"Arrah, yer honor, don't be too hard on a poor man! And sure you won't lave me without an' other comforting drop of brandy?"
"You can have more if the doctor prescribes it again. He will know what is best for you. But I hope you will think on what I have said. If you wish to be a better man, you shall not want for help."
"Thank you kindly, Mr. Raeburn, but I doubt it's too late. 'It's mighty hard to tache ould dogs new tricks,' but if you 'll spake a good word for me to the doctor about the brandy, I'll try."
At bedtime Molly kissed her father and mother Morton good night with tender and tearful emotion, but without a word,—her heart was too full. On reaching her pleasant chamber, where her trunk stood ready packed for the journey, she sank on her knees beside her dear little bed, and prayed for the parents she was about to leave, and for those she was about to seek; for her generous friends, the Raeburns, and for poor, sinful Patrick Magee, who needed somebody's prayers so much. When she laid her head on her pillow, she could not sleep, but lay in a tremulous, excited state, half joy, half sorrow. Then Mrs. Morton came in to kiss her once more, and to tuck her in, as she used to do when Molly first came to her a sad and feeble child. As she bent to kiss her she fell on her neck and wept, saying, "My child, my child, how can I give you up?"
"O mother, dear!" replied Molly, embracing her, "you must never give me up. I must still be your child as well as hers."
"Do you want very much to go to her, darling?"
"Yes, though you have been so good, so good, and I love you very dearly, I have always had a sort of blind yearning in my heart for her. It seems to me that the cry of my infancy, 'Mamma!' 'Papa!' which the cruel blows of Mrs. Magee hushed, has always been whispering in my soul, and must be answered. But if I love them, and they love me ever so much, I shall love you and dear father Morton all my life and into God's forever."
"It is well, dear child, and the Lord's will be done. Good night!"
Molly was wakened early in the morning by the carol of an oriole, but she could make nothing of his song but "Good by, good by, good by!" and the clambering roses by her window seemed sending in sweet farewell sighs. Soon after breakfast, Mr. Raeburn drove up in his carriage, and so Molly set out to seek her fortune and her parents.