A STRANGE QUESTION.
MOLLY held to her resolution, and kept away from the mission hall.
Yet it was hard to do so. She would go to the door of the hall, and
lingering there, listen to the singing with tears in her eyes. But
when she felt drawn to go in, she thought of Ned's words, and said to
herself, "No, it's all a cheat, and I won't be taken in again."
Now, on a Sunday evening, Kathleen would persuade her to take a walk,
and they would wander idly through the streets, being joined, perhaps,
by some of Kathleen's associates of the theatre. Then there would be
much loud talking and foolish jesting, in which Molly had no heart
to join. But none of the girls took notice of her, save to ridicule
her odd appearance. At such times, Molly felt lonely indeed, but
remembering her promise to her father, she kept close to her sister's
side, and would not be driven away by her cold words or looks.
Molly was growing uneasy about Kathleen. She fancied that her sister
was making friends of such persons at the theatre as her father would
not have liked her to know. The strange man whom Molly instinctively
dreaded often walked home with Kathleen of a night. The more Molly
saw of him, the more she distrusted and feared him. It was of no
use, however, for her to beg Kathleen to have nothing to say to him.
Kathleen only laughed and said that he was her best friend, and quite a
gentleman, and she should certainly talk with him as much as she liked.
Molly felt weak and helpless. How could she take care of Kathleen? Oh,
if only it had been true about the unseen Friend!
As spring advanced, and the days grew warm, the position of the poor
lonely girls did not improve. It had from the first been difficult to
make the few shillings which Kathleen earned at the theatre suffice for
the week's needs. Molly was a clever little manager, but Kathleen would
not always entrust the money to her care. Sometimes she chose to spend
it as she liked, and would invest the money that would have paid the
rent in a gay ribbon or flower for herself. Then for days little Molly
had to pinch and save and do with insufficient food, in order to make
up for Kathleen's extravagance.
But now things grew even worse. As the winter season passed away,
Kathleen was not required at the theatre so often, and her earnings
were accordingly less. It was hard work to live on so little, and many
a night the girls lay down to sleep feeling hungry. One after another
articles taken from the box beneath their bed were carried to the
pawnshop. Molly could bear her own privations with patience, but it
grieved her to see her sister suffer want. Her heart ached sorely as
she listened to Kathleen's complaints, and saw that she was growing
pale and thin.
"If only Mr. Vavasour were here, he would help us, I know," Kathleen
cried one day. "But he's away acting at the country theatres, and won't
be back for ever so long."
"We can get along without his help," returned Molly, quickly. "I tell
you what, Kathleen, I've been wondering if there's not some way by
which 'I' can earn money."
"You earn money, indeed!" exclaimed Kathleen, scornfully. "What an
idea! I should like to know how you would do it."
"I can sweep and scrub and clean boots and knives," said little Molly.
"Perhaps some one might be willing to hire me for a few hours a day."
"Not very likely," was Kathleen's unkind retort. "The look of you would
be enough for most folks. Who would care to have a little crook-backed
thing like you for a servant?"
Molly was pained, and said no more, but she did not abandon her project.
After pondering over it for a while, she found courage to name it to
Mrs. Jones.
At first, Mrs. Jones was scarcely more encouraging than Kathleen, but
she promised to inquire amongst her acquaintances, and if she heard of
any one needing a girl's help, to mention Molly. She kept her word, and
to good purpose, for at the close of the week, she told Molly that she
had found a place for her. Her sister-in-law, who kept a boarding-house
in George Street, was in want of a girl who could come for a few
hours in the morning to clean boots and knives. On Mrs. Jones's
recommendation, she was willing to try Molly.
The child was delighted with this success, and felt quite rich when she
heard that she was to be paid two shillings a week for her work.
She went to her new employment on the following Monday with a brave
heart, determined, if possible, to give satisfaction. Cleaning boots
and knives, running errands, and toiling up and down steep flights of
stairs was hard work for the child. She often came home at noon, on the
hot summer days, feeling faint and sick, and looking sadly pale and
worn, but she never complained of weariness.
And Kathleen, pleased with the easier living which Molly's earnings
secured, did not doubt that her sister's strength was equal to the work
she undertook.
Molly saw little of the inmates of the boarding-house, for most of them
were away at the time she was there. Yet with one of the boarders, she
chanced to form an acquaintance. She was sent one morning with a pair
of boots to the room occupied by Madame Ganelli, a professional singer
residing in the house.
Molly tapped, as directed, at this lady's door, but the sound of her
gentle knock was lost in the flood of melody coming from the room.
Molly, who loved nothing better than to hear singing, stood still to
listen. Never before had she heard such music as this; the singing at
the mission hall was nothing compared with it. The child was as one
spell-bound, as the full, rich notes of an Italian melody, sung by a
fine and well-trained voice, fell on her ears.
The door before her was ajar, and moved by an irresistible longing to
see the singer who could pour forth such a strain, Molly pushed it a
little further open, and peeped into the room. The scone which met her
gaze was somewhat disappointing.
A more untidy room could hardly be. The bed was unmade, a tray bearing
remnants of breakfast stood on a side table, and various articles of
attire lay about the apartment just where the wearer had tossed them on
the previous night. Serene, in spite of the disorder around her, the
singer sat at a piano, littered with sheets of music. She was a woman
who had seen more than thirty years, and looked her full age at this
hour, as clad at her ease in dressing-gown and slippers, she practised
her singing.
Her face was thin and sallow, but it was not without beauty, and the
gentle, melancholy expression it wore at this moment attracted little
Molly.
The child knew she had no right to linger at the door, but it was hard
to turn away from such thrilling music.
While she stood hesitating, the Italian song came to an end. And after
a few moments, the powerful voice broke forth in a new strain. This
time the words were English, and such as startled Molly.
"'I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that He shall stand at the latter
day upon the earth.'"
Molly's heart beat fast as she listened.
She could not be deceived as to the meaning of the words.
It must be Jesus Christ of whom the singer sang, for had she not heard
one of the preachers at the mission hall speak of Him as the Redeemer?
In her eagerness, she pressed closer to the open door.
Everything was forgotten save the thrilling song, "'I know that my
Redeemer liveth.'"
At first, the notes were low and uncertain, but the singer repeated
them again and again with growing power, till presently the words
swelled forth in a strain which seemed to breathe triumphant faith.
Little Molly could not doubt that the singer felt the significance
of the words she sang. The child's heart bounded with hope. Here,
then, was one who firmly believed in the Lord Jesus Christ. Oh! She
must speak to her; she must ask her how it was she was so sure that
the Redeemer lived? And without waiting to consider the wisdom of
her impulse, Molly made three steps into the room, and startled the
performer by exclaiming,—
"Please, lady, how is it you know that the Redeemer lives? Oh! I wish
you would tell me, for I do so want to be sure about the Lord Jesus!"
With a start of amazement, the lady turned, and looked with astonished
eyes on the strange little mortal addressing her. "Who are you, child?"
she exclaimed. "And what did you say to me?"
"I'm Molly, please, ma'am," replied the child, trembling as she became
conscious of the boldness of her action. "Molly Macardie, what cleans
the boots and knives. I came to bring you your boots, and I heard you
singing, and I wanted to ask you how you know that the Redeemer lives,
for I do so want to be certain that the Lord Jesus lives and loves us."
The lady made no reply. Her face grew very red, and she turned round
quickly to the piano.
Molly thought the lady must be angry with her for her unceremonious
entrance.
"Please, ma'am," she said humbly, "I know I ought not to have come into
your room so sudden-like, without knocking. I promise you I'll never do
it again if only you'll tell me about the Lord Jesus."
The lady turned round again, and once more surveyed the little deformed
child. But she could scarcely bear to meet the earnest gaze of Molly's
wistful dark eyes; they seemed to read her very soul.
"You have come to the wrong person, child," she said, speaking not
unkindly; "I know little of the One you name."
"But you were singing about Him," urged little Molly. "'I know that my
Redeemer liveth'—I heard the words as plain as could be."
"I dare say you did," returned the singer, "but I don't often think of
the meaning of the words I sing; and this sort of music is not much in
my line. I am only practising it to-day, because I've promised to take
part in a concert to-morrow, in place of a friend of mine, who is ill."
Molly gazed at her with a face expressive of the deepest disappointment.
"Come, child, don't look so sorry," said the lady, touched with pity;
"have you no father nor mother, who can teach you what you want to
know?"
"Father and mother are both dead," replied Molly; "I've no one but
Kathleen to teach me anything, and Kathleen says she don't believe it's
true about the Lord Jesus."
"And who is Kathleen?" asked the lady.
"Kathleen's my sister," said Molly, proudly. "But you mustn't think
she's like me," she made haste to add. "She's as different as can be.
Kathleen is tall and straight, and her face is so pretty. No one would
take us for sisters."
"Is she older than you?"
"Oh yes; she is fifteen, and acts at a theatre. I saw her acting
once, and I can tell you it was grand. But although I'm younger than
Kathleen, father told me that I was to take care of her. I always go to
the theatre every night to bring her home, because father did not like
her to walk through the streets alone."
"Poor girl!" sighed the singer, involuntarily. "Has she no one but you
to protect her? And you say that she is pretty, too. Ah! Poor girl!"
"No, there's no one but me to take care of her," replied Molly; "and
I'm such a poor little thing. That's why I was glad to hear at the
mission hall about the Lord Jesus. I thought He would be our Friend,
and watch over us. But Ned Jones says it's not true about Him, only
a make-believe. So now I don't go to the mission hall, for I don't
want to hear about Him, if it's not true. I thought you'd be able to
tell me, ma'am, when I heard you sing. But I must go now. I'm sorry I
disturbed you."
And with a sigh, Molly turned to the door.
"Stay, little girl," cried the lady, suddenly, "come here and listen to
what I have to say. I can't tell you much about these things, for I'm
not at all good myself, but I do know one thing. I know that it 'is'
true about the Lord Jesus."
"Oh, is it really? Please tell me how you know!" cried Molly, eagerly.
"I know it, Molly, because I had a good father," said the lady, and her
voice quivered as she spoke; "and my father loved and served the Lord
Jesus. Oh, when I remember my father's holy life, I 'know' that it's
all true!"
"But don't you love the Lord, too?" asked Molly, with a look of wonder
on her face.
"You wouldn't ask that, child, if you knew how wicked I am," replied
the singer, rising suddenly from the piano and walking to the other
side of the room. "I'm so bad that I scarcely dared to take those
sacred words into my lips. Often have I tried to persuade myself that
the Bible was not true—that there was no God, and no hereafter. I
should have been glad to deny it all. But it was of no use. I could not
help believing. Something within my heart always said that it was true."
There were tears in her eyes as she spoke, but she would not give way
to emotion. Dashing away her tears, and turning again to the child,
she said, brusquely: "You must go now, child. I've no more time for
talking. I advise you to go again to the mission hall, and hear what
the minister says, for it's all true, depend upon it."
Molly's face brightened at these words. She stepped to the door, but
paused with her hand on the latch. The child felt drawn to this lady,
who had spoken to her so kindly. She had seen the tears in her eyes,
and she longed to comfort her.
"What will 'you' do, ma'am?" she asked, timidly. "Don't 'you' want to
go to the mission hall, and hear about the Lord Jesus?"
The warm colour came back to the lady's face, but she responded
quickly: "No, child, no: my day for that sort of thing has gone by. Now
run away. You may come and see me again some day, but I cannot talk to
you longer now."
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