If the serpent had _bid_ our first mother to eat the apple, she would have thrown it down the villain's throat, splitting his forked tongue in its passage. Finally it was arranged that a boy, noted as "a runner," should stand behind the door, and when she came with her jibes, sometimes provoking mirth, and sometimes ire, he should jump out and catch her. "Catch me if you can!" and away went she, away went he, under this cart and over that. Now he will have her--his hand is outstretched to seize his chase--vain hope--she drops suddenly in his path, and he goes headlong down a cellar. When he came up there was a great shout, and a great many dirty bare-footed girls about, but that one was nowhere in sight. So back he goes, enters the door; and a wild laugh follows him close upon his heels. "You didn't catch me this time, did you? Don't you want another race? Ha, ha, ha." And away she went, singing: "Up, up, and away with the rising sun, The chase is now before ye; Up, up and away with hound and gun, The chase is now before ye." It was a chase that cunning must catch, strength could not win. Everybody said she never could be caught and tamed. She had run wild all her young years. She was not by nature vicious, but she was most incorrigibly mischievous. She was, so everybody said, and he ought to know, beyond the hope of redemption. Yet everybody was mistaken. Reader, you already know this girl, for this is "Wild Maggie, of the Five Points." This is the kind, sweet, tender-hearted Margaret, you have read of in a former chapter, ministering to the wants of that poor widow and destitute children, living in comfort, with neatness and industry, and her father, in a happy home; and that father the poor, miserable, wretched, besotted drunkard, whom we found in that wretched hole, in that dark alley in Centre street. What a change! It was a change for good. It was a deed of mercy to redeem such a child as this from a course of life that has but one phase--one worse than useless object--one wretched termination. What magic power had wrought this change? Words of kindness, charity, hope, teachings of the happiness attendant on virtue, religion, industry; by these the worst can be redeemed. How? "Finding every effort unavailing," said the missionary, "I changed my tactics. I was busy one morning in the workshop, laying out work, when I cast my eye towards the open door, and there saw Wild Maggie, waiting for a word upon which she might retort. Without seeming to notice her, I said, loud enough for her to hear, 'Oh, how I wish I had some one to help me lay out this work.' There was a look of intelligence spreading over her face, which seemed to say as plainly as looks could say, 'I could do that.' "'Will you?' I said; she started as though I was mentally replying to her passing thoughts. "She did not say, 'Yes,' but she thought it. I had touched a chord.