Ginger had always wondered where the stars went in the daytime. She knew what grown-ups said. The stars were still there; the sunlight was simply too bright to see them. Ginger understood the explanation, but understanding something had never stopped her from wondering whether there might be another answer.

Maybe the stars went home. Maybe they slept. Or maybe, just before morning, someone gathered them from the sky and carried them somewhere safe until night returned.

One summer evening, Ginger stayed outside later than usual. The day had been hot, but the desert cooled quickly after sunset. She sat on a flat rock with her knees pulled against her chest and watched the last streaks of orange disappear behind the mountains. One by one, the stars appeared. First one, then three, then more than Ginger could count.

She was about to head home when she noticed something strange on the hill ahead of her. A light appeared near the ground. Then another appeared just above it. Then another. Ginger stood and watched as the lights continued upward, one after another, until they formed a glowing line climbing the hillside.

It looked almost like a stairway.

There had never been stairs on that hill before. Ginger knew because she had climbed it many times. But there they were, rising higher and higher until they seemed to disappear into the night sky.

Ginger walked toward them. At the bottom of the hill she found the first step. It wasn't made of wood or stone. It seemed to be made entirely of light. Ginger put one foot on it. The step held. She put her other foot beside it, and another glowing step appeared above her.

Ginger looked back toward home. Then she looked up. The stairway stretched toward the stars. There are moments when a person knows perfectly well what the sensible thing would be.

Ginger climbed.

With every step, the ground seemed farther away. The cottonwoods became small dark shapes. Roads became thin ribbons. Houses turned into tiny squares of light. Still the stairs continued.

Ginger climbed through a cloud. It was cold and damp and smelled like rain. When she came out the other side, she gasped.

The sky above her was filled with stars. Not little pinpricks of light like the ones she saw from the ground. These stars were enormous and glowing. Some were white. Others were blue, gold, and pale red. And they weren't quiet. They hummed. Thousands and thousands of stars made a soft sound that seemed to fill the entire sky.

Ginger climbed until the stairway ended on a small silver platform floating among them. Someone was waiting. He was very old and very small, with a beard that reached almost to his knees. His coat was covered with tiny pockets, and from every pocket came a faint glow.

"You're late," he said.

Ginger stared at him. "I didn't know I was coming."

The little man frowned. "That does make being on time difficult."

"Who are you?"

"The Keeper."

"Keeper of what?"

He waved one hand toward the sky. "The stars, of course."

Ginger looked around. "You take care of all of them?"

"Every last one."

"That's a lot of stars."

"You're telling me."

He handed Ginger a small silver bucket and told her to come along. Ginger followed him across the platform until they reached a star that was flickering. The Keeper reached into one of his pockets, pulled out a handful of something sparkling, and tossed it onto the star. Immediately, it glowed brighter.

"Stardust," he explained.

Another star nearby blinked twice and went dark.

"Oh dear," said the Keeper. "That one's tired."

He gently lifted the dark star and placed it in Ginger's bucket. Ginger peered inside.

"What happens to it?"

"It rests."

"Stars get tired?"

"Everything gets tired."

They continued through the sky. Some stars needed polishing. Some needed stardust. One had wandered away from its proper place and had to be guided back. Two tiny stars were arguing because each insisted the other was shining too brightly. Ginger helped wherever she could.

Eventually, they came to the smallest star Ginger had ever seen. It barely glowed at all. The Keeper sighed and told Ginger that this particular star had been having trouble.

"What's wrong with it?" Ginger asked.

"It thinks it's too small."

"Too small for what?"

"To matter."

Ginger crouched beside the little star and touched it gently. The star gave a faint flicker.

"Where does it belong?"

The Keeper pointed toward the earth far below. Ginger followed his finger and saw a dark stretch of desert. There were no towns nearby and no streetlights. Then Ginger noticed something moving through the darkness.

"What is that?"

"A young coyote," said the Keeper. "It lost its mother earlier today."

Ginger looked at the little star and then at the coyote.

"Can it see the star?"

"If the star shines."

Ginger leaned close to the little star. "Someone needs you," she whispered.

The star flickered.

"Really. You're small, but that doesn't mean you're not important."

The star began to glow. Far below, the young coyote stopped and looked upward. The star grew brighter. The coyote changed direction and began walking.

Toward home.

Ginger smiled, and the little star blazed.

"Well," said the Keeper. "That seems to have solved that."

They worked until the eastern edge of the world began turning pale. Then the Keeper stopped and announced that morning was coming. All around them, the stars began to dim.

"Where do they go now?" Ginger asked.

The Keeper smiled. "Nowhere."

Ginger looked puzzled.

"They stay right where they are," he explained. "People simply stop seeing them."

"So the grown-ups were right?"

"Sometimes they are."

Ginger laughed.

The Keeper led her back to the silver stairway. Ginger put one foot on the first glowing step and then turned around.

"Will I ever come back?"

"Perhaps."

"When?"

The Keeper shrugged. "Stairways like this don't keep schedules."

Ginger was about to leave when she remembered something.

"What happens to the little star?"

The Keeper pointed. It was still there, faintly visible in the growing morning light.

"That one?" He smiled. "I think that one has remembered how to shine."

Ginger began climbing down through the clouds. The farther she went, the brighter the morning became. But something felt strange. The glowing stairs beneath her feet began to wobble. The mountains seemed to sway, and somewhere far away Ginger heard a bird singing.

Suddenly, the stairway disappeared.

Ginger opened her eyes.

She was in her own bed.

Morning sunlight streamed through the window, and a bird was chirping outside. Ginger sat up and looked around. There was no silver stairway. No Keeper. No bucket of tired stars.

She had been dreaming.

Ginger slipped out of bed and went to the window. The morning sky was bright blue, and there wasn't a star anywhere.

At least, none she could see.

For a moment, Ginger wondered whether the Keeper, the little coyote, and the tiny star had existed only in her dream.

Then something sparkled on the windowsill.

Ginger reached down.

There, beneath her fingertip, was a single speck of silver dust.

Ginger smiled.

Maybe it had only been a dream.

And maybe it hadn't.

She looked up at the empty blue sky and thought about the little star that believed it was too small to matter.

The stars didn't disappear when morning came. They kept shining even when no one could see them.

And perhaps that was true of people, too.

You didn't have to be the biggest light in the sky to help someone find their way home.