I am glad to say, that, under kind Christian care, the poor little lads improved rapidly, grew healthy and happy, and showed quite an eager desire to learn. Before a year had passed, comfortable homes were found for them in the West, where I believe they still are.
To return to Molly. The account of her dream-home and parents so impressed Mr. and Mrs. Raeburn, that they put an advertisement in the daily papers, stating that they had taken in a little street wanderer, who had evidently been born in a happier and higher condition, and begging any parents who may have had a little girl stolen from them, eight or nine years before, to call, with the hope of identifying her. But weeks, months went by, and no answer came, and Molly was not claimed, except by a hideous old German organ-grinder, who could n't prove property, so could n't take her away,—but took herself off, scolding in very low Dutch.
That advertisement met many thousands of careless eyes, but not the sad, yearning eyes to which it would have come like the message of angels,—"Glad tidings of great joy." Those eyes were then gazing on strange tropical scenes, on orange-groves and jessamine bowers, and on the purple sea that washes the lovely shores of Florida.
All hope of finding Molly's dream-home being abandoned, her good friends set about finding a real home for her. At last, through the Reverend C—— B——, the Chief Shepherd of the Lord's lost lambs in the great wicked city, they succeeded. A farmer and his wife, good, kindly, intelligent people, living pleasantly and comfortably near a village among the hills of Berkshire, Massachusetts, offered to take her to their home and hearts,—to adopt her as their own, for they were childless.
Bessie was grieved at the prospect of being parted from her friend, whom she really loved, but was comforted by the promise of an annual visit to her, in Berkshire.
Poor little Molly wept much when she left her good friends. They had not only taught her what human kindness and affection were, but had taught her much about her Heavenly Father,—had led her straight to the arms of His infinite love. So her tears were not all of sadness, but of tenderest gratitude, as she went from their door with kindly Farmer Morton.
CHAPTER III.
Our little friend Molly spent five peaceful, happy years in her home among the grand old hills of Berkshire, with Farmer Morton and his kind, good wife. She was treated in every respect as a daughter, well instructed in religious duties and moral obligations, and in all useful housewifely arts. Nor was school education withheld. As soon as she had acquired the first rudiments of knowledge, she was sent to the excellent village academy, where she proved an apt and diligent scholar. In return for all this generous, fostering care, Molly (or Mary Morton as she was usually called) gave to the kind pair who had so generously adopted her, all the affection, respect, and obedience due to parents; added to a gratitude inexpressibly deep and tender. Her life as a beggar-girl, half fed, half clad, and always abused, had been so terribly sad that she could never forget it; and her present life seemed one of heavenly serenity and security in contrast.
She did not see her "dream-father and mother" as often as formerly. She did not need them. But when they did come to her in her slumbers, they looked happy, and smiled over her.
Molly was now in her fifteenth summer,—a tall, graceful girl, with a sweet, delicate face. She was still pale and slender, for she had not quite outgrown the effects of the old sorrow, starvation, and exposure. Her face often wore an expression of pensive sadness, unsuited to her years,—a faint shadow of her unhappy childhood still lingering about her,—but it was always ready to brighten into cheerful smiles at a kind word or look.