"She mustn't have mine," said the woman quickly.  "That's a part of my idea. I give that up with the rest. She must take a new name that gives no hint of me. Think of one, can't you, you two men? Something that would kind of show that she was the daughter of the city, you know." 

 "You couldn't call her 'Santa Francisca,' eh?" said Colonel Pendleton, doubtingly. 

 "Not much," said the woman, with a seriousness that defied any ulterior insinuation. 

 "Nor Chrysopolinia?" said the Mayor, musingly. 

 "But that's only a FIRST name. She must have a family name," said the woman impatiently. 

 "Can YOU think of something, Paul?" said the Mayor, appealing to Hathaway.  "You're a great reader, and later from your classics than I am."  The Mayor, albeit practical and Western, liked to be ostentatiously forgetful of his old Alma Mater, Harvard, on occasions. 

 "How would YERBA BUENA do, sir?" responded the youth gravely. "It's the old Spanish title of the first settlement here. It comes from the name that Father Junipero Serra gave to the pretty little vine that grows wild over the sandhills, and means 'good herb.'  He called it 'A balm for the wounded and sore.'" 

 "For the wounded and sore?" repeated the woman slowly. 

 "That's what they say," responded Hathaway. 

 "You ain't playing us, eh?" she said, with a half laugh that, however, scarcely curved the open mouth with which she had been regarding the young secretary. 

 "No," said the Mayor, hurriedly.  "It's true. I've often heard it. And a capital name it would be for her too. YERBA the first name. BUENA the second. She could be called Miss Buena when she grows up." 

 "Yerba Buena it is," she said suddenly. Then, indicating the youth with a slight toss of her handsome head, "His head's level—you can see that." 

 There was a silence again, and the scratching of the Mayor's pen continued. Colonel Pendleton buttoned up his coat, pulled his long moustache into shape, slightly arranged his collar, and walked to the window without looking at the woman. Presently the Mayor arose from his seat, and, with a certain formal courtesy that had been wanting in his previous manner, handed her his pen and arranged his chair for her at the 

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