The Kitten knelt down and looked through a chink in the deck, at the water under it. She curved her hands each side of her eyes to shut off the sunlight so she could see more plainly, and to keep her hair from falling into them. “O-oh! it’s pretty closer,” she said.
“Let me see,” said Pat. The Kitten let her have the place, and she saw for herself. She was satisfied in a minute; then she settled back on her heels. “It’ll come just so close; then it’ll go back—and not any more. What makes it do that?” she said.
“The tide,” said Miss Phyllisy.
“I know that,” said Pat. “What makes it?”
“It’s on account of Lady Moon going by,” said the Princess.
“That would be a different kind of Star Person. Isn’t she?” said Phyllisy.
“Pretty different, and especially nice. This is the story of her: She is Mother Earth’s dear daughter. Long ago her mother held her close in her arms; then Lady Moon was called away to live in Starland, and had to leave her mother’s side. Her dim gray robes never could be seen in that distant sky, so she carries a glowing lantern hung on her arm; and when the slide is open and Mother Earth sees its light, she knows where her child is wandering among the stars. Then her heart longs for her, and she reaches out toward her, trying always to come a little nearer. If you listen, you’ll hear the sea sobbing, to think how far away she has gone.” The Princess stopped talking, and tipped her head, listening. They listened with her, to the waves running into the old ship—and they truly seemed to grow sadder and sadder; not unhappy-sad, but romantic.
“That is beautiful, Dearie,” said Phyllisy. “It’s parable, isn’t it?”
“This is truly true,” answered the Princess. “Wherever the moon is, there every bit of the Earth feels it, and is drawn out toward it.”
“Hard rocks and all?” asked Pat, as if she never would believe it.