ew York. But although _this_ might
be one of the older parts of the city, to Helen's eyes it did _not_ look
respectable.

The street was full of children and grown people in odd costumes. And
there was a babel of voices that certainly were not English.

They shot across another narrow street--then another. And then the cab
stopped beside the curb near a corner gaslight.

"Surely this is not Madison?" demanded Helen, of the driver, as her door
was opened.

"There's the name, Miss," said the man, pointing to the street light.

Helen looked. She really _did_ see "MADISON" in blue letters on the sign.

"And is this the number?" she asked again, looking at the three-story,
shabby house before which the cab had stopped.

"Yes, Miss. Don't you see it on the fanlight?"

The dull light in the hall of the house was sufficient to reveal to her
the number painted on the glass above the door. It was an old, old house,
with grimy panes in the windows, and more dull lights behind the shades
drawn down over them. But there really could be no mistake, Helen thought.
The number over the door and the name on the lamp-post reassured her.

She stepped out of the cab, her bag in her hand.

"See if your folks are here, Miss," said the driver, "before I take off
the trunk."

Helen crossed the walk, clinging to her precious bag. She was not a little
disturbed by this strange situation. These streets about here were the
commonest of the common! And she was carrying a large sum of money, quite
unprotected.

When she mounted the steps and touched the door, it opened. A bustle of
sound came from the house; yet it was not the kind of bustle that she had
expected to hear in her uncle's home.

There were the crying of children, the shrieking of a woman's angry
voice--another singing--language in guttural tones which she could not
understand--heavy boots tramping upon the bare boards overhead.

This lower hall was unfurnished. Indeed, it was a most unlovely place as
far as Helen could see by the light of a single flaring gas jet.

"What kind of a place have I got into?" murmured the Western girl, staring
about in disgust and horror, and clinging tightly to the locked bag.

CHAPTER VIII

THE WELCOME

Helen would have faced almost any peril of the range--wolves, a bear even,
a stampede, flood, or fire--with more confidence than she felt at this
moment.

She had some idea of how city people lived, having been to school in
D