Now the girl lay in the bottom of the boat, under Pooke’s Exeter tailor-made clothes, shivering. What would her father think of her absence? Would he be anxious, and waiting up for her? Would Aunt Zerah be angry, and give her hard words?
Her eyes peered eagerly at the stars--into that great mystery above.
“They are turning,” she said.
“What are turning?” asked Pooke. “Ain’t you asleep, as you ought to be?”
“When I was waiting for you at the Hard, I saw them beginning to twinkle.”
“What did you see?”
“Yonder, those stars. There are four making a sort of a box, and then three more in a curve.”
“That is the Plough.”
“Well, it is something like a plough. It is turning about in the sky. When I was waiting for the Atmospheric, I saw it in one way, and now it is all turned about different.”
“I daresay it is.”