Chapter VI: 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!"

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!"