When first the young lady from the College Settlement dragged Ardelia from her degradation—she was sitting on a dirty pavement and throwing assorted refuse at an unconscious policeman—like many of her companions in misery, she totally failed to realize the pit from which she was digged. It had never occurred to her that her situation was anything less than refined, and though, like most of us, she had failed to come up to her wildest ideals of happiness, in that respect she differed very little from the young lady who rescued her. “Come here, little girl,” said the young lady invitingly. “Wouldn’t you like to come with me and have a nice, cool bath?” “Naw,” said Ardelia, in tones rivaling the bath in coolness. “You wouldn’t? Well, wouldn’t you like some bread and butter and jam?” “Wha’s jam?” said Ardelia conservatively. “Why, it’s—er—marmalade,” the young lady explained. “All sweet, you know.” “Naw!” and Ardelia turned away and fingered the refuse with an air of finality that caused the young lady to sigh with vexation. “I thought you might like to go on a picnic,” she said helplessly. “I thought all little girls liked——” “Picnic? When?” cried Ardelia, moved instantly to interest. “I’m goin’!” She brushed the garbage from her dress—Ardelia was of that emancipated order of women who disapprove of the senseless multiplication of feminine garments, and wore, herself, but one—and regarded her rescuer impatiently. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “I’m all ready. Hump along!” “We’ll go and ask your mother first, won’t we?” suggested the young lady, a little bewildered at this sudden change of attitude. “Jagged,” Ardelia returned laconically. “She’d lift y’r face off yer! Is it the Dago picnic?” The young lady shuddered, and seizing the hand which she imagined to have had least to do with the refuse, she led Ardelia away—the first stage of her journey to Arcady. Ardelia’s origin, like that of the civilization of ancient Egypt, was shrouded in mystery. At the age of two months she had been handed to a policeman by a scared-looking boy, who said vaguely that he found her in the park under a bench. The policeman had added her to the other foundling waiting that day at headquarters, and carried them to the matron of the institution devoted to their interest. Around the other baby’s neck was a medal of the Blessed Virgin, and a slip of paper pinned to her flannel petticoat labeled her Mary Katharine. The impartial order of the institution therefore delivered Ardelia, who was wholly unlabeled, to the Protestant fold, and one of the scrubbing-women named her.