Chapter VII: 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."