Melbourne House Part 122

"No!" ? said the poor thing, decidedly.

"I'll pray to the Lord Jesus to make you well."

"Humph?" ? said Molly, questioning.

"You know, He can do everything. He can make you well; and I hope He will."

"He won't make me well ?" said Molly.

"He will make you happy, if you will pray to Him."

"Happy!" said Molly; as if it were a yet more impossible thing.

"Oh, yes. Jesus makes everybody happy that loves Him. He makes them good too, Molly; He forgives all their sins that they have done; and in heaven He will give them white robes to wear, and they will not do wrong things nor have any pain any more."

One of Molly's grunts came now; she did not understand this, or could not believe. Daisy looked on, pitiful and very much perplexed.

"Molly, you have a great Friend in heaven," said the child; "don't you know it? Jesus loves you."

"H?n?" ?said Molly again.

"Don't you know what He did, for you and me and everybody!"

Molly's head gave sign of ignorance. So Daisy sat down and told her. She told her the story at length; she painted the love of the few disciples, the enmity of the world, the things that infinite tenderness had done and borne for those who hated goodness and would not obey G.o.d. Molly listened, and Daisy talked; how, she did not know, nor Molly neither; but the good news was told in that poor little house; the unspeakable gift was made known. Seeing Molly's fixed eyes and rapt attention, Daisy went on at length and told all. The cripple's gaze never stirred all the while, nor stirred when the story came to an end. She still stared at Daisy. Well she might!

"Now, Molly," said the child, "I have got a message for you."

"H?n?" said Molly, more softly.

"It is from the Lord Jesus. It is in His book. It is a message. The message is, that if you will believe in Him and be His child, He will forgive you and love you; and then you will go to be with Him in heaven."

"Me?" said Molly.

"Yes," said Daisy, nodding her little head with her eyes full of tears. "Yes, you will. Jesus will take you there, and you will wear a white robe and a crown of gold, and be with Him."

Daisy paused, and Molly looked at her. How much of the truth got fair entrance into her mind, Daisy could not tell. But after a few minutes of pause, seeing that Daisy's lips did not open, Molly opened hers, and bade her "Go on."

"I am afraid I haven't time to-day," said Daisy. "I'll bring my book next time and read you the words. Can you read, Molly?"

"Read? no!"

Whether Molly knew what reading was, may be questioned.

"Molly," said Daisy, lowering her tone in her eagerness, "would you like to learn to read yourself? ? Then, when I am not here, you could see it all in the book. Wouldn't you like it?"

"Where's books?" said the cripple.

"I will bring the book. And now I must go."

For Daisy knew that a good while had pa.s.sed; she did not know how long it was. Before going, however, she went to see about the fire in the stove. It was burnt down to a few coals; and the kettle was boiling. Daisy could not leave it so. She fetched more wood and put in, with a little more kindling; and then, leaving it all right, she was going to bid Molly good- bye, when she saw that the poor cripple's head had sunk down on her arms. She looked in that position so forlorn, so lonely and miserable, that Daisy's heart misgave her. She drew near.

"Molly ?" said her sweet little voice, "would you like your tea now? the water is boiling."

Molly signified that she would.

"Would you like to have me make it?" said Daisy, doubtfully, quite afraid of venturing too far or too fast. But she need not have been afraid. Molly only pointed with her finger to a wall cupboard, and said as before, ? "In there."

The way was clear for Daisy, time or no time. She went to the cupboard. It was not hard to find the few things which Molly had in constant use. The tea-pot was there, and a paper of tea. Daisy made the tea, with a good deal of pleasure and wonder; set it to draw, and brought out Molly's cup and saucer and plate and knife and spoon. A little sugar she found too; not much. She put these things on the low table which was made to fit Molly's condition. She could have it before her as she sat on the floor.

"I don't see any milk for your tea, Molly."

"Milk? no. It's all gone," said Molly.

"I am sorry. You'll have to take your tea without milk then.

Here it is. I hope it is good."

Daisy poured out a cup, set the sugar beside it, and cut slices of sponge-cake. She was greatly pleased at being allowed to do it. Molly took it as a very natural thing, and Daisy sat down to enjoy the occasion a few minutes longer, and also to give such attentions as she could.

"Won't you have some?" said Molly.

"No, I thank you. Mamma does not let me drink tea, except when I am sick."

Molly had discharged her conscience, and gave herself now to her own enjoyment. One cup of tea was a mere circ.u.mstance; Daisy filled and refilled it; Molly swallowed the tea as if cupfuls had been mouthfuls. It was a subject of question to Daisy whether the poor creature had had any other meal that day; so eager she was, and so difficult to satisfy with the sponge-cake. Slice after slice; and Daisy cut more, and put a tiny fresh pinch of tea into the teapot, and waited upon her with inexpressible tenderness and zeal. Molly exhausted the tea-pot and left but a small remnant of the cake. Daisy was struck with a sudden fear that she might have been neglected and really want things to eat. How could she find out?

"Where shall I put this, Molly?" she said, taking the plate with the morsel of cake. "Where does it go?"

"In there ?" said Molly.

"Here? ? or here?" touching the two doors of the cupboard.

" 'Tother one."

So Daisy opened the other door of the cupboard, just what she wanted to do. And there she saw indeed some remnants of food, but nothing more than remnants; a piece of dry bread and a cold m.u.f.fin, with a small bit of boiled pork. Daisy took but a glance, and came away. The plate and cup and saucer she set in their place; bid good-bye to Molly, and ran out.

Time indeed! The sun was sending long slant bright beams against the cottage windows and over the pony-chaise, and the groom had got the pony's head turned for home, evidently under the impression that Daisy was staying a long time. A little fearful of consequences if she got home after sundown, Daisy gathered up her reins and signified to Loupe that he was expected to move with some spirit.

But Daisy was very happy. She was thoroughly at home now with Molly; she was fairly admitted within the house and welcome there; and already she had given comfort. She had almost done as Nora said; as near as possible she had taken tea with Molly. Besides, Daisy had found out what more to do for her.

She thought of that poor cupboard with mixed feelings; not pity only; for next day she would bring supplies that were really needed. Some nice bread and b.u.t.ter ? Daisy had seen no sign of b.u.t.ter, ? and some meat. Molly needed a friend to look after her wants, and Daisy now had the freedom of the house and could do it; and joyfully she resolved that she would do it, so long as her own stay at Melbourne should be prolonged.

What if her getting home late should bring on a command that would put a stop to all this!

But n.o.body was on the piazza or in the library when she got home. Daisy went safely to her own room. There was June all ready to dress her; and making good speed, that business was finished and Daisy ready to go down to the dinner-table at the usual time.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII.

SATIN AND FEATHERS.

She was a little afraid of questions at the dinner-table; but it happened that the older people were interested about some matter of their own and she was not noticed at all. Except in a quiet way by Mr. Randolph, who picked out nuts for her; and Daisy took them and thought joyfully of carrying a Testament to Molly's cottage and teaching her to read it. If she could do but that ? Daisy thought she would be happy.