She was taller than he by a head, and he hated himself for it.

They managed to keep together until they crossed the street and came into the broader walk.

Then she drew a relieved breath and answered: "Oh, I don't know.

Sometimes I do." They were lagging far behind their friends, and the girl hummed a tune, then she said, "You know I've always believed in my 'Star light--star bright--first star I've seen to-night,' just as I believe in my prayers." And she looked up and said, "Oh, I haven't said it yet." She picked out her star and said the rhyme, closing with, "I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish to-night." And sitting on the car end in Arizona thirty years after, he tried to find her star in the firmament above him.

He was a man in his fifties then, and the night she showed him her star was more than thirty years gone by.