"This way, Miss," he said, hurrying on before, and leading Helen to a cozy little room at the back. This corresponded with the housekeeper's sitting-room and Helen believed it must be Mr. Lawdor's own apartment. He laid a small cloth with a flourish. He set forth a silver breakfast set. He did everything neatly and with an alacrity that surprised Helen in one so evidently decrepit. "A chop, now, Miss? Or a rasher?" he asked, pointing to an array of electric appliances on the sideboard by which a breakfast might be "tossed up" in a hurry. "No, no," Helen declared. "Not so early. This nice coffee and these delicious rolls are enough until I have earned more." "Earned more, Miss?" he asked, in surprise. "By exercise," she explained. "I am going to take a good tramp. Then I shall come back as hungry as a mountain lion." "The family breakfasts at nine, Miss," said the butler, bowing. "But if you are an early riser you will always find something tidy here in my room, Miss. You are very welcome." She thanked him and went out into the hall again. The footman in livery--very sleepy and tousled as yet--was unchaining the front door. A yawning maid was at work in one of the parlors with a duster. She stared at Helen in amazement, but Gregson stood stiffly at attention as the visitor went forth into the daylight. "My, how funny city people live!" thought Helen Morrell. "I don't believe I ever could stand it. Up till all hours, and then no breakfast until nine. _What_ a way to live! "And there must be twice as many servants as there are members of the family---- Why! more than that! And all that big house to get lost in," she added, glancing up at it as she started off upon her walk. She turned the first corner and went through a side street toward the west. This was not a business side street. There were several tall apartment hotels interspersed with old houses. She came to Fifth Avenue--"the most beautiful street in the world." It had been swept and garnished by a horde of white-robed men since two o'clock. On this brisk October morning, from the Washington Arch to 110th Street, it was as clean as a whistle. She walked uptown. At Thirty-fourth and Forty-second streets the crosstown traffic had already begun. She passed the new department stores, already opening their eyes and yawning in advance of the day's trade. There were a few pedestrians headed uptown like herself. Some well-dressed men seemed walking to business. A few neat shop girls were hurrying along the pavement, too. But Helen, and the dogs in leash, had the avenue mostly to themselves at this hour. The sleepy maids, or footmen, or pages stared at the Western girl with curiosity as she strode along. For, unlike many from the plains, Helen could walk well in addition to riding well.