“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.”
