y
could prove either true or erroneous.

That belief or opinion Helen expressed in an almost audible exclamation:

"Why! there are so many people here one could _never_ feel lonely!"

This impression came to her after the train had rolled past miles of
streets--all perfectly straight, bearing off on either hand to the two
rivers that wash Manhattan's shores; all illuminated exactly alike; all
bordered by cliffs of dwellings seemingly cut on the same pattern and from
the same material.

With clasped hands and parted lips the girl from Sunset Ranch watched
eagerly the glowing streets, parted by the rushing train. As it slowed
down at 125th Street she could see far along that broad thoroughfare--an
uptown Broadway. There were thousands and thousands of people in
sight--with the glare of shoplights--the clanging electric cars--the
taxicabs and autos shooting across the main stem of Harlem into the
avenues running north and south.

It was as marvelous to the Montana girl as the views of a foreign land
upon the screen of a moving picture theatre. She sank back in her seat
with a sigh as the train moved on.

"What a wonderful, wonderful place!" she thought. "It looks like
fairyland. It is an enchanted place----"

The train, now under electric power, shot suddenly into the ground. The
tunnel was odorous and ill-lighted.

"Well," the girl thought, "I suppose there _is_ another side to the big
city, too!"

The passengers began to put on their wraps and gather together their
hand-luggage. There was much talking and confusion. Some of the tourists
had been met at 125th Street by friends who came that far to greet them.

But there was nobody to greet Helen. There was nobody waiting on the
platform, to come and clasp her hand and bid her welcome, when the train
stopped.

She got down, with her bag, and looked about her. She saw that the old
gentleman with the wig kept step with her. But he did not seem to be
noticing her, and presently he disappeared.

The girl from Sunset Ranch walked slowly up into the main building of the
Grand Central Terminal with the crowd. There was chattering all about
her--young voices, old voices, laughter, squeals of delight and
surprise--all the hubbub of a homing crowd meeting a crowd of friends.

And through it all Helen walked, a stranger in a strange land.

She lingered, hoping that Uncle Starkweather's people might be late. But
nobody spoke to her. She did not know that there were ma