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 Denver. It seemed impossible that Uncle Starkweather and his family could reside in such a place as this. And yet the street and number were correct. Surely, the taxicab driver must know his way about the city! From behind the door on her right came the rattle of dishes and voices. Putting her courage to the test, Helen rapped on the door. But she had to repeat the summons before she was heard. Then she heard a shuffling step approach the door, it was unlocked, and a gray old woman, with a huge horsehair wig upon her head, peered out at her. "Vot you vant?" this apparition asked, her black eyes growing round in wonder at the appearance of the girl and her bag. "Ve puys noddings; ve sells noddings. Vot you vant--eh?" "I am looking for my Uncle Starkweather," said Helen, doubtfully. "Vor your ungle?" repeated the old woman. "Mr. Starkweather. Does he live in this house?" "'S'arkwesser'? I neffer heard," said the old woman, shaking her huge head. "Abramovitch lifs here, and Abelosky, and Seldt, and--and Goronsky. You sure you god de name ride, Miss?" "Quite sure," replied the puzzled Helen. "Meppe ubstairs," said the woman, eyeing Helen curiously. "Vot you god in de pag, lady?"