A young idealist, at four, was selling stars to put in the sky. She had cut them with her own scissors out of red tissue paper, so that she was able to give a guarantee.
"But you'll have to get the ladder out of our bedroom to put 'em up wiv," she told purchasers honestly.
The child was a wild dark creature, slim and elfish, with a queer little smile that flashed sudden as an April sun.
It was evening, on the promenade deck of an ocean liner. The sea was like glass and the swell hardly perceptible. Land was in sight, a vague uneven line rising mist-like on the horizon. Before morning the Victorian would be running up the St. Lawrence. Even for the most squeamish the discomforts of the voyage lay behind. A pleasant good fellowship was in the air. In some it took the form of an idle contentment, a vague regret that ties newly formed must so soon be broken. In others it found an expression more buoyant. Merry voices of shuffleboard players drifted forward. Young couples paced the deck and leaned over the rail to watch the phosphorescent glow. The open windows of the smoking-room gave forth the tinkle of glasses and the low rattle of chips. All sounds blended into a mellow harmony.
"What's your price on a whole constellation with a lovers' moon thrown in?" inquired a young man lounging in a deck chair.
The vendor of stars looked at him in her direct serious fashion. "I fink I tan't sell you all 'at, but I'll make you a moon to go wiv the stars--not a weally twuly one, jus' a make-believe moon," she added in a whisper.
An irritated voice made itself heard. "Steward, have you seen that child anywhere? The naughty little brat has run away again--and I left her only a minute."
The dealer in celestial supplies came to earth.
"I'm goin' to be smacked," she announced with grave conviction.
An unvoiced conspiracy formed itself instantly in her behalf. A lady in a steamer chair gathered the child under the shelter of her rug. An eight-year-old youngster knotted his fists valiantly. The young man who had priced a constellation considered the chances of a cutting-out expedition.
"She should have been in bed long ago. I just stepped out to speak to our room steward and when I came back she was gone," the annoyed governess was explaining.
Discovery was imminent. The victim prepared herself for the worst.
"I don't care," she protested to her protector. "It's ever so nicer to stay up, an' if it wasn't runnin' away it would be somefing else."