“Now, you sit right there and make up in your mind the very prettiest hat for me that you can possibly invent. The first hat you trim in this store must be for me.”
“Helen! Helen!” cried Sadie, almost wildly. “You’re crazy yet—or is it me? I don’t know what you mean——”
“Yes, you do, dear,” replied Helen, putting her arms about the other girl’s neck. “You were kind to me when I was lost in this city. You were kind to me just for nothing—when I appeared poor and forlorn and—and a greenie! Now, I am sorry that it seemed best for me to let your mistake stand. I did not tell my uncle and cousins either, that I was not as poor and helpless as I appeared.”
“And you’re rich?” shrieked Sadie. “You’re doing this yourself? This is your store?”
“No, it is your store,” returned Helen, firmly. “Of course, by and by, when you are established and are making lots of money, if you can ever afford to pay me back, you may do so. The money is yours without interest until that time.”
“I got to cry, Helen! I got to cry!” sobbed Sadie Goronsky. “If an angel right down out of heaven had done it like you done it, I’d worship him on my knees. And you’re a rich girl—not a poor one?”
Helen then told her all about herself, and all about her adventures since coming alone to New York. But after that Sadie wanted to keep telling her how thankful she was for the store, and that Helen must come home and see mommer, and that mommer must be brought to see the shop, too. So Helen ran away. She could not bear any more gratitude from Sadie. Her heart was too full.
She went over to poor Lurcher’s lodgings and climbed the dark stairs to his rooms. She had something to tell him, as well.
The purblind old man knew her step, although she had been there but a few times.
“Come in, Miss. Yours are angel’s visits, although they are more frequent than angel’s visits are supposed to be,” he cried.