"WE DIDN'T MEAN."
"I AM ashamed of you all!"
It was Marian Morris' clear voice, raised in accents of indignation
as she came upon a group of children in the street, surrounding Molly
Lethbridge, who was on her way home from school.
The vicar's daughter had arrived upon the scene in time to see one
pull Molly's hair, another hustle her roughly, whilst the others were
laughing with great enjoyment. In one moment Marian had pushed her way
to Molly's side, and had taken her hand in a protecting clasp, whilst
the child looked up at her with troubled, wistful eyes.
"Shame on you to tease and worry one who cannot protect herself;
to take delight in tormenting one whom God has made weaker than
yourselves! Do you forget that He sees you, that He hears every jeering
laugh, every mocking word?"
The children scuttled away hastily, leaving Molly alone with her
friend. Still holding the child by the hand Marian took her home.
Rose Cottage looked as pretty as usual outside, but inside, everything
was poverty-stricken. Marian was not surprised, for she had learnt that
the money James Lethbridge should have given to his wife was spent
mostly at the "White Hart," as the village inn was named. He had lost
his former situation through his drunken habits, and seemed in the way
of losing his new post if he continued the life he was leading.
The baby was asleep in the cradle, and Mrs. Lethbridge was engaged in
ironing. She dusted a chair, and offered it to her visitor, who begged
her to continue her occupation.
"I have brought Molly home," Marian explained, as she sat down. "The
children were teasing her. I fear they make her unhappy."
The mother glanced sadly at her little daughter, who had gone to the
cradle, and was now imprinting a tender kiss on the baby's rosy cheek.
"It seems a pity you are bound to send her to school," Marian
continued, "for she learns but little, I think you told me?"
"Almost nothing, miss; she knows her letters, and that's about all.
But, of course, she must go to school. I should be glad enough to keep
her at home to mind baby. I expect the children will leave off teasing
her when they find she doesn't mind."
"I think she does mind, but she is evidently not resentful. You don't
send her to Sunday-school, Mrs. Lethbridge, do you?"
"No, miss; I'm not bound to send her there, you see."
"I think it is a pity she should not go. But perhaps you teach her on
Sundays at home?"
The mother shook her head, and looked a trifle ashamed as she said,
hastily—
"I've no time to spare, and it's so difficult to make her understand,
and she asks such questions! Of course, I make her say her prayers
every night."
Molly was still standing by the cradle, rocking it gently.
Marian spoke to her—
"Molly, will you come here, dear?"
The child moved to her side, and stood looking up into her face,
expectantly.
"You love baby very much, do you not, Molly?"
A nod in response.
"And who else do you love?"
"Father," after a moment's anxious thought.
"Anyone else, my dear?"
"Mother and the boys," the blue eyes glancing at the figure at the
table busily plying the iron.
"There is someone else surely, Molly?"
"You, miss."
Marian bent down, and impulsively kissed the little upturned face as
she whispered—
"Don't you love Jesus, darling? Don't you?"
"No, miss."
"She doesn't understand," Mrs. Lethbridge put in hastily.
"I see she does not, but I think one could teach her. Will you let her
come to Sunday-school, Mrs. Lethbridge, if I manage to take her in my
class? I will call for her every Sunday."
"Oh, miss, how truly good of you to think of it! I should be that
glad." Mrs. Lethbridge put down her iron, and, sinking into a chair,
burst into tears.
Marian went to her side, and laid her hand sympathetically on the poor
woman's heaving shoulder.
"What is it?" she asked, gently. "I fear something is wrong. I think it
helps one to bear a trouble if one can speak of it, and perhaps I could
assist you in some way."
"I am very foolish," Mrs. Lethbridge said, as she hastily dried her
eyes, "but I have a lot to try me, and a deal to put up with. I know
I've not taught Molly all she ought to know; but after she was born,
things went very wrong with us. My husband took to drink, and neglected
his home for bad companions; and that has made me feel wicked and
bitter; and many has been the time that I've thought God has forsaken
us!"
"Oh, dear," Marian cried, "just when you want Him for your friend so
much! You know, Jesus promised never to forsake His people!"
"Yes, miss; but sometimes I haven't been able to think it."
"It is God's own promise, Mrs. Lethbridge. If we ask Him, He will help
us to bear our troubles; you must cast yours all on Him, for He careth
for you."
"When I hear you speak, miss, I seem to feel it is all true; but when
you're gone and my husband returns the worse for drink, and swears at
the children and me, maybe I shall doubt again. He is not a bad man
when he's sober; but that isn't often towards the end of the day," she
said bitterly.
"You must ask God to show him his sin. Pray for him."
"I don't believe it would be any good, miss."
"Try," earnestly, "do try. Will you promise me?"
"Yes, I will," in brighter tones.
"And I'll call for Molly next Sunday. Please let her be ready by two
o'clock."
"Thank you, miss. I do feel very grateful to you for taking such an
interest in her. Oh, here come the boys."
They were fine, healthy little fellows, and their mother's eyes rested
on them with loving pride. The elder was Jim, and the younger Dick, she
explained.
Marian discovered two pennies in her pocket, which she presented to
them to spend as they thought fit, and a further search found another
penny for Molly. Mrs. Lethbridge smiled her gratitude, and Marian
laughed as the children ran out of the cottage, and across the road to
the shop to invest their money in sweets.
"I never mind so long as Molly is with the boys," the mother explained;
"they think a deal of their sister."
"That is as it should be," Marian responded. "Well, Mrs. Lethbridge, I
must be going now. I'm afraid I've been hindering you in your work."
"I'm glad you should, miss. I was that miserable when you came in; and
now, I declare, what with your kind thought for my little maid, and all
you've said to me, I feel a different woman!"
As she left the cottage Marian glanced across to Mrs. Mugford's shop,
and saw Molly and her brothers making their purchases, the boys holding
an animated conversation with Mrs. Mugford herself. Marian smiled,
knowing well that the kind woman would give the children good worth for
their pennies.
On her way home she encountered some of the children she had surprised
teasing Molly an hour before, and stopped to speak a few words of
remonstrance about their behaviour. She saw by their flushed cheeks and
bowed heads that they were ashamed of themselves; and when she told
them how they ought to protect one whom God had made unable to protect
herself, instead of mocking her, a bright little girl, who had been one
of the ringleaders of Molly's tormentors, said, with real penitence in
her voice:—
"We didn't mean to be unkind, Miss Morris. It was only fun, and we
didn't think. I'll stand up for crazy Molly, and never laugh at her
again!"