"I just phoned over for you, Miss Powderly," she said. "A friend is waiting," and her smile betrayed something of the good news expected.

"Oh, Stanislaus! My friend! My brother!" exclaimed the overwrought Helen, rus.h.i.+ng in and grasping the two outstretched hands of the young man who stood in the center of the office. "At last you have come! Oh, it is too good!"

"And as good to me, little sister!" replied the young man affectionately, returning Helen's greeting. "It seems years I have been looking."

"Let us sit down," said Helen, finally releasing the hand of her caller, "over there by the big palm. You see, Stan, I have a very lovely home. And we will tell our story in English, Stan, for Miss Bennet is my very good friend."

Miss Bennet smiled her appreciation of the compliment. Had Helen chosen to use her native tongue, Polish, the secretary would have felt like one endured through sufferance, but English has a way of floating around, even to the corners of such an office as that of Wellington.

"And now tell me, Stan dear," begged Helen. "Where have you been and how did you lose me?" She smiled prettily at this question, then continued. "After that you may tell me how you have found me."

The young man smiled in return. He was of light complexion, and had curls to add to his distinguished appearance-but wait until Jane or Judith would see those curls! Noting his wonderful broad forehead, even Miss Bennet guessed he must be a very talented young man, indeed.

"I will tell you all about it, little sister," he began in a subdued voice. "After I left you at the young ladies' seminary at Blindwood I returned to New York, and there, I found, I was being watched by those Russians!"

"Oh, those men! I, too, saw them, and had much trouble to get away!"

interrupted Helen.

"Then I knew I should not again risk going to your school, or even sending a letter. I waited for weeks, hoping to find some way to send you word, when I was suddenly called West to fulfill a contract in a big city. That took me far away, and with sorrow I left you, sending no word. It was like the old world then, here in this America. The traitor was everywhere and I could not risk your happiness once more. So I went to the West."

"But you were very wise, Stan," Helen insisted, "for all the time at that school, I had money, and all things I wanted. You arranged things so beautifully."

"I am happy, Siostra," he replied, using the Polish term for sister. "I would that little Helka had never to know sorrow, she has suffered too much."

"But now-no more," and Helen grasped his hand in sheer grat.i.tude.

"It was while in Chicago," continued the young man, "I met a social worker, she was called, and this young lady told me what to do to get a message to you. She wrote a letter to the New York worker, Miss Mahon, and that was how I found you had come here from Blindwood."

"Oh-I see!" exclaimed Helen, as if the information had answered a long standing question.

"But now tell me how it is with you, Siostra? You are very happy here?"

Memories of the tearful face of Marian Seaton delayed for a moment her reply. Then she smiled brightly and told him, it was a very wonderful school, and she had many very good friends, but her benefactor!

"You shall know the most wonderful girl of all," enthused Helen. "My real sister and protector, Miss Allen. You have yet, my friend, something great to know, for you will learn what a girl can do for kindness alone."

"Oh, little one. I know what anyone can do for so good a sister as Helka Podonsky, but I shall like also to know this wonderful friend. I hope she may not take all the glory from Stanislaus?" This a playful quib proclaimed the youth of the boy, and one capable of enjoying persiflage.

"That could not be," replied Helen. "But I must tell you about the man who followed me in New York. He came one day to my apartment where I was with Miss Allen and her friend. He waited until he knew I was alone, then he came to my door. I was so much terrified I could only shut that door, then I fainted."

"Poor little girl," replied the young man, "I knew they would follow you, but how did you elude them?"

"That very day we left New York, and came safely to this far-away place. Oh! Stanislaus, you cannot know what Miss Allen has done for me.

Always when she asked to find my friends, and I say-wait-she will wait.

If then she make known where I am, I would again be found by those robbers," and the violet eyes blazed at the thought.

"But I do know something of your good friend," he replied. "The social worker of New York wrote in her letters of this young lady. She said many fine things about her."

"She could not say half," briefly replied Helen.

The sound of a motor outside interrupted them. Miss Bennet opened the door to admit the wayfarers from New York City.

CHAPTER x.x.x-THE ACORN AND THE OAK

"Oh, it's Jane! Come on!" called Judith, dragging in her wake such of the girls as she could collect from the study hall. "Come on and hear all the news."

At that moment the party from New York, Mrs. Weatherbee, Jane and their distinguished guest, Mme. Nalasky, were being shown in to the halls of old Wellington. There, just across the polished floor within the confines of the cozy office, Helen and her guest awaited, expectantly, and with evidence of suppressed excitement.

"Here we come!" announced Jane, who led the way. "Helen-you here? We stopped at your house," then seeing the strange young man, Jane repressed her joyous enthusiasm.

Madam Nalasky was holding back a little, at the urgent request of her secretary, Marie, who openly rebelled that Madam should so endanger her voice with all this excitement. Mrs. Weatherbee was saying a private word with Miss Bennet, and that left Jane with Helen and the stranger.

Jane had volunteered to go on ahead to prepare Helen for the news. She stood now, debating how to undertake her task.

"Helen, you can never guess who is here?" she finally blurted out in true school girl fas.h.i.+on. "Have you ever heard of the fairies?"

"Of a fairy G.o.dmother-yes," replied Helen with surprising promptness.

"I want to introduce to you. Miss Allen, my childhood friend-Stanislaus," she said simply.

The young man bowed, and Jane smiled, as she accepted the introduction.

But her eye was over her shoulder on the door where Mme. Nalasky was being held back.

"Oh, Helen, I am all excited," admitted Jane. "We have such wonderful news. We have found-guess whom?"

"Oh, not my Matka! Do not tell me my dreams are all come true. It cannot be my mother!" and Helen, too overcome to say more grasped Jane and clung to her, trembling visibly.

"There is a lady here who cannot wait another moment to see you, may I--"

But the tide could no longer be stemmed and in rushed Mme. Nalasky.

"My baby! My own darling!" exclaimed the singer, brus.h.i.+ng into the room and embracing the astonished Helen.

Jane drew back, and stood near Stanislaus, who was viewing the scene with quite as much astonishment as it were possible for a young man to experience. At the moment Jane could not refrain from indulging her old-time delight of clapping her hands. As if that were a signal, Judith and her followers actually entered the room in battle formation.

Mrs. Weatherbee was about to expostulate, when Madam Nalasky turned smiling to the group.

"Ah, this is all too beautiful! Like a grand opera climax. I would not have the young ladies leave, if you please, madam," to Mrs. Weatherbee.

"May they not all hear our wonderful story? I think of a certainty, the companions of Miss Allen must indeed be worthy of so much pleasure."

Judith almost chuckled. Jane dragged her in nearer and squeezed her hand. Drusilla, d.i.c.ky, Weasie, Gloria, besides all the others waiting impatiently in the big hall could hear their invitation to take part in the climax of the grand opera. Helen was dumbfounded. She stood staring at the woman beside her, as if she could not trust her senses. Then Marie, the faithful protector of talent, stepped up and deliberately led her mistress to a chair. Madam did sit down. She knew Marie's power, but from the small throne she might still direct that girls'

opera.

She motioned Helen to come nearer, and then begun in true stage fas.h.i.+on to unfold the tale.

"This little girl," she said, "is my own sweet daughter. When I left her in Petrograd at a conservatory she was in the care of the very wonderful man, my uncle. I had been-somewhat with the n.o.bility, was obliged to leave the beautiful Poland, and too soon my kind old uncle-he who had taken Helka to watch over, was gone also!"