DOUBT AND DISAPPOINTMENT.
MOLLY woke the next morning feeling heavy and sad. At first she
wondered what had brought such a weight upon her heart, but she quickly
recollected the words Kathleen had uttered on the previous night, and
the doubt which had afterwards troubled her mind.
But now, as she mused over Kathleen's words, after a night of
refreshing sleep, they lost their power to distress.
"It was silly of me to be cast down by what Kathleen said," she
thought, as she rose and began to dress; "what difference can it
make what she thinks? It's not likely that she knows better than the
minister. Besides, I'm not sure that she really meant what she said,
for she often says things only for the sake of being contrary. No, no,
I'll not believe but what my book is true. It must be true; no one
could make up such a story."
And as she began to get breakfast ready, whilst Kathleen still lingered
in bed, Molly sang softly the hymn she had heard at the mission hall,
"'Tell me the old, old story.'"
"I wish you wouldn't make that noise, Molly," grumbled Kathleen, in a
sleepy tone.
Molly hushed her song in a moment.
But later in the morning, when Kathleen had gone out, she sang it
lustily as she went about her work.
When she had finished tidying the room, she took her book and sat down
to read. There was not a shadow of doubt upon her mind as she read the
sacred story. And she was so absorbed in John's account of Christ's
healing the blind man that she failed to hear a tap at the door, and
was quite surprised when it suddenly opened, and Ned Jones looked in
upon her.
"Hulloo! Little maid!" he exclaimed. "I thought you must be out when
you did not reply to my knock. What book are you reading that makes
you so deaf?" And he walked to where the child sat and peeped over her
shoulder. His face changed when he saw what the book was.
"Oh! That's what you're reading, is it?" he said, in a tone of contempt.
"Do you know it? Have you read it?" Molly asked eagerly.
"Not likely! I know better. And, Molly, I should have thought you had
more sense than to muddle your head with that book!"
"It doesn't muddle my head, Ned. I like it, and so would you like it if
you read it."
"Oh, I daresay!" he returned, in a mocking tone.
"Yes, you would like it," asserted Molly. "You should go to the mission
hall and hear the preaching there. That 'd make you want to read this
book."
"No, thank you!" he laughed. "That sort of gammon won't do for me. I
know what their preaching is like, but I don't believe in it. It's very
fine talk, no doubt, but it's not true."
"Not true!" repeated Molly; and her little face took a look of fear.
"No!" continued Ned, in a tone of defiance. "I don't believe a word of
it's true. It's all very well for the rich swells to preach and pray
and build mission halls for the poor, but we know it's only a dodge
to keep us down, that they may trample on our rights, and do with us
just as they please. You should hear my uncle talk about it—he's such
a clever man my uncle is; there's no hoodwinking him. He belongs to
a club which meets once a week to discuss the wrongs of the working
classes, and how they should be set right. He took me to the club one
night; and I can tell you it was fine to hear him talk. Oh, he's such a
clever man!"
"Does your uncle say that this book is not true?" asked little Molly,
gazing at Ned with an anxious, wistful look in her dark eyes.
"Bless you, yes! He calls all religion cant and humbug. He says it's
very fine for the swells to talk about brotherly love and charity, and
so on. But they never show any brotherly love when they grind down the
poor man and let him go hungry and cold, whilst they never want for
anything. Oh, it's easy to see that their pretended goodness is all a
sham!"
"Oh! Ned, don't talk like that!" cried little Molly, in a tone of
distress. "I know my minister is true! I'm sure he's a good, kind man,
and cares for the poor!"
"Well, I daresay he's a good sort of fellow in his way. He does not
mind going amongst the poor to patronise them and to preach to them.
It's his business to do that. But you go to his fine church on Sunday,
Molly, and go in amongst the grand ladies and gentlemen who attend
there, and see what sort of a welcome you'll get."
"Oh! I wish you would not talk so!" said Molly, with tears in her eyes.
"You make me very unhappy! And I was so happy before in believing that
Jesus Christ would be our Friend, and take care of me and Kathleen! I
thought it would be so nice to go every Sunday to the mission hall, but
now you've spoilt all by what you've said."
Ned's face changed at her sorrowful words. The vain, self-confident
expression vanished, and he looked uneasy.
"I'm very sorry I have made you unhappy, little Molly," he said. "I
daresay religion is a good thing for women and little girls. Go on
believing it, if it makes you happy."
"But I can't, after all you've said," Molly exclaimed; "what good can
it do me to believe a thing that is not true? I don't want to believe
it, if it's not true."
Ned felt uncomfortable, and wished his words unsaid. He was silent for
a few minutes, then, forgetful of the errand on which he had come up
to the attic, he nodded good-bye to Molly and went slowly down-stairs,
feeling heartily ashamed of himself for having robbed a little child of
the faith which made her happy.
Left to herself, Molly sat down on the floor and had a good cry. It was
such a disappointment. She had a high opinion of Ned's wisdom, and Ned
had said that her book was not true.
Her happy faith that the Lord Jesus loved her and watched over her was
a mistake, and she was the victim of a delusion and a sham. Little
Molly's experience of the world made it easy for her to believe in
such deception, and she felt ashamed now to think how readily she had
suffered herself to be imposed upon. She might have known better. She
had heard her father speak often enough of clever hoaxes and fair words
spoken to deceive. Had he not told her that she was in a bad, cruel
world, where no one could be trusted, and there was no one to care for
her? And when, as he lay on his death-bed, she spoke to him of the Son
of man, had he not said that he wished he knew if it were true? Well,
she knew now that it was not true; it was only a story, nothing more.
Such were at first her thoughts. But presently hope re-asserted itself.
Was it quite certain that she was mistaken?
Why should Ned's word be more trustworthy than the minister's? Ned's
uncle, clever though he was, could not know everything.
She would not, she could not, cease to trust in the Lord Jesus; she
would go on believing, in spite of what Ned had said.
Thus little Molly wisely resolved, but the impression left on her
mind by Ned's words was not to be shaken off. Her faith was weak and
trembling after such a shock. She continued to go to the Sunday evening
services, but she did not enjoy them as before. Whilst the preacher
spoke of Jesus and His love, she seemed to hear Ned saying, "It's only
a dodge of the rich swells to keep us down and trample on our rights."
And her heart grew sick with doubt and perplexity.
How was she to find out the truth? Oh, how she wished she could again
hear the minister with the gentle, loving face, which had so won her
confidence that it was impossible to believe him anything but good and
kind, or to doubt the truth of what he said.
One Sunday morning, Molly went out alone for a stroll. She left
Kathleen in bed reading a novel. But the March day was too bright for
Molly to care to remain indoors. The sun shot down such warm rays as
might have deceived one into the belief that the reign of winter was
over, had not the keen east wind which swept round the corners of the
streets and drove the dust in clouds along the roads speedily destroyed
the illusion.
Molly looked a miserable little mortal as she walked aimlessly on,
keeping ever on the sunny side of the road. Her face had grown thinner
and sharper during the weeks which had passed since her father's death,
and the old careworn expression was even more marked than before. There
was a restless, troubled look in her eyes as they glanced quickly from
side to side, taking note of every object which came within their range.
Unconsciously, she had turned her steps in the direction of Albion
Square, and now she saw before her a handsome church, into which a
number of well-dressed persons were passing. At the same time, it
flashed on her mind that she had been told that her minister, as she
called him, preached in a church at the corner of Albion Square. The
thought quickened her steps. She ran across the road, and, taking a
position beside the church door, watched with curiosity, not unmixed
with envy, the grand-looking persons who entered the building. Amongst
them she saw many little girls, warmly and prettily clad, and looking
very happy as, led by parent or friend, they went into church.
"How nice it must be to wear such beautiful clothes!" said Molly to
herself. And then she looked at her own ragged frock and the holes in
her shoes, and felt the tattered brim of her hat. How different her
appearance from that of these little girls!
"If it's at all true about the Lord Jesus," thought Molly, "I guess
these are the little girls He loves. 'Taint likely He can care about
a poor, ragged, crooked child like me. I wish I could see the inside
of that church. I'd go in, but I expect they'd turn me away if I did.
I wonder if I could just creep inside the door for a minute and take
a peep round without being seen? I should so like to see my minister
again!"
[Illustration: MOLLY IN THE CHURCH PORCH.]
The temptation was not to be resisted. Screening herself behind a
portly old gentleman, Molly ascended the stately steps, and slipped
inside the church porch.
She stood for a few moments half behind the door, trying to keep out of
sight of the smart-looking pew-opener, whom she suspected would prove
her enemy.
But she forgot the need of caution when she saw her minister coming
in at the door. Yes, it was he; she was not mistaken. There was the
same kind face, wearing such a pleasant smile as he responded to the
greetings of the people about him. By his side walked a young lady,
beautifully dressed in rich velvet and fur. She was remarkably pretty,
but there was that in her bearing which seemed to indicate that she did
not underrate the impression her charms were calculated to produce.
Little Molly was struck with this young lady's appearance. She thought
she had never seen any one so lovely.
"She looks like an angel!" the child murmured to herself as she
gazed admiringly at the fair young girl with her golden hair and
delicate-featured face.
But, unfortunately, in her eagerness to examine more closely the young
lady's beautiful dress, Molly pressed too near, and her dusty boots
trod upon the flowing skirt. Alas! It was no angelic look which came to
the young lady's face at that moment, but a look of anger and intense
disgust, as she hastily drew her dress as far as possible from the
little ragged child. She said nothing, but her expression was eloquent
enough, and Molly shrunk back with a sudden painful sense of her
shabby, unlovely appearance. The child's sensitive heart had received a
deep wound, and that look of repulsion lingered in her memory for many
a day.
It was over in a moment. The young lady swept into the church, and the
minister passed to the vestry without seeing the forlorn child.
Molly stood still for a few minutes, too bewildered to move from the
spot.
She was conscious of many persons passing her, some of whom regarded
her with looks of surprise, as if wondering what business she had to be
there.
But no one looked with pity on the poor child, or spoke a kind word to
her.
"Now, then! What are you doing here?" said the pew-opener, roughly.
"This is not the place for you; you'd better be off!"
The words roused Molly. She needed no second bidding to be off, but
hurrying into the street, hastened in the direction of home.
But ere she had gone far, her steps flagged, and large tears dimmed her
sight.
"It's just as Ned said!" she mused, sorrowfully. "Those people don't
care anything about us. And I don't believe it's true about Jesus
Christ. I guess Ned's uncle is right, and it's all a make-believe.
I won't think any more about it, and I won't go to the mission hall
again!"
[Illustration]
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