She went back to the Stone domicile in a sort of daze—­smiling and happy in her quiet way, but quite speechless.  Even Jennie could not “get a rise out of her,” as she confessed to Helen and Ruth after they were ready for bed and the plump girl had come in to perch on one of the twin beds her chums occupied for the night.

“But I like this Osage flower,” observed Jennie.  “And I am just as anxious as I can be to see you make a star actress out of her, Ruthie.”

“It will be Mr. Hammond and the director who do that.”

“I guess you’ll be in it,” said Helen promptly.  “If it wasn’t for your story they would not be able to feature Wonota.”

“Anyway,” went on Jennie, “I want to go West with you, Ruth—­and so does Helen.  Don’t you, Nell?”

“I certainly do,” agreed Ruth’s good friend.  “Heavy and I are going to tag along, Ruthie, somehow.  If there is a chaperone, father said I could go.”

“Not Aunt Kate!” cried Jennie.  “She says she has had enough.  We dragged her down East this summer, but she will not leave Madison Avenue this winter.”

“No need of worrying about that.  Mother Paisley is going with the company.  I have a part for her in my picture.  She always looks out for the girls—­a better chaperone than Mr. Hammond could hire,” said Ruth.

“Fine!” cried Helen.  “We’ll go, then.”

“We will,” echoed Jennie.

“I wish you’d go to bed and let me go to sleep,” complained the girl of the Red Mill.  “I have a hard day’s work to-morrow—­I feel it.”

She was not mistaken in this feeling.  At eight Mr. Hammond’s assistant telephoned that the director and the company would meet Ruth and Wonota at a certain downtown corner where several of the scenes were to be shot.  Dressing rooms in a neighboring hotel had been engaged.  Ruth and her charge hastened through their breakfast, and Mr. Stone’s chauffeur drove them down to the corner mentioned.

It was a very busy spot, especially about noon.  Ruth had seen so much of this location work done, that it did not bother her.  She was only to stand to one side and watch, anyway.  But Wonota asked: 

“Oh! we don’t have to do this right out here in public, do we, Miss Fielding?”

“You do,” laughed her friend.  “Why, the people on the street help make the picture seem reasonable and natural.  You need not be frightened.”

“But, shall I have to be in that half-Indian costume Mr. Hammond told me to wear?  What will people say—­or think?”

Ruth was amused.  “That’s the picture.  You will see some of the characters in stranger garments than those of yours before we have finished.  And, anyway, in New York you often see the most outlandish costumes on people—­Turks in their national dress, Hindoos with turbans and robes, Japanese and Chinese women dressed in the silks and brocades of their lands.  Oh, don’t worry about bead-trimmed leggings and a few feathers.  And your skirt in that costume is nowhere near as short as those worn by three-fourths of the girls you will see.”