Chapter VIII: Molly Has a Talk with Her Minister

THE singer's advice was not thrown away upon Molly, for that very evening she went to the mission hall. Special services were being held there every night of this week. Molly had longed to go to these services, but the recollection of Ned's words, and the resolution she had formed on that Sunday morning when sorely wounded in spirit she had turned away from the grand church in Albion Square, had sufficed to keep her away.

Now, however, she went with a hopeful heart. Not that she could at once cast away her doubts. Her nature differed from that of most children. The mind which dwelt in that tiny, stunted form was far too old for its years, and this anxious, questioning mind was not to be satisfied with a mere word.

Yet it was a great thing to have heard a grown-up woman declare so positively that it was true that the Saviour lived, even whilst it appeared that she did not love the Lord of whose existence she was certain. The singer's declaration was a powerful antidote to those words of Ned, which had so shaken Molly's mind.

So Molly went to the mission hall, prepared to pay earnest heed to the words that were spoken there. Great was her joy when she perceived that the preacher this night was none other than "her" minister. Again she looked upon his pleasant face, and traced its resemblance to that of the Good Shepherd in the picture, and again she listened with rapt attention to his thrilling words, as he told the old, old story of the Saviour's love.

The weather all day had been close and sultry, and in the narrow streets and crowded homes of the neighbourhood the heat was well-nigh stifling. As evening fell, a tempest broke over the city, and the preacher's concluding words were lost in a crash of thunder.

The hall had grown dark in the gathering gloom, but now it was fitfully illuminated by the lightning's gleams. Awe and terror fell upon the assembled people.

They looked at one another in consternation. Some women screamed, and those whose homes were nearest, hastened from the hall. The minister tried to calm their fears by a few assuring words, and then with a brief prayer brought the service to an end.

There followed a scene of confusion. For a time the storm was so severe that few ventured to quit the hall. The minister left his desk, and coming into the midst of the frightened people talked cheeringly to them.

Molly crept near to him, and looked up in his face. She had no fear of the storm. It pleased her to listen to the mighty roar of the thunder, and to have her eyes dazzled by the fiery lightning. She was glad of this opportunity of looking more closely upon her minister, and hearing more words from his lips. She would have liked to speak to him, but was too shy to make any effort to attract his notice.

Whilst she waited, the fury of the storm gradually abated, and in spite of the torrents of rain which fell, the congregation soon dispersed. Molly went to the door, but there she lingered. It was not fear of the rain which kept her there. She was too used to getting wet through as she went about the streets to think much of that.

She stood on the step with the droppings from the roof falling upon her, and tried to gather courage to speak to the minister as he came out. He looked so kind and good, she need not fear to address him, she thought.

Peeping round the door-post, Molly watched him as he stood saying a few words to the woman who took care of the hall. Her heart beat fast as she heard him bid the woman good-night, and saw him coming towards the door; but desire made her bold.

The minister was looking so intently at the clouds that he did not observe the little figure standing on the step. Umbrella in hand, he was debating whether he should venture into the rain or wait till the shower was over, when he was surprised by the touch of a cold little hand, and a shrill voice, trembling with eagerness, said:

"Please, sir, how do you know that it's all real true?"

He turned and saw by his side a tiny child, clad in thin and ragged garments. His heart was touched with pity as he noted the weak, deformed little body, and met the earnest gaze of Molly's sad, dark eyes, looking unnaturally large and brilliant, in contrast to the wee, wasted face in which they were set.

"Who are you, my child?" he asked gently. "And what do you want with me?"

"I'm Molly Macardie," she answered simply, "and I want to know if it's all real true about Jesus Christ, and if He does really love us and care for us, as you say."

"All real true about Jesus Christ!" repeated the minister, wonderingly. "Assuredly it is, my child. Who has been telling you otherwise?"

"Ned Jones says it's nothing but a make-believe," asserted Molly; "and Kathleen, my sister, says she don't believe there's any one loves us, as you say Jesus does. I was so sorry to hear them say such things, because I liked to think about Jesus, and to come here and hear about Him."

"I see," said the minister kindly, as he drew her inside the hall; "so you want me to tell you how I know it to be true about the Lord Jesus?"

"Yes, that's it, sir," said Molly, eagerly; "I knew you could tell me, and you looked so kind and good, just like the Son of man in the picture, that I thought I wouldn't be afraid to ask you."

"Not like the Son of man, child," returned the minister, with a sigh, as his eyes followed the direction of hers, and rested on the picture of the Good Shepherd. "I'm far from being that. But now tell me more about yourself, Molly, that I may know how I can best help you. Who is this Ned Jones?"

And sitting down, and giving the child a seat near him, he drew from her the story of her strange little life. Molly's shyness vanished before his kind manner, and she told him freely all about herself. She talked to him of the lovely sister whose sole guardian she was, and of the father who on his death-bed had begged her to take care of that sister.

Tears dimmed the minister's eyes as he listened to her artless words. And when he spoke, his voice was full of pity. "And have you no one to take care of you, my poor child; not a single friend to show you kindness?"

"Mrs. Jones is kind in her way," said Molly, "but Kathleen says we must not trust too much to her, for she'd turn us away to-morrow if we could not pay the rent. We've no one else to look after us. That is why I was so glad to hear that the Lord Jesus would be our Friend, and watch over us."

"And He will be; He is your Friend," said the minister, solemnly. "He does watch over you. Do not doubt it, little Molly."

The child's face brightened, but there was still a questioning look in her eyes.

"You want me to tell you how I know that it is so," said the minister, anticipating her question. "Well, the best proof I can give you is that drawn from my own experience. I know that Jesus lives, because I have found Him my Friend and Saviour. You see that picture, Molly, of the Shepherd with the lamb in His arms?"

"Yes," said Molly, as her eyes sought it.

"That lamb had wandered from the fold. It was lost on the dark mountains amidst slippery slopes and dangerous precipices, and must have perished, had not the Shepherd gone forth into the darkness to seek it, and never rested till He had it in His arms. Molly, I was once lost like that lamb."

"You?" repeated Molly, in amazement. "You lost like that lamb?"

"Yes," said the minister slowly; "when I was young, I went astray like a lost sheep. I wandered far, far from God. I was lost in the darkness, living without God and without hope in the world. But the Good Shepherd would not leave me thus. He sought me and brought me home. I found in Jesus a Saviour and a Friend, and His love has never failed me yet. I have been too ready to leave His side, but He has never forsaken me—never. So now, Molly, knowing what a friend Jesus has been to me, I am not afraid to tell you to trust Him."

"But are you sure He will be my Friend?" asked the child, anxiously. "I daresay He loves you, and the pretty, smart little girls, but I don't see that He can care for an ugly, crooked little thing like me."

The minister smiled sadly as he replied: "He does love you, Molly. There is no respect of persons with Him. Tell me, my child, do you think that your mother, if she had lived, would have loved you the less on account of your weakness?"

"Why, yes," replied Molly, promptly; "of course I do. It ain't possible that she could have loved me as she loved Kathleen."

"Ah! Child, you do not know a mother's heart," said the minister. "A true mother bestows her tenderest love and care on her most feeble child. I believe, Molly, that your weakness would have secured you the first place in your mother's heart. But I am sure of this—that the Lord Jesus only loves you the more because you are lonely and weak.

"'He gathers the lambs in His arms, and carries them in His bosom.'"

"Oh, I am so glad!" cried Molly, clasping her hands in delight. "I'm so glad that Jesus loves me! I'm so glad that you say it's all real true. I won't mind anything that Ned Jones says again!"

"Yes, yes, it's all true," said the minister; "and the Lord Himself will teach you so, if you let Him. You cannot be sure of His love unless you come to Him and give Him the trust of your heart. The Shepherd could not save the lamb if it persisted in keeping away from Him, and no one can know the Lord by merely looking at Him from a distance, or judging Him by those who call themselves His friends. You must pray to Him, little Molly, and look to Him every day for guidance and strength, and He will help you and bless you!"

"I 'will' pray to Him," said Molly. "I will ask Him every day to take care of me and Kathleen, and to make us good!"

"I will tell you a little prayer you may use if ever again you feel inclined to doubt the Lord's goodness because of anything others may say to you. It was uttered by one who came to Jesus when He was on earth—a poor man who longed to believe, yet could not as he would.

"'Lord, I believe; help Thou my unbelief,'

"he said; and the Lord heard his cry and had mercy on him. Can you remember the words?"

"'Lord, I believe; help Thou my unbelief,'" repeated Molly.

"Make that your prayer, my dear child, if ever again you find it hard to believe that it's all true about the Lord Jesus. And now you must run home, for it is getting late—too late for a child like you to be in the streets. Tell me where you live, and I will come and see you and your sister."

Molly readily described the street in which she lived, then, bidding the minister good-night, she hastened away with a light heart, not turning homewards, as he supposed, but taking her way through the wet streets to the theatre, where she would meet her sister.

The minister watched her with a look of pity as she ran through the rain, to which her thin garments could offer but slight resistance.

He had a little daughter at home of the same age as Molly, and the thought of his bright-eyed, rosy-checked Nelly made his heart very tender towards this poor desolate child.