A real Cinderella

by Nina Rhoades

She inquired at every store on the block, but always with the same discouraging result. Some of the shopkeepers did not remember the Lipheims at all; others had known them as customers, but nobody appeared to have the slightest idea where they had gone.

“What shall I do—oh, what shall I do now?” thought Gretel, as she came out of the last shop, and stood looking helplessly up and down the avenue. “Nobody knows where they’ve moved to, and how can I possibly find them?”

But if she did not find the Lipheims, to whom should she go? That was the terrible question, and suddenly Gretel began to tremble, and her head felt so queer she was obliged to lean against a lamppost for support.

“I’m all alone,” whispered the poor child, with a sob, “and I don’t know where to go.”

All at once, she realized that she was both very tired and very hungry. Still, it did not occur to her to buy any food. She must find somebody to take care of her, and help her to earn some money, but who was it to be? Rapidly she ran over in her mind the names of the few people she knew. There were the Barlows. Jerry and Geraldine would be glad to see her, and Mr. and Mrs. Barlow were always kind, but if they knew she was a dishonest person, would they want to have anything more to do with her? She remembered Geraldine had said her mother was very particular about what children she and Jerry associated with. If Mrs. Barlow knew that she had stolen a ticket to fairy-land, she might refuse to allow her children to associate with her, and, oh, she could not bear that—she would be so terribly ashamed. There were Mrs. Marsh and Ada, but she did not want to go back to them. Besides, it was not at all likely they would take her back, since Mrs. Marsh and Percy had quarreled, and Percy was no longer paying her board. She thought of several friends of her father’s, who had once been kind to her, but she had no idea where they lived. She remembered the long list of maids who had come and gone during her year with Mrs. Marsh, but the only one among them for whom she had cared in the least was Dora Grubb. Dora had always been kind, and then there were Lillie and Peter. Peter must be in a vaudeville company by this time. Surely he and his family were the very people most likely to be able to help her now. If she only knew where they lived! She remembered that Dora had once spoken of her family as “living uptown on the East Side.” It was rather vague, but still she might be able to find them if she tried very hard. This was “uptown,” and it was also “the East Side.” She could keep on walking until—well, until something happened. So, with a weary sigh, she clutched the heavy suit-case more tightly, and moved on slowly along the crowded, noisy street.

It was nearly two hours later, and Gretel was still plodding wearily on. She had walked a very long way, how far she did not know. The part of the city she was in was quite strange to her, and she had no very clear idea as to just where she was. The scorching June sun was beating down upon her, and it seemed to be growing hotter every minute. She no longer felt any desire for food. A faint, sick feeling was creeping over her, which rendered the thought of breakfast anything but agreeable. Every few minutes she was obliged to stop, and set her suit-case down on the sidewalk. She was tired, oh, so tired; there was no use in trying to keep the tears back any longer, and she let them come thick and fast. She had met plenty of boys and girls, but none among them had at all resembled her old acquaintances Peter and Lillie Grubb.

“There isn’t any use; I can’t carry it any longer,” she said, with a sob, as she set her burden down for at least the tenth time in the past hour. “I’ll have to leave it somewhere.”

She looked about for a suitable hiding-place, but none presented itself. She had turned from a dirty cross street into a wide avenue, noisy with the clang of trolleys, and the roar of an elevated train. There was nothing to be done but leave the suit-case where she was, even at the risk of its being carried off long before she could come back for it. But first she would secure her greatest treasure; the packet of old letters. So, having removed the precious package, and slipped it into her pocket—which was fortunately a large one—she resigned the suit-case to its fate, and prepared to resume her hopeless quest.

There was a dull pain in her head, and queer lights were beginning to dance before her eyes, which at times prevented her seeing very clearly where she was going. Suddenly she realized that she was walking on the sunny side of the street, and that if she crossed the avenue she would be in the shade. How stupid she had been not to think of that before. She would go over to the shade, and sit down somewhere to rest for a little while. Perhaps when she had rested she would feel better. So, with one regretful glance at the suit-case, which must be left behind, she stepped off the curb and started to cross the avenue.

A small boy with his hands in his pockets, was sauntering slowly down the shady side of Second Avenue. It was much too hot to walk fast, and besides, he was in no hurry. It was not yet eleven o’clock, and he dared not present himself before his mother and sisters until noon. For this was a school day, and he had not appeared at the school building at the usual morning hour. In plain English, he was playing truant. He had decided that a swim at one of the free baths would be much more agreeable than spending three hours in a stuffy school-room on that hot morning, but his mother was not a believer in “the law of love,” and consequently, he was not anxious to be seen by his family before the noon lunch hour.