“Are you a Princess?” demanded Bill, fluttering down in front of the little sky lady before Urtha had time to speak at all. Bill never allowed anything to interfere with business.
“Oh, no!” The cunning little lady swung her moon bonnet and fluffed out her skirts, which were all embroidered with stars. “Oh, no, I’m only a shepherdess!” she answered modestly.
“Well, we’re looking for a head, a Princess and a fortune,” rasped Bill impatiently.
“What do you shepherd?” asked the old soldier, pushing Bill hurriedly aside. “I didn’t know there were any sheep in the sky.”
“Not sheep,” cried the little maiden, throwing back her head and laughing heartily, “not sheep, but stars! I tend all the baby stars and keep them from falling out of the Milky Way,” she finished, smiling shyly at Tatters.
“You do,” marvelled the Prince of Ragbad, “well, where are they now and what do you call yourself?”
“I never call myself, but the stars call me Maribella,” answered the little shepherdess, with a demure bow. “They’re asleep now. Are you really looking for a Princess?”
Tatters nodded and Urtha, slipping her arms around Maribella’s waist, kissed her on both cheeks.
“I wish you were the Princess,” sighed Urtha, stepping back to look wistfully at the little sky maiden.
“Why?” asked Maribella curiously.