Chapter II: "we Didn't Mean."

"I AM ashamed of you all!"

It was Marian Morris' clear voice, raised in accents of indignation as she came upon a group of children in the street, surrounding Molly Lethbridge, who was on her way home from school.

The vicar's daughter had arrived upon the scene in time to see one pull Molly's hair, another hustle her roughly, whilst the others were laughing with great enjoyment. In one moment Marian had pushed her way to Molly's side, and had taken her hand in a protecting clasp, whilst the child looked up at her with troubled, wistful eyes.

"Shame on you to tease and worry one who cannot protect herself; to take delight in tormenting one whom God has made weaker than yourselves! Do you forget that He sees you, that He hears every jeering laugh, every mocking word?"

The children scuttled away hastily, leaving Molly alone with her friend. Still holding the child by the hand Marian took her home.

Rose Cottage looked as pretty as usual outside, but inside, everything was poverty-stricken. Marian was not surprised, for she had learnt that the money James Lethbridge should have given to his wife was spent mostly at the "White Hart," as the village inn was named. He had lost his former situation through his drunken habits, and seemed in the way of losing his new post if he continued the life he was leading.

The baby was asleep in the cradle, and Mrs. Lethbridge was engaged in ironing. She dusted a chair, and offered it to her visitor, who begged her to continue her occupation.

"I have brought Molly home," Marian explained, as she sat down. "The children were teasing her. I fear they make her unhappy."

The mother glanced sadly at her little daughter, who had gone to the cradle, and was now imprinting a tender kiss on the baby's rosy cheek.

"It seems a pity you are bound to send her to school," Marian continued, "for she learns but little, I think you told me?"

"Almost nothing, miss; she knows her letters, and that's about all. But, of course, she must go to school. I should be glad enough to keep her at home to mind baby. I expect the children will leave off teasing her when they find she doesn't mind."

"I think she does mind, but she is evidently not resentful. You don't send her to Sunday-school, Mrs. Lethbridge, do you?"

"No, miss; I'm not bound to send her there, you see."

"I think it is a pity she should not go. But perhaps you teach her on Sundays at home?"

The mother shook her head, and looked a trifle ashamed as she said, hastily—

"I've no time to spare, and it's so difficult to make her understand, and she asks such questions! Of course, I make her say her prayers every night."

Molly was still standing by the cradle, rocking it gently.

Marian spoke to her—

"Molly, will you come here, dear?"

The child moved to her side, and stood looking up into her face, expectantly.

"You love baby very much, do you not, Molly?"

A nod in response.

"And who else do you love?"

"Father," after a moment's anxious thought.

"Anyone else, my dear?"

"Mother and the boys," the blue eyes glancing at the figure at the table busily plying the iron.

"There is someone else surely, Molly?"

"You, miss."

Marian bent down, and impulsively kissed the little upturned face as she whispered—

"Don't you love Jesus, darling? Don't you?"

"No, miss."

"She doesn't understand," Mrs. Lethbridge put in hastily.

"I see she does not, but I think one could teach her. Will you let her come to Sunday-school, Mrs. Lethbridge, if I manage to take her in my class? I will call for her every Sunday."

"Oh, miss, how truly good of you to think of it! I should be that glad." Mrs. Lethbridge put down her iron, and, sinking into a chair, burst into tears.

Marian went to her side, and laid her hand sympathetically on the poor woman's heaving shoulder.

"What is it?" she asked, gently. "I fear something is wrong. I think it helps one to bear a trouble if one can speak of it, and perhaps I could assist you in some way."

"I am very foolish," Mrs. Lethbridge said, as she hastily dried her eyes, "but I have a lot to try me, and a deal to put up with. I know I've not taught Molly all she ought to know; but after she was born, things went very wrong with us. My husband took to drink, and neglected his home for bad companions; and that has made me feel wicked and bitter; and many has been the time that I've thought God has forsaken us!"

"Oh, dear," Marian cried, "just when you want Him for your friend so much! You know, Jesus promised never to forsake His people!"

"Yes, miss; but sometimes I haven't been able to think it."

"It is God's own promise, Mrs. Lethbridge. If we ask Him, He will help us to bear our troubles; you must cast yours all on Him, for He careth for you."

"When I hear you speak, miss, I seem to feel it is all true; but when you're gone and my husband returns the worse for drink, and swears at the children and me, maybe I shall doubt again. He is not a bad man when he's sober; but that isn't often towards the end of the day," she said bitterly.

"You must ask God to show him his sin. Pray for him."

"I don't believe it would be any good, miss."

"Try," earnestly, "do try. Will you promise me?"

"Yes, I will," in brighter tones.

"And I'll call for Molly next Sunday. Please let her be ready by two o'clock."

"Thank you, miss. I do feel very grateful to you for taking such an interest in her. Oh, here come the boys."

They were fine, healthy little fellows, and their mother's eyes rested on them with loving pride. The elder was Jim, and the younger Dick, she explained.

Marian discovered two pennies in her pocket, which she presented to them to spend as they thought fit, and a further search found another penny for Molly. Mrs. Lethbridge smiled her gratitude, and Marian laughed as the children ran out of the cottage, and across the road to the shop to invest their money in sweets.

"I never mind so long as Molly is with the boys," the mother explained; "they think a deal of their sister."

"That is as it should be," Marian responded. "Well, Mrs. Lethbridge, I must be going now. I'm afraid I've been hindering you in your work."

"I'm glad you should, miss. I was that miserable when you came in; and now, I declare, what with your kind thought for my little maid, and all you've said to me, I feel a different woman!"

As she left the cottage Marian glanced across to Mrs. Mugford's shop, and saw Molly and her brothers making their purchases, the boys holding an animated conversation with Mrs. Mugford herself. Marian smiled, knowing well that the kind woman would give the children good worth for their pennies.

On her way home she encountered some of the children she had surprised teasing Molly an hour before, and stopped to speak a few words of remonstrance about their behaviour. She saw by their flushed cheeks and bowed heads that they were ashamed of themselves; and when she told them how they ought to protect one whom God had made unable to protect herself, instead of mocking her, a bright little girl, who had been one of the ringleaders of Molly's tormentors, said, with real penitence in her voice:—

"We didn't mean to be unkind, Miss Morris. It was only fun, and we didn't think. I'll stand up for crazy Molly, and never laugh at her again!"