“The Big Bear. You never talk about him.”
The Princess made little marks in the sand, all in a row, that didn’t mean anything. When she spoke it was in a slow, thinking-it-out way: “There is something curious about that Bear, that makes him not do the things the other Star People do; and this is it:”—she spoke very impressively,—“The Great Bear doesn’t know whether he’s a bear or a dipper!”
“Oh-h!” cried the Others.
“What do you mean?” asked Phyllisy.
CASSIOPEIA
“Of course it isn’t a likeness,” said the Princess, putting a quirl on her crown, “but you can tell something by it. And do you think Cassiopeia looks like the kind of person who would boast of her own beauty?”
The Others looked at her critically.—“She looks to me more domestic,” said Phyllisy. “Did she?”
“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?”