The broken steps of Molly's home led up to a partly open door.

One panel had been crushed in in a fight, and the knob was gone, and the door-posts were dirty and greasy.

The narrow windows were without shutters, and only a dingy green paper shade hid the room within.
Molly opened her sleepy eyes long enough to say, "Don't let dad lick me!" "No, little Molly," John said, as he went into the small entry, and knocked at the inner door.

"Don't be afraid." "Come in," a woman's voice answered.
Mrs.Davis was sitting by the fireless stove, on which she had placed her small lamp, and she was trying by its feeble light to do some mending.
Her face had that indifference to its own hopelessness which forbids all hope for it.

She looked up as they entered.
"Oh, it's the preacher," she said, with a flickering smile about her fretful lips; and she rose, brushing some lifeless strands of hair behind her ears, and pulling down her sleeves, which were rolled above her thin elbows.
"Molly has had an accident, Mrs.Davis," John explained, putting the child gently down, and steadying her on her uncertain little feet, until her eyes were fairly opened.