She recalled the many acts of kindness shown her by Fritz Lipheim and his mother in the old studio days, and at the time of her father’s death. She had once gone to have supper with Mrs. Lipheim, and she remembered the cozy little flat, and the kind old German woman bustling about her neat kitchen. The thought of that supper reminded her of the fact that she had had no breakfast that morning, and she suddenly realized that she was very hungry.
“I’m afraid I shall be late for the Lipheims’ breakfast,” she thought a little uneasily, “but they are so kind, they’ll be sure to give me something to eat.”
She had never forgotten the Lipheims’ address, although she had not been there since her father’s death. She had once asked Mrs. Marsh if she might go to see her old friends, but that lady had refused so decidedly that she had never dared broach the subject again. Since her brother’s return she had not been in New York long enough to make calls, especially as the Lipheims lived in Harlem, but Barbara had promised to take her some day to see her kind old friends. And now she was going all by herself, but under what sadly different circumstances from any she had anticipated.
When the conductor came to collect the tickets, Gretel explained about the closed station, and taking out her purse, inquired the price of a trip to New York. The conductor looked at her much as the brakeman had done, but she seemed such a capable little person, and so thoroughly convinced of what she wanted to do, that he decided it was none of his business, and walked away, after receiving her fare, and returning the proper change.
It was a slow train, and made a great many stops. As they neared the city, the car began to fill up, chiefly with men and women on their way to work, but no one took any particular notice of the solitary little girl. Gretel’s heart grew heavier and heavier. She heard a man in the seat behind her say it was half-past seven. By this time Higgins must have come to call her, and have found her letter to Percy. How shocked and pained they must all be when they learned the dreadful truth about her. Of course they would never want to have anything more to do with her now they knew her to be a dishonest person. A big tear splashed down on Gretel’s cheek, and was quickly followed by another, but the child brushed them away hurriedly, fearing the passengers might see that she was crying. Gretel was a proud child, and she did not want to be pitied or questioned by strangers.
CHAPTER XV
ALONE IN THE BIG CITY
IT was eight o’clock when the train steamed slowly into the Grand Central, and Gretel, with the heavy suit-case clutched tightly in her arms, made her way out into the crowded station. The bustle and confusion bewildered her a little, although she had been accustomed to the city all her life. The roar of the elevated trains; the shouting of cab drivers, and the pushing, jostling throngs, made her feel all at once very lonely, and rather frightened. Her head was beginning to ache, too, and she was more than ever conscious of the fact that she had not had any breakfast. Still, it never occurred to her to stop and buy something to eat, although there was still nearly two dollars left in her purse. Her one thought was to reach the Lipheims’ flat as soon as possible.
At the corner of Forty-second Street she paused for a moment.
“East One Hundred and Sixth Street,” she said to herself; “I must take the Third Avenue Elevated.” And she turned resolutely eastward.
Early as it still was, the streets were almost unbearably hot. The air which had felt so cool and fresh in the country, was oppressive with heat and smoke, and Gretel’s suit-case was very heavy. By the time the little girl had reached the elevated station, and climbed the long flight of stairs to the platform, she felt as tired as if she had been walking miles. She was fortunate, however, in getting a seat in a train bound for Harlem, and it felt cooler up there on a level with people’s second story windows, than it had done in the street below.