"I was a little girl baby, too," said Star, "but I wasn't named
anything; I came so: just Star."

"Little Isabel had another name," said the lady. "Her other name was
Maynard, because that was her father's name. Her father was Hugh
Maynard. Have you ever seen or heard that name, my child?"

Star shook her head. "No!" she said; "my poor papa's name was H. M.
It was marked on his shirt and han'k'chief, Daddy says. And my poor
mamma's name was Helena, just like Helena in 'Midsummer Night's
Dream.'" The motherly hand trembled, and the lady's voice faltered
as she said, "Star, my dear sister's name was Helena, too. Is not
that strange, my little one?"

The child looked curiously at her. "Where is your dear sister?" she
asked. "Why do you cry when you say her name? is she naughty?"

"Listen, Star," said the lady, wiping the tears from her eyes, and
striving to speak composedly.

"My sister made a voyage to Europe, with her husband and her little
baby. They spent the summer travelling in beautiful countries; and
in the autumn, in September, Star, ten years ago this very
year,--think of it, my dear!--they sailed for home. They came in a
sailing-vessel, because the sea-voyage was thought good for your--for
my sister. And--and--the vessel was never heard from. There was a
terrible storm and many vessels were lost in it."

"Just like my poor mamma's ship," said the child. "Perhaps it was