had seen her counting the money.

"I expect I'd like the old chap if he didn't wear a wig," thought Helen.
"I never could see why people wished to hide the mistakes of Nature. And
he's an old gentleman, too."

Yet again and again she recalled that avaricious gleam in his eyes and how
eager he had seemed when she had first caught sight of his face looking
over her shoulder that first morning on the train. She couldn't forget
that. She kept the locked bag near her hand all the time.

With lively company a journey across this great continent of ours is a
cheerful and inspiring experience. And, of course, Youth can never remain
depressed for long. But in Helen Morrell's case the trip could not be
counted as an enjoyable one.

She was always solitary amid the crowd of travelers. Even when she went
back to the observation platform she was alone. She had nobody with whom
to discuss the beauties of the landscape, or the wonders of Nature past
which the train flashed.

This was her own fault to a degree, of course. The girl from Sunset Ranch
was diffident. These people aboard were all Easterners, or foreigners.
There were no open-hearted, friendly Western folk such as she had been
used to all her life.

She felt herself among a strange people. She scarcely spoke the same
language, or so it seemed. She had felt less awkward and bashful when she
had first gone to the school at Denver as a little girl.

And, again, she was troubled because she had received no reply from her
message to Uncle Starkweather. Of course, he might not have been at home
to receive it; but surely some of the family must have received it.

Every time the brakeman, or porter, or conductor, came through with a
message for some passenger, she hoped he would call her name. But the
Transcontinental brought her across the Western plains, over the two great
rivers, through the Mid-West prairies, skirted two of the Great Lakes,
rushed across the wooded and mountainous Empire State, and finally dashed
down the length of the embattled Hudson toward the Great City of the New
World--the goal of Helen Morrell's late desires, with no word from the
relatives whom she so hoped would welcome her to their hearts and home.

CHAPTER VII

THE GREAT CITY

Helen Morrell never forgot her initial impressions of the great city.

These impressions were at first rather startling--then intensely
interesting. And they all culminated in a single opinion which time onl