To tell the truth this query rather frightened the girl. She did not reply to the question, but started half-blindly for the stairs, clinging to the bag with both hands. Suddenly a door banged above and a quick and light step began to descend the upper flight. Helen halted and looked expectantly upward. The approaching step was that of a young person. In a moment a girl appeared, descending the stairs like a young whirlwind. She was a vigorous, red-cheeked girl, with dark complexion, a prominent nose, flashing black eyes, and plump, sturdy arms bared to her dimpled elbows. She saw Helen there in the hall and stopped, questioningly. The old woman said something to the newcomer in what Helen supposed must be Yiddish, and banged shut her own door. "Whaddeyer want, Miss?" asked the dark girl, coming nearer to Helen and smiling, showing two rows of perfect teeth. "Got lost?" "I don't know but what I have," admitted the girl from the West. "Chee! You're a greenie, too; ain't you?" "I reckon so," replied Helen, smiling in return. "At least, I've just arrived in town." The girl had now opened the door and looked out. "Look at this, now!" she exclaimed. "Did you come in that taxi?" "Yes," admitted Helen. "Chee! you're some swell; aren't you?" said the other. "We don't have them things stopping at the house every day." "I am looking for my uncle, Mr. Willets Starkweather." "That's no Jewish name. I don't believe he lives in this house," said the black-eyed girl, curiously. "But, this is the number--I saw it," said Helen, faintly. "And it's Madison Avenue; isn't it? I saw the name on the corner lamp-post." "_Madison Avenyer?_" gasped the other girl. "Yes." "Yer kiddin'; ain't yer?" demanded the stranger. "Why---- What do you mean?" "This ain't Madison Avenyer," said the black-eyed girl, with a loud laugh. "Ain't you the greenie? Why, this is Madison _Street!_" "Oh, then, there's a difference?" cried Helen, much relieved. "I didn't get to Uncle Starkweather's, then?" "Not if he lives on Madison Avenyer," said her new friend. "What's his number? I got a cousin that married a man in Harlem. _She_ lives on Madison Avenyer; but it's a long ways up town." "Why, Uncle Starkweather has his home at the same number on Madison Avenue that is on that fanlight," and Helen pointed over the door. "Then he's some swell; eh?" "I--I guess so," admitted Helen, doubtfully. "D'jer jest come to town?" "Yes." "And told the taxi driver to come down here?" "Yes." "Well, he'll take you back. I'll take the number of the cab and scare him pretty near into a fit," said the black-eyed girl, laughing. "Then he's sure to take you right to your uncle's house." "Oh, I'm a thousand times obliged!" cried Helen. "I _am_ a tenderfoot; am I not?" and she laughed. The girl looked at her curiously. "I don't know much about tender feet. Mine never bother me," she said. "But I could see right away that you didn't belong in this part of town."