “Rags” looked expectantly at Uncle Henry, who said,

“But first I’ve promised Betty to find the sky ladies that we can see now, and let one of them have the ukelele.”

“Rags’” ears dropped and he lost interest. Peter and Paul, however, remembering Betty’s temper of the previous evening, said,