mortal enjoyment, and transformed the earthly food into ambrosia of the gods, was that, while they sifted the powdered sugar over their berries, Miss Santa Claus began to tell them a story. It was about the Princess Ina, who had six brothers whom a wicked witch changed into swans. It was a very interesting story, the way she told it, and more than once both Libby and Will'm paused with their spoons half-way from berries to mouth, the better to listen. It was quite sad, too, for only once in twenty-four hours, and then just for a few moments, could the princes shed their swanskins and be real brothers again. At these times they would fly back to their sister Ina, and with tears in their eyes, beg her to help them break the cruel charm.
At last she found a way, but it would be a hard way for her. She must go alone, and in the fearsome murk of the gloaming, to a spot where wild asters grew. The other name for them is star-flower. If she could pick enough of these star-flowers to weave into a mantle for each brother, which would cover him from wing-tip to wing-tip, then they would be free from the spell as soon as it was thrown over them. But the flowers must be gathered in silence. A single word spoken aloud would undo all her work. And it would be a hard task, for the star-flowers grew only among briers and weeds, and her hands would be scratched with thorns and stung by nettles. Yet, no matter how badly she was torn or blistered, she must not break her silence by one word of complaint,
Now the way Miss Santa told that story made you feel that it was you and not the Princess Ina who was groping through the fearsome gloaming after the magic flowers. Once Libby felt the scratch of the thorns so plainly that she said “O-o-oh” in a whisper, and looked down at her own hands, half expecting to see blood on them. And Will'm forgot to eat entirely, when it came to the time of weaving the last mantle and there was n’t quite enough material to piece it out to the last wing-tip. Still, there was enough to change the last swan back into a real brother again, even if one arm never was quite as it should be; and when all six brothers stood around their dear sister, weeping tears of joy at their deliverance, Will’m’s face shone as if he had just been delivered from the same fate himself.
“Now,” said Miss Santa Claus, when the waiter had brought the bill and gone back for some change, “you must never, never forget that story as long as you live. I’ve told it to you because it ’s a true charm that can be used for many things. Aunt Ruth told it to me. She used it long ago. when she wanted to change Rosalie into a real daughter, and I used it once when I wanted to change a girl who was just a pretend friend into a real one. And you are to use it to change your stepmother into a real mother! I’ll tell you how when we go back to our seats.”
On the way back, they stopped in the vestibule between the cars for a breath of fresh air, and to look out on the snow-covered country, lying white in the moonlight. The flakes were no longer falling.
“I see the sky road!” sang out Will'm, in a happy sort of chant, pointing up at the glittering milky way. “Pretty soon the drate big reindeer 'll come running down that road!”
“And the Christmas angels,” added Libby, reverently, in a half-whisper.
“And there ’s where the star-flowers grow,” Miss Santa Claus chimed in, as if she were singing. “Once there was a dear poet who called the stars ‘the forget-me-nots of the angels.” I believe I ’ll tell you about them right now, while we 're out here where we can look up at them. Oh, I wonder if I can make it plain enough for you to understand me!”
With an arm around each child’s shoulder to steady them while they stood there, rocking and swaying with the motion of the lurching train, she began:
“It ’s this way: when you go home, probably there ’ll be lots of things that you won't like, and that you won’t want to do. Things that will seem as disagreeable as Ina’s task was to her. They won't scratch and blister your hands, but they ‘ll make you feel all scratchy, and hot, and cross. But if you go ahead as Ina did, without opening your lips to complain, it will be like picking a little white star-flower whose name is obedience. The more you pick of them the more you will have to weave into your mantle. And sometimes you will see a chance to do something to help her or to please her, without waiting to be asked. You may have to stop playing to do it, and give up your own pleasure. That will scratch your feelings some, but doing it will be like picking a big, golden star-flower whose name is kindness. And if you keep on doing this, day after day as Ina did, with never a word of complaint, the time will come when you have woven a big, beautiful mantle whose name is love. And when it is big enough to reach from ‘wing-tip to wing-tip,” you ’ll find that she has grown to be just like a real mother. Do you understand ?”
“Yes, ma'am,” answecred Libby, solemnly. Will'm did not answer, but the far-off look in his eyes showed that he was pondering over what she had just told them.
“Now we must run along in,” she said briskly.
