Chapter IX: The Rest of Faith

LITTLE MOLLY was a happier child after she had had that talk with the minister. Not that her life was any easier.

She had still to work so hard that her little bones ached so much that sometimes she could scarcely sleep at night for the pain. She had still to bear fretful words and bursts of temper from Kathleen, who reserved her bright looks and pleasant words for her companions at the theatre, and seldom spoke kindly to Molly.

But Molly knew now that Jesus loved her. Every day and many times in the day she prayed to the Saviour, and she was sure that He heard her. She began to read her Testament once more with renewed delight. The Holy Spirit taught her the meaning of what she read, and gave her such a sense of the grace and love of the Lord Jesus as filled her young soul with a light which no shadow of doubt could dispel.

"You and your uncle, clever though he is, are both wrong in saying this book is not true," she said to Ned Jones, one day. "I have had a talk with the minister, and he has made me know that it is true. I am sure now that the Lord Jesus loves me and Kathleen, and will take care of us. And oh! It makes me so happy!"

And Ned Jones, as he saw the glad light which shone in the child's eyes, had not a word to say in reply. His faith in his uncle's wisdom was shaken. Might not little Molly be right, after all?

There came to his mind some words he had heard, he knew not where; they were these:

"Thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast
revealed them unto babes."

Ned was resolved he would never breathe another word of doubt to little Molly.

The minister's promise to visit her was not forgotten by Molly. Day by day she looked for his coming, and every spare moment was devoted to making the tiny attic look as clean as possible for his reception.

Kathleen laughed to see how Molly scrubbed and polished, yet even Kathleen was excited at the prospect of the gentleman's visit. It was such a new thing for any one to take an interest in them. Molly's great fear was lest the minister should come when she was away from home. Every day, when she returned from her morning's toil, she questioned Mrs. Jones as to whether a gentleman had been there.

But Mrs. Jones constantly returned the same answer. And as day after day went by and the minister did not come, Molly began to fear disappointment.

The fear deepened as days grew into weeks, and weeks into months, and yet he did not come. And as the hope of his coming died out of Molly's heart, her disappointment was keen.

"I don't believe he ever meant to come," said Kathleen, contemptuously.

But Molly could not believe this, though her heart was very sore at his non-fulfilment of his promise.

It was a pity she could not know why he had failed to come. When the minister reached his home that evening, after parting with little Molly at the mission hall, he found trouble awaiting him there. His little Nelly had suddenly been taken ill. There was a physician in attendance, whose grave demeanour bespoke the presence of danger. Hours passed on, and the child grew no better.

The drear words, "No hope!" were spoken. And after lingering in suffering for two or three days, the young spirit passed to the home above.

No wonder that in days of such anxiety and sorrow, Molly should be forgotten.

When at length the minister thought of her, he could not remember the name of the street in which the child had said she lived.

There was no time then to seek her. The summer season had worn to its close, and all well-to-do people were hastening to escape from the dust and glare of London to the bracing breezes which blow by the sea-shore.

It was desirable that he should, without delay, take his sorrowing wife and children to seek the soothing influences of fresh air and change of scene. So, reluctantly, the minister was forced to postpone his promised visit to little Molly. And, commending her to the care of the Good Shepherd, he went away.

Molly's friend, Madame Ganelli, was also out of town at this time, and many weeks passed ere she again saw her. Then one day, soon after her return to London, the singer called Molly to her room, and showed her a discarded dress, which she intended to convert into a frock for the child.

Molly was not a little delighted at the prospect of having a new frock in place of the shabby one she wore, and she thanked the lady heartily for her kindness.

Their talk was all about the dress, till just as Molly was going away, the lady said, "Well, how about the mission hall? Have you been there again?"

"Oh yes!" cried Molly, her face lighting up. "Oh yes and I spoke to the minister, and he was so kind. I am quite, quite sure now that it's all real true about the Lord Jesus. He loves me and Kathleen, and you, ma'am, and everybody!"

"Does He love me, Molly?" said the lady in a low tone, turning away her face as she spoke. "I'm not so sure of that."

"But it's true—real true!" declared Molly. "Do you think your mother loved you, ma'am?" she asked, after a moment's silence.

Madame Ganelli started at the question.

"Do I think my mother loved me?" she repeated, in a tone which vibrated with quick emotion. "Ay, that she did! Would that she had not loved me so well! It was love for me that broke her heart!"

"I've heard the minister say that Jesus loves us better than even a mother could," said little Molly. "He died for us because He loved us so!"

"I wish I could feel sure that He loves me," said the singer, "but I am so wicked, and I've led such a bad life!"

"He'll make you good if you ask Him," said Molly, confidently.

"Will you ask Him for me, child?" said the lady. "When you pray for yourself and Kathleen, will you pray for me, too?"

Molly nodded.

"I'll be sure to," she said. "But oh! ma'am, won't you ask Him yourself? He'll hear you if you speak ever so low."

But Madame Ganelli made no reply. And thinking she had stayed too long, Molly went down-stairs.