e to think so until her
play was all over and she was ready to go home again.

Her experience in the great city had told Helen already that she could
never be happy there. She longed for the ranch, and for the Rose
pony--even for Big Hen Billings and Sing and the rag-head, Jo-Rab, and
Manuel and Jose, and all the good-hearted, honest "punchers" who loved her
and who would no more have hurt her feelings than they would have made an
infant cry.

She longed to have somebody call her "Snuggy" and to smile upon her in
good-fellowship. As she walked the streets nobody appeared to heed her. If
they did, their expression of countenance merely showed curiosity, or a
scorn of her clothes.

She was alone. She had never felt so much alone when miles from any other
human being, as she sometimes had been on the range. What had Dud said
about this? That one could be very much alone in the big city? Dud was
right.

She wished that she had Dud Stone's address. She surely would have
communicated with him now, for he was probably back in New York by this
time.

However, there was just one person whom she had met in New York who seemed
to the girl from Sunset Ranch as being "all right." And when she made up
her mind to do as her uncle had directed about the new frock, it was of
this person Helen naturally thought.

Sadie Goronsky! The girl who had shown herself so friendly the night Helen
had come to town. She worked in a store where they sold ladies' clothing.
With no knowledge of the cheaper department stores than those she had seen
on the avenue, it seemed quite the right thing to Helen's mind for her to
search out Sadie and her store.

So, after an early breakfast taken in Mr. Lawdor's little room, and under
the ministrations of that kind old man, Helen left the house--by the area
door as requested--and started downtown.

She didn't think of riding. Indeed, she had no idea how far Madison Street
was. But she remembered the route the taxicab had taken uptown that first
evening, and she could not easily lose her way.

And there was so much for the girl from the ranch to see--so much that was
new and curious to her--that she did not mind the walk; although it took
her until almost noon, and she was quite tired when she got to Chatham
Square.

Here she timidly inquired of a policeman, who kindly crossed the wide
street with her and showed her the way. On the southern side of Madison
Street she wandered, curiously alive to ever