THE THEATRE AND THE MISSION HALL.
MOLLY was right in thinking that Ned Jones would prove a friend. He
was a strong, brave lad, having that tenderness for weaker creatures
which is a mark of true manhood. The courage with which little Molly
faced the trials of her lot and her devotion to her sister excited his
admiration, and made him desirous of befriending her. He had a pleasant
word for the little girl whenever they chanced to meet, and Molly was
very grateful for his kindness, for it was a rare thing for any one to
smile upon her.
One evening, happening to overtake Molly on her return from escorting
Kathleen to the theatre, Ned thought he would like to give her a treat.
"I suppose you've often been to the theatre, Molly?" he said.
"I've never been inside it, if that's what you mean," was her reply.
"What, have you never seen your sister perform? I should have thought
you would have gone to see her!"
"No, but I've often longed to go," said Molly; "for though Kathleen's
told me about it lots of times, I would far rather see for myself what
it's like. Father used to go to the theatre now and then, but he always
said he could not take me."
"I tell you what, Molly," exclaimed Ned; "I'll take you there to-night,
and you shall see for yourself just what it's like."
"You don't mean it!" cried Molly, her eyes sparkling with delight.
"You're only making game of me."
"No, indeed, I mean it," Ned assured her. "I'm flush of money just now,
and can stand you a treat. So come along, little 'un: there's no time
to lose, if we would get seats." And seizing her hand, he hurried her
along at a smart pace.
"Oh, how surprised Kathleen will be when she hears I've been there!"
cried Molly, breathlessly, as they went along. "Now I shall see her in
the beautiful dress she was trying to tell me about."
When they reached the theatre, they found a crowd gathered outside. And
as soon as the doors were opened, there was such a rush for the gallery
stairs that Molly might have been injured if Ned had not been there to
take care of her.
But his strong arm shielded her from the rough jostling. And when she
was safe up the narrow staircase, and seated in one of the front seats
of the gallery, her delight was unbounded. She gazed admiringly round
the large gaily-lit place. The lavish display of paint and tinsel, the
gorgeous curtain, the lively music, fairly enchanted her.
The atmosphere of the crowded gallery was hot and stifling, and
redolent of beer and tobacco, but the child was not aware of it. She
was too absorbed in seeing and hearing to pay heed to aught beside.
Ned directed her eyes to the well-dressed people who were entering the
stalls or taking possession of the boxes. Amongst them were little
girls of her own age, but oh! they looked so different from poor
little Molly. The child gazing down on them from the distant height
of the gallery wondered what it could feel like to wear such warm
bright cloaks and pretty dresses. It made her sad in the midst of her
enjoyment to look at these happy children, with their soft bright hair
and joyous faces, and to think of the vast difference between their
life and hers.
But this sadness vanished as at length, midst shouts and clapping, the
curtain slowly rose and revealed the glories beyond.
Molly forgot everything else as she watched the wonders of the play.
She could not understand what it all meant, but she was charmed with
the changing scenery and the brilliant dresses of the players. And when
presently there appeared on the stage a young gipsy-girl, fancifully
dressed, with a crimson kerchief twisted amidst her black locks, and
bracelets gleaming on her bare arms as she flourished a tambourine and
danced and sung, Molly failed to recognize her sister, till a whisper
from Ned told her who it was. Then she watched Kathleen's performance
with breathless interest.
At first she was pleased to hear the people clap and applaud. But
as the loudly-whispered remarks passing around reached her ear,
she blushed and wished it were not her sister upon whom they were
commenting so freely.
What right had they to couple such epithets with Kathleen's name, and
to speak as if she belonged to them? Molly resented their freedom
of speech, and it marred her enjoyment of the remainder of the
entertainment.
She was not sorry when it came to an end, and the people began to
disperse.
She hurried with Ned to the side door, where, after waiting awhile,
they were joined by Kathleen.
Kathleen was much surprised to learn that her little sister had been
seeing the play, but she did not show such pleasure as Molly had
expected.
"There, there, don't talk any more about it," she cried, cutting short
Molly's eager words. "I'm so tired of the noise and glare. Oh! Yes,
you think it very fine, I daresay, but if you'd seen as much of that
theatre as I have, you'd be sick to death of it."
"But oh! Kathleen, you looked so lovely when you came in and danced. I
did not know you at first," said Molly.
"That's a doubtful compliment," returned Kathleen, who, however, was
not ill-pleased with it.
"But, Kathleen, I did not like to hear the people shout and clap and
say such things about you."
"What did they say?" asked her sister, eagerly.
Then Molly repeated some of the comments which had reached her ears.
But the coarse admiration which she had resented was not distasteful
to Kathleen. She laughed, and said she was glad that she had pleased
the folks in the gallery, for they had sometimes a very objectionable
way of showing their disapproval of an actress. Her weariness seemed to
vanish, and she chatted merrily all the way home.
But her mood changed when they had bidden Ned "good-night," and gained
their attic.
"What a dreary place it is!" she said, as she entered the little room.
"No fire, no comfort of any kind. I wonder if any one seeing me dancing
and singing at the theatre could imagine that I live in such a hole as
this, and that I have not a friend in the world?"
Kathleen's words made Molly very unhappy. She said nothing in
reply, for she knew it would be of no use to remind Kathleen of her
love—that was of small value. She wished she knew the Friend of whom
the street-preacher had spoken, that she might ask Him to be good to
Kathleen. Long after Kathleen had forgotten her annoyance in sound
slumber, Molly lay sleepless by her side, pondering what means she
could take to discover who this mighty Friend was, and how she might
get near Him and speak to Him.
At last, she resolved that on the following Sunday evening, she would
go into the streets and look about for the preacher, in the hope of
hearing him again, and learning from his words more about the Son of
man.
But she had not to wait till Sunday to hear about the Son of man. On
the following evening, as she was coming alone from the theatre, she
turned into a different street from the one she usually took, and found
herself close to a new-looking building, about which a crowd of persons
had gathered.
Curious to see what was going on, Molly quickly crossed the road, and
made her way into the midst of the crowd.
The door of the building stood open, and revealed a long room,
furnished with deal benches and brightly lighted by gas.
Coloured pictures could be seen hanging on the whitewashed walls, and
gay banners waved over the door, giving the place a bright, cheerful
look. A policeman stood on the pavement, keeping order amongst the
crowd, and seeing that they stood back, so as to leave space for any
who wished to pass into the room.
But at first very few ventured in, though many of the rough lads and
slatternly girls whom curiosity had brought to the spot peeped in at
the door.
"What's going on in that room?" Molly asked of a woman who stood near
her.
"Why, bless you, that's the new mission hall!" was the response. "It's
opened to-night for the first time, and there's a grand parson coming
to preach."
"Who's he going to preach to?" asked Molly, wonderingly.
"Who to? Why, the people, of course: any who like to go and hear him."
"Do you mean that any one can go in? May I go?" inquired the child,
with eagerness.
"Yes, of course, if you've a mind to. Don't know but what I shall go in
myself, just to see what it's like, you know."
Molly's mind was quickly made up. The brightly lit room with such
pretty pictures on the walls was far more attractive than the dark
attic to which she was returning.
She walked to the door, and after a moment's hesitation stepped inside.
There were two or three ladies standing at the top of the room, and one
of these ladies came to meet the child, and took her to a seat, and
gave her a hymn-book. Molly sat down and took a good look around her.
She was delighted with the pictures.
There was one hanging on the wall facing her, from which she could
hardly take off her eyes. It represented a shepherd descending the
slope of a mountain, with a little lamb clasped in his arms. The path
along which he came was steep and rugged, and the hills lying behind
him were dark with storm-clouds; but the shepherd had sought and found
the little wanderer, and was carrying it safely to the fold. Tender and
sweet was the look on His face, as He sheltered the weary lamb in His
strong arms. There was love and pity in His glance, but no reproach nor
blame. Beneath the picture were these words printed,—
"The Son of man is come to seek and to save that which was lost."
"Ah," said Molly to herself as she read the words, "those are the
very words I heard the man say in the street, and which I repeated to
father. Then that must be a picture of the Son of man. I'm so glad to
see it, for now I know what He is like. How good and kind He looks! I'm
sure I should not be afraid to speak to Him, and ask Him to take care
of me and Kathleen."
Here Molly's thoughts were diverted by the voice of the minister, who
began the service by giving out a hymn. Molly looked at him earnestly.
She liked the gentle, loving look, which his countenance wore, and the
tones of his voice sounded pleasantly in her ears. She looked away from
him to the picture, and then again at him, and fancied his face showed
a marked resemblance to that of the Shepherd.
Could it be that He was the Son of man?
For a few minutes, Molly's heart beat fast with the hope that it was
so. But as the service went on, there dawned on her mind a true idea of
who the Son of man was.
At first, there was but a small congregation in the hall. But the sound
of the singing attracted the loiterers outside, and one after another
entered, so that by the time the minister began his address, the hall
was quite full.
He took for his text the words,—
"We love Him because He first loved us."
In clear, ringing tones he began to speak, and soon there was perfect
silence in the hall, as simply yet forcibly, he told the old, old
story of the Saviour's love. Step by step, he traced the course of the
wondrous life that began in the cradle at Bethlehem, and ended on the
cross at Calvary. Then he showed how that which seemed to be an ending
was in truth but a beginning, for death had no power over the Son of
God. He had loosed the bands of the grave and risen victorious over
death, and still lived to save and to bless, now as in the days of old,
the Saviour, Friend, and Brother of mankind.
As the preacher thus spoke, many hearts were thrilled by his words.
Some there were before him who had heard the truth in early life,
learned it, may be, at the knee of a mother, who had long since passed
from earth. And now, as the memories of childhood revived, they
wept for the sin which had stained their lives since those days of
innocence. Some, like little Molly, were getting their first distinct
impression of the Gospel, and the tidings of such a Saviour and Friend
fell on their ears with strange sweetness.
The preacher's concluding words Molly could never forget: they seemed
so suited to her own case.
"Perhaps there is some one here to-night," he said, "who is sad and
lonely, some one who feels that he has no one to love him—no, not a
single human friend on whom to lean for comfort and help.
"Surely that one will be glad to hear of the Divine Friend who loved
us so much that He gave His life for us. 'Greater love hath no man
than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.' Yet was the
Saviour's love greater, for whilst we were yet sinners—enemies—Christ
died for us.
"Oh! Lonely one, whoever you are, come to this Friend. Do not be afraid
to come, however poor, or miserable, or sinful you may be. Jesus Christ
knows all about your sin and misery; yet He loves you in spite of all.
He knows the circumstances of your life; yes, every little detail:
nothing is hidden from His eyes, and He has help and healing for you.
He will bestow pardon, peace, and purity on all who trust Him. Come,
then, without fear. Bring to Him your sins, your sorrows, your daily
cares and anxieties. Speak to Him freely: He will hear you, for though
you see Him not, He is ever near you, ever waiting to listen to your
prayer.
"Oh! Can you hold back, can you distrust His love after the mighty
proof of its reality He has given? Will you not love Him who first
loved you? Why should you live a lonely, friendless life, when there is
such a Friend waiting to help you, waiting to take you by the hand, and
lead you safely through the snares and dangers of this world, and to
bring you at last to His presence in the better, world beyond?"
This was glad news for little Molly. With a child's simple confidence,
she received the truth, and the thought of having such a Friend ever
near to aid and bless filled her heart with joy. She need nevermore
feel sad because no one loved her. Poor, ugly, deformed little creature
that she was, she had a Friend in the Son of man who had died for her.
"To think He's been loving me all this while, and I never knew it," she
said to herself as she stood up and in her shrill little voice joined
in singing the hymn, "'Tell me the old, old story.'"
As soon as the service was over, Molly slipped out of the hall, and ran
home, to think over in solitude the wonderful news she had heard.
The dark attic was not now a dreary place. The unseen Friend was there,
and she no longer felt lonely. She spoke to Him in simple childish
words.
"Oh! Good Son of man," she said, "I'm a poor little girl, and I've no
one but Kathleen, and father said I was to take care of her, but I
can't do it properly, 'cause I'm not big enough. Oh! Please, Lord, be
our Friend, and take care of us, and teach us to love Thee!"
Many times did she repeat such words as these; and as she prayed, her
heart grew light and happy. She felt so sure that the Lord Jesus would
be her Friend, and take care of her and Kathleen.
"Oh! How I wish father had known about the Son of man," she thought;
"for then he would not have been afraid to leave Kathleen alone. He
would not have asked me to take care of her, if he had known that the
Lord Jesus would be our Friend."
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