Will you not let me come in, Sweetheart?"

Star blushed, and hung her head for a moment, remembering Captain
January's lessons on politeness and "quarter-deck manners." She
brought a chair at once, and in a more gracious tone said (mindful
of Willum Shakespeare's lords and ladies), "I pray you sit!"

The lady sat down, and taking the child's hand, drew her gently
towards her. "Were you playing fairy, dear?" she asked, smoothing
back the golden hair with loving touch.

Star nodded. "I was delicate Ariel," she said. "I was footing it
featly, you know, on these yellow sands. Sometimes I am Puck, and
sometimes Titania; but Daddy likes Ariel best, and so do I. Did you
ever play it?" she asked, looking up into the kindly face that bent
over her.

The lady smiled and shook her head. "No, dear child," she said, still
with that motherly touch of the hand on the fair head. "I never
thought of such a pretty play as that, but I was very happy as a child
playing with my--with my sister. I had a dear, dear sister, Star.
Would you like to hear about her?"

"Yes," said Star, with wondering eyes. "Was she a little girl?"

"Such a lovely little girl!" said the lady. "Her hair was dark, but
her eyes were like yours, Star, blue and soft. We played together
always as children, and we grew up together, two loving, happy girls.
Then my sister married: and by and by, dear, she had a little baby.
A sweet little girl baby, and she named it Isabel, after me."