One lovely moonlit night as I lay gazing up into the sky, I chanced to see a boy sitting on one of the clouds, who appeared to be giving a party to some of the stars. The moonlight made it so bright that I could see everything quite clearly; and I should have thought it was daytime coming on, only that it was so beautifully still and quiet. I got out of bed and trotted to the window without waking anyone, for I wished so much to hear what the stars were saying to Max.
“Won’t you come and dance with me?” said Max, addressing the largest and brightest star of all as he leaped about with his arms in the air. But the star shook her head doubtfully and replied:
“I am so far away, and so terrible afraid, that I don’t think I dare come down to you.”
“Oh! but I’m sure if you only try, you will manage it,” said Max. “You would jump far over my head, and not hurt yourself the least bit.”
“I have tried a thousand times,” the star answered. “I think the last time was three hundred years ago at least.”
“Three hundred years!” echoed Max, looking rather astonished; “why, it is quite a long time since I asked you.”
“It is rather,” was the answer, with a twinkle of the star’s light. “But you see, when one grows so old it takes such an immense time to decide upon anything. What do you think I ought to do?” Max did not answer at once; he was thinking how he would like to be so very old that it took one three hundred years to make up one’s mind about anything.
“What do you think I ought to do?” repeated the star.
“I think you should try it,” said Max, clapping his hands with pleasure. “I am sure you could if you would only give yourself a little trouble. Do come, do come, dear star!”
So at last she made up her mind, and began to come down gradually, just as one star after another went to bed. She was so very a long way off that even though she was moving quite rapidly, it took her full a hundred years to get close enough down to Max to be able to touch him. Then she hopped off the tip of the cloud where he had been sitting into the air just above his head, and remained there in that position crumpling her points in a very peculiar manner, which I afterwards found was to signify her willingness to dance with him, instead of placing herself properly on the floor.
Whether that dreadful time or one of the same duration had made Max very old and rheumatic I can’t say; but instead of jumping about as he had done at first, he only seemed able to crawl half a yard or so.
“I think I am so old and unwell now,” said he, “that I do not quite feel certain whether I can dance at all. But perhaps if you will show me how…”
He stopped, for too late he remembered you had to ask people if they would take his hand to dance with him first, and not a bad beginning for your lessons did Max’s proposition seem to be!
At last he was ready, and the star began a delightful little jig; but before she got through with it all one-third of the morning was gone, and Max was beginning to think it was rather monotonous.
“Haven’t you another jig?” said he rather pettishly.
“I have two or three more, all 300 years old,” replied the star, “But my favourite is one which I have just made up, and of course I have never yet danced to it myself, so you won’t know it.”
Max was very indifferent on the subject, and would rather have waltzed; but of course everybody knew that was out of the question. However, he begged her would she not feel tired, and perhaps they might take a little rest. Then while she was thinking of something nice to say, she flew up to tell all the other stars to come and work their best tricks so as to amuse him.
It was a long while before they could all pack close enough together. The first one who came was Matzy.
“Which is your favourite star of the three, and why?” asked she.
“I can hardly tell,” he replied. “Some prefer dancing, and in that case I see none more graceful than the Sad King, while the young lady who rides about upon the shoulders of the Great Bear is very pleasing to the eye; but for a study in colour I think that the Swan excels.” Then Matzy flew away.
In the cold far away north, which I am sure seemed to Max to be just underneath his feet, a tiny opening appeared. Little by little brighter and brighter it grew; a brilliant state of things it must have been to look at far away back here where I am writing, for it was still a long time ere Max ever even now saw the end of it. Then suddenly both end and middle met each other, and it was so delightfully comfortable that it was like staying at home and yet in other countries also. Mother knows it was nearly as warm too, for the little opening grew into a little patch of clouds, and the whole of the north all in a minutes time was fairly open to the waltzing star.
Just about the same minute an immense round ball of light appeared in the east and came rolling on very slowly towards Max’s sleeping room, to the tune of “Bye-baby Bunting.”
Max begged and prayed the grey star not to rouse him up, so she said no more about it, but turned herself into the very smallest roundest dot, and tried to stop; but all her trying would not prevent her from growing gradually larger and moving directly on. I think he tried to escape to the farthest corner, but long before then the round ball had grown as big as a small tea-table, and the princess, who was a lovely girl and very friendly indeed, had far over-tinted Max’s face, who, after turning a proper shade that was comfortable to everyone, fell back into a sleep deep as always.
But the princess, seeing Max so many shades deeper than all the bright clouds about him, moved her position both to his physical injury and mental vexation. She asked first, quite politely, it is true, to leave off beaming upon him; but as he took no heed of the request, and continued immoveably traquil, angry and annoyed her light kept beating upon him to make him wake, until at last, getting drowsy herself, she began to think he really was ill, and felt most uncomfortable all the time she was moving.
When she was tired of standing upon one leg, she changed over to the other; but the more she tried to bring down the blotchy redness, the more disgraceful was its size. This made her feel more indignant still, and Max will as likely as not be never forgiven for bruising her.
He felt no pain, it is true, but she was dreadful on account of her good nature being taken advantage of, and got quite feverish.
“I won’t stay any longer,” said she at last; and saying no more but finally decided not to keep her promise to go back at once. Instead she spread herself out as one of her happiest actions, and settled on a snug little nest over the flame of the candle stuck in Max’s fat brass candlestick; and I wish particularly to ask this little bit of flame if it will ever forgive her all the annoying things she made him do instead of continuing to flicker pleasantly away to itself, as it would so much have liked to have done?
“Don’t hang over so terribly and squash yourself up, dear flame,” said the princess.
“But there is one place I evidently ought to be hanging over because it is so far from you,” answered the little flame; and this so enraged the princess that in her lofty position it was all that she could do to prevent bursting into tears.
As a thunderstorm completely spoils one’s nightcap as well as one’s day dream, the arrival of one turned Max wide awake and vanished the star for ever, as I have said before they always do when one sees them. One was a peculiarly muffled noise, and thinking of a sudden shower, I suppose the moon felt it necessary to cry out too; but on account of the moon’s politician views, and Max’s sleepy ones, and that I have no other means of sending you a nasty thunderstorm plus a dreary moon-light minus the best star as a memory of the dance, I beg and pray you won’t catch it up with a nasty smile.