The two girls put on their hats and strolled out for their usual afternoon walk and treat of ice-cream soda. But they had gone no farther from their own door than the length of the Benedict brick wall when they were suddenly brought to a halt in front of the closed gate by hearing a sound on the other side of it. It was a sound indicative of some one's struggling attempt to open it--the click of a key turning and turning in the lock and the futile rattling of the iron knob. And then the sound of a voice murmuring: "Oh, dear! What _shall_ I do? I can't get this open!" "Janet," whispered Marcia, "that's _not_ the voice of Miss Benedict! I _know_ it! I believe it's _Cinderella_, and she's trying to run away! What shall we do--stay here?" "No," Janet whispered back. "Let's just stroll on a little way, and then turn back. We can see what happens then without seeming to be watching." They walked on quickly for a number of yards, and then turned to approach the gate again. Even as they did so they saw it open, and out stepped a little figure. It was not Miss Benedict! The slim, trim little girlish form was clad in plain dark clothes of a slightly unfamiliar cut. But the face was the one that had appeared in the upper window, and the thick golden curls were surmounted by a black velvet tam-o'-shanter. On her arm she carried a small market-basket, and her eyes had a bewildered, almost frightened, look. In their excited interest Marcia and Janet had, quite unconsciously, stopped short where they were and waited to see which way their _Cinderella_ would turn. But though they stood so for an appreciable moment, she turned neither way, and only stood, her back to the gate, gazing uncertainly to the right and left. And then, perceiving them, she seemed to take a sudden resolution, and turned to them appealingly. "Oh, please, _could_ you direct me how to find this?" she asked, holding out a slip of paper. Marcia hurried to her side and read the written address. And when she had read it, she realized that it was the little grocery-shop on the other side of town where she had once encountered Miss Benedict. "Why, certainly!" she cried. "You walk over five blocks in that direction, then turn to your left and down three. You can't miss it; it's right next to a shoemaker's place." The child looked more bewildered than ever, and her eyes strayed to the busy street-crossing near which they stood, crowded with hurrying trucks and automobiles. "Thank you!" she faltered. "Do I go this way?" And then, with sudden candor, "You see, I'm strange in these streets." Her voice was clear and pretty, but her accent markedly un-American. Both girls half consciously noted it. "See here," said Marcia; "would you care to have us take you there? We're not going in any special direction, and I've been there before." An infinitely relieved expression came over the girl's face. "Oh, _would_ you be so kind? I'm just--just scared to death on these streets!"