"What is it, dearie?" her mother asked, coming to the door, and taking the baby out of Molly's arms as she spoke. "Is it the bells you're speaking of?" "Yes, mother; don't you hear what they are saying?" Mrs. Lethbridge listened a moment, to satisfy the child, and shook her head. "Father, don't you hear?" appealing to him again. "No, I'm sure I don't!" he said, laughing. Molly lifted up her finger, and with her head on one side, as though the better to hear the chiming of the bells, she chanted: "Will—you—come—and—sing—and—pra-ay!" softly, several times, her voice rising and falling with the notes of the bells. "Mother, don't you hear it now?" Husband and wife glanced at each other quickly, and the latter made answer: "Yes, Molly, I think I do." CHAPTER IV. THE GOOD SHEPHERD. MOLLY had grown to look forward, to Sunday afternoons, for, true to her promise, the vicar's daughter always called for the little girl on her way to the Sunday-school, and the two were firm friends. Molly learned slowly, indeed, but once she grasped an idea she retained it. She had come to know that Jesus was her Saviour, and that He loved, and watched over her. Praying was talking to Jesus, and she might tell Him anything; she might speak to Him anywhere, and He would always hear and understand. When she went to church, it was to sing His praises, and join with others who loved Him in worshipping in His house of prayer. So much had Marian Morris succeeded in teaching Molly, when the child surprised her parents by repeating to them the message of the bells. That same afternoon, as the little girl tripped along by Marian's side, she continually chanted to herself— "Will—you—come—and—sing—and—pra-ay?" in a monotonous undertone. Till her companion remarked—"I did not see you at church this morning, my dear." "No, miss," the child answered. "Mother could not leave, 'cause of baby." "Who generally looks after baby when mother and you go to church?" "Father, miss." "That is kind of your father." Molly nodded, and in a minute abruptly volunteered a startling piece of information. "Father was drunk last night," she said. Marian was silent, grieved at the news; shocked that Molly should know her father's weakness, and filled with pity for poor Mrs. Lethbridge. "Mother cries when father gets drunk," the child continued, with a somewhat wistful look on her pretty face; "and Jim is cross." "I hear Jim is Mrs. Mugford's errand-boy, now," Marian interposed hastily, feeling she could not discuss the father's sin and its consequences with the child, and desiring to change the conversation; "that is a very good thing for him, I should think." "He carries big baskets," Molly said, eagerly; "such big baskets! And Mrs. Mugford gives him pennies—lots of pennies!" "I expect Jim works hard for his pennies, and well deserves them, my dear." "Jim will soon be a man," the little girl remarked, quaintly repeating a remark she had heard from her mother's lips.