“Not I,” muttered the fiery Mars.
“Not I,” quoth the majestic Jupiter; “I do not move an inch.”
The Comet flashed with a lofty disdain.
“Puny Stars,” said he, “keep your places, give out all your light,—nobody heeds you; the place of honor is always by the Vesper Star; here I make my throne.”
The Vesper Star smiled sadly, but without a twinge of envy.
“Welcome, shining one! Warm me with your fires; let us work together.”
“Work!” cried the Comet, throwing out sparkles of scorn; “I was not born to work, but to shine!”
“Indeed!” said the Vesper Star; “you have come into strange company, then; for here we all work with a good will.” “He does not burn with the true fire,” thought the good Star; and she wrapped herself about with a soft cloud, and said no more.
“Oh that I could be set on fire like the Comet!” thought the cold North Star. “I would gladly burn to death if I could astonish the world with my blaze!”
“Let us die!” said the Seven Sisters; “let us die together; we have ceased to be noticed.”