Wouter had found out that he was a prince. His princedom lay in the region of the moon ... no, much farther off than that.

This is how he came to it:—

Long before the beginning of this story,—yes, very, very long ago, there was a Queen of Spirits, just as in Hans Heiling. Her name was A—OO.

She did not live in a cave, as did the one in Hans, but held her court far above the clouds, which is more airy, and also more fitting for a queen.

She wore a necklace of stars, and a sun was set in her signet-ring.

When she went out, the nebulæ flew up like dust, and she scattered the firmaments with a stroke of her fan.

Her children played with planets for marbles, and complained that they were so hard to find when they rolled away among the furniture. This made Prince Upsilon—the queen’s little son—very cross, and he kept asking for some other kind of toys.

The queen had a box full of Sirii given him, but in a little while these too were lost. But that was Upsilon’s own fault. He ought to have taken better care of his playthings. People did what they could to content him. But whatever was given him, he kept calling for something else—something more and bigger. This was a fault in the little prince’s character.

His mother, who, as Queen of Spirits, was a very sensible woman, understood that it would be a good thing for the youngster to get accustomed to doing without for a little. So she said that Upsilon was to be left without any playthings at all.

This was done. They took away everything from him,—even the comet with which he and his little sister Omicron were playing at battledore and shuttlecock.

Prince Upsilon was of a passionate temper, and so far forgot himself as to say something very disrespectful about his mother.

Princess Omicron, too, led astray by his example (for nothing is more ruinous than bad examples), angrily threw her battledore at the Universe. Which was not nice in a little girl.

Now in the kingdom of Spirits there was a law that whoever lost sight of the respect due to the Queen, or threw anything at the Universe, should be punished for the same by a temporary loss of all rank and dignity.

Prince Upsilon became a grain of sand.

After having behaved well for a couple of thousand years, he received the joyful tidings that he was promoted to the rank of a tuft of moss.

In this capacity he kept his duty in mind, and did everything that a good moss tuft ought to do. And on a certain morning he awoke as a polype.

This happened about the time when human beings first began to prepare their food by means of fire.

He built one or two continents, and in about two thousand years’ time he was rewarded for his zeal by being changed into a shrimp.

In this position, also, no one had the slightest reason to complain of his conduct, and in due course he was transferred to the class of sea-serpents.

He amused himself, innocently enough, by playing at hide-and-seek with the sailors, but did no one any harm; and some time afterwards he received four feet and the rank of mastodon, with the privilege of disporting himself on shore.

With philosophic calm he adapted himself to his new circumstances, and occupied himself with geological observations. A few million ages later....

When I speak of ages, it must be borne in mind that all this time taken together was only a short quarter of an hour in the land of Spirits, ... or rather that it was absolutely nothing. For time was invented for the convenience of mankind, as we give spelling-books to children. For Spirits, then, now, and in the future is exactly the same thing. They comprehend yesterday, to-day, and to-morrow in one glance,—just as we read a word without spelling. What was and shall be, is.

The Egyptians and Phœnicians knew this very well, but we seem to have forgotten it.

A few million years later, then, he rose to the rank of an elephant; and, a spirit-minute or so after that,—that is ten years, I mean human years this time—before the beginning of my story, he was transferred to the class of human beings.

What he had done amiss, as an elephant, I do not know.

But, Fancy had said, if he did not want to be put back another step, instead of being shortly restored to his rank as a prince of Spirits, he must look to his ways as a human being; not make any more verses about brigands, or sell any more Bibles; and then, why, perhaps it might come to pass.

Alas, he would have to put up with Juffrouw Pieterse’s not wearing a train. “That,” said Fancy, “is so, and can’t be helped.”

Fancy appeared to be a sort of maid-of-honour of Wouter’s mother, who came to visit him in his banishment, so as to cheer him up a bit, and tell him to take courage, for the temporary punishment that had fallen to his lot did not mean that people had ceased to love him.

She promised to come and see him from time to time.

“But,” Wouter had asked, “how is my little sister?”

“Your sister has been punished too—you know the law. But she is a dear child. She is submitting to it patiently, and promises to do better in the future. In the beginning she was a bubble of air, and conducted herself irreproachably as such. Then she became a moonbeam, and in this capacity also no one had any fault to find with her. She shone so that it was a pleasure to see her, and your mother had need of all her strength of mind to keep from granting her a respite. So she was soon promoted to be a perfume, and filled the Universe to such a degree that she gave us a headache. This happened about the time when you were beginning to eat grass. Then she became a butterfly. But your mother found that this was not a suitable position for a girl, and therefore soon changed her into a constellation—see, there she is—below us.”

Wouter looked for Omicron, but could not find her.

It often happens that we miss something because it is too big.

“See,” said Fancy, “there—to the right—no—rather farther off—there—there—the Pole Star. That’s her left eye. You can’t see the right, because she is stooping after Orion, her doll. She is holding him on her lap and playing with him.”

Wouter now saw her clearly, and cried “Omicron! Omicron!”

“No, no,” said the maid-of-honour, “that won’t do, prince. The queen expressly directed that your confinement was to be on the cellular system. It is only as a great favour that you two are shut up within the same universe. When your brothers spoilt the Milky Way some time ago by letting floods loose over it, they were put very much farther apart.”

Wouter was greatly grieved at this. He would so have liked to kiss all those stars, with the doll in their lap, which were his little sister.

“Oh! Fancy,” he cried, “do let me be with Omicron!”

Fancy said neither yes nor no. There was something in her manner as if she were thinking over the possibility of bringing a very difficult matter to pass.

But Wouter, taking courage from her hesitation, repeated his prayer:

“Oh! let me be with my little sister. I don’t mind if I have to eat grass again, or build continents. I will do my very best at it, if I may only be with Omicron!”

It seems as though Fancy were afraid to promise what might be out of her power, and, at the same time, that it pained her not to be able to give the promise.

“I will ask,” she whispered; “and now....”

Wouter rubbed his eyes ... he was standing on the little bridge over the canal.