MOLLY GAINS A TREASURE.
IF Kathleen had looked closely at her sister, when she found her that
night waiting as usual at the door of the theatre, she would have
noticed that her face wore a singularly happy expression. But Kathleen
was not wont to pay heed to Molly's looks. She was too much taken up
with herself to care for her sister.
"Molly is a good little creature in her way," Kathleen thought. But she
was so very different from herself that she believed she was justified
in treating her with some contempt.
Kathleen was less likely than usual to notice Molly's looks this night,
since she was not alone when she came out of the theatre. She half
hoped that for once she might not find Molly awaiting her, for she was
ashamed that her companion should see her little sister.
As her eye fell upon the tiny hunched-up figure standing by the
doorway, she actually felt cross with Molly for her deformity.
"So you are here again, Molly," she cried; "you must be more fond of
the cold than I am to like to stand about on such a night as this."
Molly had certainly not enjoyed lingering in that bitter atmosphere.
The light mantle she wore was of far thinner texture than the shawl
in which Kathleen was closely wrapped, and her garments were all more
threadbare than those of her sister. Her father had bought clothes for
Kathleen as often as she required them, and he could spare the money,
but he had rarely thought it necessary to make any addition to Molly's
scanty habiliments. And now he was gone, and Kathleen's money had to
meet every need, there was small chance of Molly's getting any new
clothing.
Kathleen's remark was therefore an unfeeling one to make to her sister
as she stood trembling with cold in the keen night air.
But Molly forgot her words almost as soon as they were uttered. She was
gazing in surprise at the stranger who had hold of Kathleen's arm. He
was a tall, dark man, several years older than Kathleen. His features
would have been handsome, were it not for the bold, bad look stamped
upon them. He was well, though flashily dressed, wearing his hat
jauntily poised at the side of his head, and flourishing a cane in his
hand.
At the first glance, Molly distrusted and feared this man, and his
words were not calculated to produce a more favourable impression.
"So this is the little sister you were talking about," he said, looking
quizzingly at Molly. "Why, what a queer little object she is! She's not
a bit like you."
"Oh no," said Kathleen, "we're not at all alike. She always will come
to walk home with me. It is very silly of her, a little puny thing, to
fancy that she can protect me."
The man laughed loudly at the novel idea, and then Molly heard him say,
in an undertone, "Tell her not to come again. I'll walk home with you
in future."
"It's no good telling her," Kathleen replied; "she won't keep away for
my telling. Now come on, Molly; don't stand staring like that!"
Again the man laughed, and then whispered something that Molly could
not catch. The child felt very uncomfortable as she walked home,
keeping as close to her sister as she could. The strange man went all
the way with them, and talked fast to Kathleen, though in tones too low
for Molly to hear what was said.
Kathleen laughed and blushed, and seemed very excited. Molly thought
she had never seen her sister look more lovely—there was such a
beautiful colour in her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled so. But to-night
Molly could take no pleasure in her sister's beauty.
Somehow, she could have wished Kathleen were not so pretty, when she
saw how the stranger looked at her.
"Who is that man, Kathleen?" she asked, when they reached home, and at
last, after a prolonged farewell, he had left them at the door.
"He is Mr. Vavasour, one of the actors at the theatre," replied her
sister. "I like him so much; he's so kind to me! He says I'm one of the
best dancers he has ever seen, and he thinks that if I study and take
pains, I shall be a grand actress some day."
"He's a horrid-looking man!" said Molly, decidedly.
"Horrid-looking, you little silly?" returned Kathleen. "Why, he's very
handsome, and quite a gentleman, I can tell you. They think a deal of
him at the theatre, and his acting's splendid. I feel proud that he has
promised to be my friend."
"I don't call him a gentleman," said Molly, mentally contrasting his
appearance with that of the minister she had heard preach that night.
"And I can tell you of a far better friend than he is likely to be."
"Don't talk like a simpleton!" retorted Kathleen. "What can you know
about gentlemen, I wonder?"
Upon that, Molly began to tell her evening's experiences. But she had
not said much about the meeting ere Kathleen impatiently interrupted
her.
"There, that will do, Molly! I don't want to hear any more about the
preaching. I've heard that sort of thing before now!"
"But, Kathleen, I want to tell you about the Lord Jesus, who will be
our Friend," urged Molly.
"I don't want to hear!" retorted Kathleen. "I know already! I heard
something about it years ago, when I once went to Sunday-school."
"Oh! Kathleen!" exclaimed Molly, reproachfully. "Do you mean to say
you've known about the Lord Jesus all this while, and never told me?"
"I did not know you would care to hear," said Kathleen. "However,
there's a book of mother's somewhere, in which you can read it all for
yourself."
"Oh! Where?" cried Molly, eagerly. "Do show it me. I should so like to
read it."
"I can't find it now," said her sister; "I'm tired, and want to go to
bed, so stop talking, Molly, and get me some supper."
Molly did as she was bid. She was disappointed at the manner in which
Kathleen had received her account of the meeting at the mission hall,
and greatly surprised to find that the glad tidings she had received
with joy were already known to her sister.
"Kathleen," she ventured to whisper, when they were lying down together
in the darkness, "haven't you loved the Lord Jesus ever since you knew
that He died for us?"
But Kathleen made no reply, and Molly wondered to think how quickly she
had fallen asleep.
The next morning, when the two children had finished their breakfast of
dry bread and weak coffee, and Molly had washed the cups and plates and
tidied the room, she said to her sister, "Kathleen, will you find me
the book you spoke of last night?"
"What book?" asked Kathleen.
"Oh, you know, that book of mother's that tells about the Lord Jesus."
"Oh! I can't find it now," returned Kathleen. "I must finish learning
my new part before I go to rehearsal."
"Where is it?" asked Molly. "Can't I find it for myself?"
"Oh dear, Molly, what a tiresome little thing you are! As if you could
not wait a while."
"I don't want to be troublesome," said Molly, humbly, "but I thought I
should like to read whilst you were gone."
"Well, I think it's in that box under the bed," said Kathleen. "You can
look for it if you like; only be careful how you turn over the things."
In a moment, Molly dived under the bed and dragged out the box. Its
lock was gone, and it was kept closed by means of a cord tied tightly
round it. Very quickly the little fingers unfastened the knot and threw
back the lid.
The box contained nothing of value, only a few relics of the life of
past years.
At the top lay the clothes her father had worn, the old greatcoat and
shabby hat which he had put on for the last time on the evening when he
made a vain attempt to go to the theatre to fetch Kathleen home. Tears
came to Molly's eyes as she lifted the garments tenderly and laid them
on one side. Below were things which had belonged to her mother—an old
straw bonnet, a torn apron, a pair of well-worn slippers, some tiny
frocks which Kathleen had once worn and then handed on to her sister,
pretty little frocks bearing witness to the love and industry of the
mother who had made them for her darling. And underneath them Molly
found the baby clothes which she herself had worn, also the work of her
mother's clever fingers.
"Mother made this for me," the child said to herself as she held up a
tiny garment. "Ah! If she had lived, I should not have been like this."
And she glanced with disgust at the ragged frock which she had not
skill to mend, and the holes which appeared in her boots.
Then with a sigh, she continued her search. There were some packets of
letters and several broken-backed novels lying at the bottom of the
trunk, and amongst them Molly found a small brown book, which a glance
at the title-page told her was the one she sought.
Eager to begin reading, she replaced the things in the box as speedily
as possible, and pushing it out of sight sat down to enjoy her book.
She opened it at the first page, but she could make nothing of the hard
names which there met her eyes. Turning over a few leaves, however,
she came to what she could understand, and read of some of Christ's
miracles of healing. Great was her wonder and delight as she read. Once
or twice she asked Kathleen to tell her a word, or explain something
she could not understand.
But Kathleen sat at a distance, with her fingers in her ears, intently
studying the play-book which lay on her knee, and would not listen to a
word her sister had to say.
So Molly had to make out the meaning for herself, and skipping the hard
passages, read only the simple narratives which she could not fail to
understand.
She felt that she had found a treasure in finding that little book.
After this, she used to study the Testament during her solitary hours,
whilst Kathleen was absent at the theatre. She loved to read of the
Saviour's miracles of love and mercy, and the page grew wet with her
tears as she read of the anguish in the garden, the shameful mocking
and scourging, the traitorous friend, and the death on the Cross.
It was all real to little Molly. She pictured the Saviour, looking
gentle and loving, like the Shepherd in the picture at the mission
hall, as He went amongst the poor and suffering to heal and to save.
She wished she could have been one of the children upon whom His hand
had been laid in blessing. Then she reminded herself that this same
Jesus still lived, and that He loved her and Kathleen.
Many a question puzzled her sharp little mind, and she longed for some
one to explain the book to her; but this truth she believed—Jesus lived
and Jesus loved her. Every day she asked the unseen Friend to take care
of her and her sister, and she believed that He heard her, and would
watch over them.
But ere many days had gone, a cloud passed over little Molly's faith.
At first it was a very small cloud raised by some words from Kathleen.
On Sunday evening Molly asked her sister if she would go with her to
the service at the mission hall. Kathleen was not much inclined to go,
but when Molly tried to persuade her, she consented, saying that though
she did not suppose it would be very lively, it might be better than
moping at home.
Molly was not a little pleased to gain Kathleen's company, and started
for the mission hall with a glad heart.
But disappointment awaited her there.
Kathleen, accustomed to the gaudiness and glitter of the theatre,
did not think much of the pictures which Molly admired so greatly.
She scarcely cared to glance at the picture of the Shepherd with the
found lamb, and was by no means charmed with the singing, as Molly had
expected she would be. To Molly's regret, the preacher was not the
one to whom she had before listened. He was a younger man, and his
countenance, though not ill-looking, bore little resemblance to that of
the Shepherd in the picture. Molly felt very disappointed at not seeing
the minister whom she liked so much, and the words of this preacher did
not interest her as the other's had done. She saw that Kathleen paid
little attention to what he said, but yawned and fidgeted, and seemed
glad when the service was over.
"How is it the minister who preached on Tuesday did not come to-night?"
Molly ventured to ask of the woman who took care of the hall.
"Because he's got better folk to preach to than any that come here,"
was the quick rejoinder. "Why, don't you know who he is? He's the Rev.
Dr. Templeton, who preaches in the large church at the corner of Albion
Square, where lots of rich and fashionable people go. This mission hall
is in connection with his church, and he just came on Tuesday night to
start it, that was all."
"Then won't he preach here again?" asked Molly.
"No, I don't suppose he will; he's got something better to do, you see."
"Come along, Molly; what do you want to stop in this place for?" cried
Kathleen, impatiently.
Molly drew a sigh as she followed her.
"Don't ask me to go there again," said Kathleen; "it's the dullest
affair I ever was at in my life."
"I wish you could have heard the minister who preached on Tuesday,"
said Molly; "you would have liked him. It has made me so happy to think
of the words he said about how Jesus loved us and died for us."
"It was very fine, I daresay," replied Kathleen, tossing her head, "but
I don't believe in that sort of thing."
"But it's all true, Kathleen; it's written in mother's book."
"Well, that does not make it true, you little silly," returned
Kathleen, contemptuously: "do you think that everything that's printed
in a book must be true? If so, you don't know much. Why the play-books
I have, and those novels I read sometimes, are all untrue, every word
of them. For my part, I don't believe there's any one who loves us. It
certainly does not look like it, when we are so poor and friendless."
Little Molly felt as though she had received a blow. Surely it could
not be as Kathleen said? It must be true that Jesus lived and loved her.
Her heart beat fast with fear lest her precious hope should prove
false. She could not answer her sister's words, nor shake off the doubt
they aroused. She did not take up her book when they got home, but sat
still, musing uneasily on what Kathleen had said.
When bedtime came, she whispered a prayer as she lay down to rest, but
she could not feel sure that it was heard, and her safe, happy feeling
was gone.
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