saw the farmer the latter put forth an effort to be
pleasant to him, the two households did not well "mix".

Besides, during this busiest time of the year, when the crops were
getting started, there seemed to be little opportunity for social
intercourse. At least, so it seemed on the Atterson place.

They were a busy and well contented crew, and everything seemed to be
running like clockwork, when suddenly "another dish of trouble", as
Mother Atterson called it, was served them in a most unexpected manner.

Hiram was coming up from the barn one evening, long after dark, and had
just caught sight of Sister standing on the porch waiting for him, when
a sudden glow against the dark sky, made him turn.

The flash of fire passed on the instant, and Sister called to him:

"Oh, Hiram! did you see that shooting-star?"

"You never wished on it, Sis," said the young farmer.

"Oh, yes I did!" she returned, dancing down the steps to meet him.

"That quick?"

"Just that quick," she reiterated, seizing his arm and getting into step
with him.

"And what was the wish?" demanded Hiram.

"Why--I won't ever get it if I tell you, will I?" she queried, shyly.

"Just as likely to as not, Sister," he said, with serious voice. "Wishes
are funny things, you know. Sometimes the very best ones never come
true."

"And I'm afraid mine will never come true," she sighed. "Oh, dear! I
guess no amount of wishing will ever bring some things to pass."

"Maybe that's so, Sis," he said, chuckling. "I fancy that getting out
and hustling for the thing you want is the best way to fulfill wishes."

"Oh, but I can't do that in this case," said the girl, shaking her head,
and still speaking very seriously as they came to the porch steps.

"Maybe I can bring it about for you," teased Hiram.

"I guess not," she said. "I want so to be like other girls, Hiram! I'd
like to be like that pretty Lettie Bronson. I'm not jealous of her
looks and her clothes and her good times and all; no, that's not it,"
proclaimed Sister, with a little break in her voice.

"But I'd like to know who I really be. I want folks, and--and I want to
have a real name of my own!"

"Why, bless you!" exclaimed the young fellow, "'Sister' is a nice name,
I'm sure--and we all love it here."

"But it isn't a name. They call me Sissy Atterson at school. But it
doesn't belong to me. I--I've thought lots about choosing a name for
myself--a real fancy one, you know. There's lots o