away; stole to keep herself alive. Then they all took a hand at
her--ministers, society girls, charitable associations; they gave her a
bum steer and made her feel she was a hopeless outcast, so she felt more
at home with the vagrant class. The only person who had ever made her feel
she wanted to be straight was a Salvation Army woman, but she had gone
away and no one was left to care now.

"I didn't let her go any further. I told her _I_ cared and I cared all the
more since I had heard her story; and that she _was_ honest, or she
wouldn't have told me about herself. What did I care what she had been or
done? Her life was going to begin right then with me. I couldn't budge
her. I talked and pleaded, and at last she gave in--a little. She said
she'd think it over and meet me at the little park in the morning, and
then she'd talk some more about it.

"So we parted until morning came. But I made up my mind that if she
wouldn't consent, I'd simply kidnap her and bring her up here to Mrs.
Kingdon.

"I was on hand bright and early at the park next morning, and after a
while a slovenly slip of a girl came up to me and asked my name. I told
her. She gave me a note and then started off like a skyrocket, but I'm
some spry myself and I caught her and held her till I'd read the note. It
was from her and she said she couldn't give me the worst of the bargain.
That she was going to try hard to see if she could make good and live
without stealing, and when she was sure, she'd send word to me through Mr.
Reilly, and if I never heard, I could know she had failed and for me to
forget her.

"'Where is she?' I asked the girl, who was squirming like an eel.

"'I dunno,' she said. 'She's left town.'

"'I don't believe it!' I said.

"'Yes, she has,' said the girl. 'She pawned all her togs--that new white
dress and the swell shoes and her new suit and hat to get money to make a
getaway.'

"I might as well have tried to hang on to a fish as to hold that slippery
little street Arab. She broke away and ran. I was after her, but it was no
use. She knew the ins and outs of the alleys like a rat and I lost her.
You see, I didn't know my girl's last name. When I asked her, she said:
'Call me Marta.' I didn't care about knowing her last name then, because I
was so keen to give her my own name.

"I was just about crazy. I hunted all over the part of the city where I'd
left her the first night. Then I went to see Reilly, but he didn't know
w