DONALD MORRISON, WHOSE WIFE HAS LATELY BEEN CALLED AWAY, DYING IN HIS
HIGHLAND MANSE, HIS CHILDREN LEFT DESTITUTE, ARE TAKEN CARE OF BY THEIR
OLD NURSE.--SHE CONVEYS THEM TO A SEA-SIDE TOWN, WHERE SHE TAKES UP HER
ABODE WITH THEM IN A SMALL ATTIC, AND LABOURS FOR THEIR MAINTENANCE,
WHILE SHE PLACES THE TWO BOYS, DONALD AND DAVID, AT SCHOOL.--HER ANXIETY
ABOUT THE EDUCATION OF MARGARET.
In his Highland manse, far away among the hills, where he had dwelt as
pastor for many years over a wayward flock, Donald Morrison lay on a
sick-bed. The same fever which had carried off his dear wife a few
weeks before, had now stricken him down. He knew that he was dying. As
far as he himself was concerned he was willing to yield up his spirit to
his Maker; but what would become of his motherless children, his sweet
young Margaret, and his two boys, Donald and David, their principles
unformed, and ignorant of the evils of the world?
"Father in heaven protect them," he ejaculated. "Give me faith to know
that Thou wilt take care of them, teach them and guide them in their
course through life." But he felt that his mind was clouded, his spirit
was cast down, the disease was making rapid progress. It was hard to
think, hard even to pray, gloomy ideas, and doubts, and fears, such as
assail even true Christians, crowded on his mind. He forgot--it was but
for a time--the sincere faith which had animated him through life. The
victory was not to be with the Evil One.
Soon there came hope, and joy, and confidence. "All will be well with
the righteous, those who put on Christ's righteousness," he mentally
exclaimed, and peace came back to his soul.
As he gazed out through the window he could see, down away on the wild
hill side, his children at play, their young spirits too buoyant to be
long suppressed by the recollection of their late bereavement, and
unconscious that they were soon to be deprived of their remaining
parent. His eye for a moment rested on the familiar landscape, the blue
waters of the loch glittering in the sunshine, a bleak moorland
sprinkled here and there with white-fleeced sheep stretching away on one
side, and on the other a valley, down which flowed, with ceaseless
murmurings, a rapid stream, a steep hill covered with gorse and heather,
the summit crowned with a wood of dark pines rising beyond it. Just
above the manse could be seen the kirk, which, with a few cottages,
composed the village; while scattered far around were the huts in which
the larger part of the pastor's flock abode. As he gazed forth on the
scene he prayed--he knew it might be for the last time--that his
successor might be more honoured than he feared he had been in bringing
home those wandering sheep to the true fold.
Once more his thoughts turned to his little ones. "Janet," he
whispered, as a woman of middle age, of spare form, with strongly marked
features, betokening firmness and good sense, and clothed in the
humblest style of attire, glided noiselessly into the room. "I feel
that I am going." He lifted up his pale and shrivelled hand, and
pointed to his children. "What is to become of them, it is hard to
leave them destitute, utterly destitute, not a friend in the world from
whom they may claim assistance."
"Dinna talk so, minister," said the woman, approaching him, and placing
his arm beneath the bed-clothes. "Ye yoursel have often told us to put
faith in God, that He is the Father of the fatherless, and the husband
of the widow. The dear bairns will nay want while He looks after them.
I hanna dwelt forty years or more with the mistress that's gone, and her
sainted mother before her, to desert those she has left behind, while I
ha' finger to work with, and eyes to see. I'll never forget either to
impress on their minds all the lessons you have taught me. It would
have been little worth ganging to kirk if I had not remembered them too.
I am a poor weak body mysel, it will not be me but He who watches over
us will do it, let that comfort you, minister. The bairns will never be
so badly off as ye are thinking, now that fever has made body and soul
weak, but the soul will soon recover, and ye will rejoice with joy
unspeakable. I repeat but your ain words, minister, and I ken they are
true."
"Ye are right, Janet. My soul is reviving," whispered the dying man.
"Call in the bairns. I would have them round me once more. The end is
near."
Janet knew that her master spoke too truly; though it grieved her loving
heart to put a stop to the play of the happy young creatures, and to
bring them to a scene of sorrow and death. "But it maun be," she said
to herself, as she went to the door of the manse. "He who kens all
things kens what is best, and the minister is ganging away from his
toils and troubles here to that happy home up there, where he will meet
the dear mistress, and, better still, be with Him who loved him, and
shed His blood to redeem him, as he himsel has often and often told us
from the pulpit."
She went some way down the hill, unwilling to utter her usual shrill
call to the young ones. "Ye maun come in now, bairns," she said, in a
gentle tone; when the children came running up on seeing her beckoning.
"The minister is sair ill, and ye'll be good and quiet, and listen to
what he says to you, he is ganging awa on a long long journey, and ye'll
promise to do what he'll tell you till ye are called to the same place
he'll reach ere lang."
Something in her tone struck Margaret, who took her hand, and looking up
into her face burst into tears. She already knew what death was.
Donald, the eldest boy, had lingered a short distance behind.
David, seeing Margaret's tears, with a startled, anxious look, took
Janet's other hand. "Is father ganging to heaven?" he asked, as they
got close to the house, showing how his mind had been occupied as they
came along.
"I am sure of it, and it is a happy, happy place," was the answer.
"Ye'll speak gently, Donald," she said, turning round to the eldest boy,
who, ignorant of his father's state, might not, she feared, restrain his
exuberant spirits.
There was no need of the caution, for the minister's altered look struck
even Donald with awe. Janet led the children up to the bedside. The
dying father stretched out his hands, and placed them on their heads, as
they clustered up to him, while his already dim eyes turned a fond
glance at their young fresh faces. "You will listen to Janet when I am
away, and pray God to help you to meet me in heaven. Make His word your
guide, and you cannot mistake the road."
"I will try to mind that, and tell Donald and David, too," was all that
Margaret could answer.
"Canna ye stay longer with us, father?" asked Donald, touching the
minister's hand, as he was wont to do when speaking to him.
"He we should all obey has called me," said Mr Morrison. "May He bless
you, and guard and keep you. Bless you! bless you!" His voice was
becoming fainter and fainter, and so he died, with his hands on his
children's heads, his loving eyes on their cherub faces.
"Blessed are they who die in the Lord," said Janet, as she observed the
smile which seemed to rest on the minister's features. Taking the
children, scarcely yet conscious of what had occurred, she led them from
the room, and then stepped back to close the eyes of the dead.
Having put the sobbing orphans to bed, she hastened out to obtain the
assistance of a neighbour in preparing the body for burial. She
insisted on paying the woman for the office she had performed,
remarking, as she did so, "I have the charge of the manse and the bairns
till the minister's friends come to take them awa', and they would na'
wish to be beholden to any one, or to leave any of his lawful debts
unpaid." In the same way she took upon herself the arrangement and
expense of the funeral. She sold the goods and chattels, as her master
had directed her to do, for the benefit of his children; but they were
old and worn, and the purchasers were few and poor, so that the proceeds
placed but a very limited sum in Janet's hands for the maintenance of
the little ones. As she received them she observed, "It's as muckle as
I could ha' hoped for; but yet those who had benefited by his
ministrations might have shown their gratitude by geeing a trifle above
the value for the chattels." Human nature is much the same in an
Highland glen as it is in other parts of the world.
The day arrived when Janet and her charges must quit the manse. She had
sent up to Jock McIntyre, the carrier, to call for the kist which
contained her's and the children's clothing, as he passed down the glen.
The most weighty article was the minister's Bible, with which, although
it might have brought more than anything else, she would not part. She
had reserved also a few other books for the children's instruction.
Taking Margaret and David by the hand, Donald leading the way with a
bundle of small valuables over his shoulder, she set forth from the
house which had sheltered her for many long years, into the cold world.
Margaret's eyes were filled with tears, and David cast many a longing
glance behind him, while Donald, with his bundle, trudged steadily on
with his gaze ahead, as if he was eager to overtake something in the
distance. Whatever thoughts were passing in his mind he did not make
them known.
Janet's head was bent slightly forward, her countenance calm, almost
stern. A difficult task was before her, and she meant, with God's
grace, to perform it. She had not told the children where she was
going, though she had made up her own mind on the subject. Several of
the cottagers came out to bid them farewell; but as she had made cronies
of none of them, there was little exhibition of feeling, and she had
taken good care that no one should be aware of the destitute condition
in which the orphans were left. Humble presents and offers of
assistance would undoubtedly have been made, but Janet shrunk from the
feeling that her charges should be commiserated by those among whom
their parents had lived, and she returned but brief thanks to the
farewells offered her. She would far rather have been left to pursue
her way without interruption. "Fare-ye-weel, neighbours, just tack Miss
Margaret's, and the laddies, and my ain thanks, but we canna delay, for
Jock will be spearing for us, and we ha' a lang journey to make before
nightfall," she said, bending her head towards one and the other as she
wended her way among them down the hill side.
Janet had a horror of cities and towns, having been bred and lived all
her life in the Highlands, with the exception of a brief visit she once
paid, with Mrs Morrison's mother, to beautiful --, on the east coast.
It being the only town with which she was acquainted, she had made up
her mind to go there.
She had heard also that there was a school in the place, and to that
school Donald and David must forthwith be sent. Without learning, she
was well aware, she could not expect them to get on in the world as she
wished. With regard to Margaret, the consideration of how she was to be
brought up in a way befitting a young lady, caused her more anxiety than
anything else. She might, indeed, teach her many useful things, but she
was herself incompetent, she felt, to train the little damsel's manners,
or to give her instruction from books. Still, "where there's a will
there's a way," she said to herself, "and I ha' a tongue in my head, and
that tongue I can wag whene'er it can do the bairns good."
The journey was a long one, and though honest Jock charged but little
for their conveyance, a large hole was made in Janet's means before they
arrived at the end of it.
The gaunt grave woman, with her three fresh blooming children, caused
some curiosity, as she went about looking for lodgings. A single upper
room was all she could venture to engage. Here she took up her quarters
with her young charges, and thanking her merciful Father who had brought
her thus far in safety, she felt like a hen which had safely gathered
her brood under her wings. She furnished her abode with two
truckle-beds, one for the boys, the other for Margaret and herself. She
procured also a small table and four three-legged stools, a similar
number of mugs and plates, and a few other inexpensive articles.
That same evening, determined not to lose a moment of time, with well
used spinning-wheel set up, she began to spin away as if she had been
long settled, while the children played around her, glad once more to
find themselves alone, and free from the gaze of strangers. She waited
till they were asleep, and then set to work, to manufacture out of the
minister's best suit some fresh garments for the boys, such as she
considered befitting their condition. Her busy needle was going the
greater part of the night, still she was up betimes, and again at work.
She, however, allowed the children to sleep on as long as they would.
"They will weary up here in this sma' room, the poor bairns, instead of
running about on their aine free heathery hills, and I must na' spare
the time to take them out on the links just now till their clays are
ready, and I can send them to school."
One of those admirable institutions in Scotland for the education of all
classes enabled Janet to carry out her project without difficulty. Mr
and Mrs Morrison had carefully taught their children, and the two boys
were well advanced for their age. The master of the school, on hearing
who they were, at once received the orphans, and promised, as far as he
could, to befriend them. "If you will be obedient boys, and try and say
your lessons well, you will get on," he observed.
Donald looked him full in the face, and at once said he would try, and
he always meant what he said. David made no answer, but clung to
Janet's gown, as if unwilling to be left behind among so many strange
people.
"Ye will be back in the afternoon, and we will be spearing for you,
bairns," she said. "They are precious, sir, very precious," she added,
turning to the master. "If they are shown the right way, as their
father showed it them, they will walk in it; but the deil's a cunning
deceiver, and ever ganging about to get hold of young souls as weel as
old ones. Ye'll doubtless warn them, and keep them out of bad company."
"I'll do my best, my good woman," answered the master, struck at Janet's
earnestness for the interests of her charges; and having bid her
farewell, he led off Donald and David, while Janet, taking Margaret by
the hand, returned to her lodging to resume her daily labour, well
satisfied with the arrangements she had made for the education of the
two boys.
Donald and David returned safe home in the evening from their first day
at school. Donald was full of all he had seen and done, and was
especially delighted at finding that he was superior to many boys of his
own age. Having made several friends, he said he thought school a very
fine place. He might have gone out to play a game of golf on the links,
and he would have done so had he not promised Janet to return at once,
but he hoped that she would let him go another day. David had not been
behind hand with his brother in his class, but he had not been so happy,
and the boys had asked him questions to which he had been unable to
frame replies, without betraying the truth, which Janet had especially
charged them not to do.
"They wanted to ken all about us," exclaimed Donald, "and I told them
that they must just mind their ain business; my home might be a castle
in the Highlands some day, and whatever it might now be, I was contented
with it."
"A very proper answer," exclaimed Janet, smiling for the first time for
many a long day. "Ye maunna be ashamed of your home, or those in it,
laddie; just gang on doing your duty, but dinna mind what young or old,
or rich or poor, think of ye."
"But I said nothing, I would na answer them," said David, sobbing.
"Ye did weel, too, laddie," observed Janet. "The wise man knows where
his strength lies, the weakest may thus come off the conqueror."
She had now to make arrangements for Margaret's education. This was
more difficult than for that of the boys. She could not trust her
sweet, gentle, blue-eyed maid among girls who might be rough or
unmannerly, and yet she could not possibly afford to send her to one of
the upper class of schools. Margaret already read much better than she
did, for her own attainments extended no further than a limited amount
of reading and writing. The few books, besides the Bible, she had
brought away from the minister's library, were mostly on theological
subjects, somewhat, she felt sure, beyond Margaret's comprehension. She
lived on dry crusts for many a day to sanction her extravagance in
purchasing several books, one after the other, suited to the little
maiden's taste. Margaret was delighted to receive them, and while Janet
sat and span she read them aloud to her, and amply rewarded was the kind
nurse for her self-denial. Not dreaming that Margaret could possibly
educate herself, she still continued turning in her mind how that
desirable object should be accomplished.
"Dinna ye think that if we ask God He will show us the way," said
Margaret, one day, looking up into the face of her nurse, who had made
some remark on the subject.
"We will do as ye propose, my sweet bairn," answered Janet. "He is sure
to hear us," and, accordingly, when the chapter from the Bible had been
read, which Janet never omitted doing, she, with her young flock around
her, knelt in prayer, as had been the custom at the manse, and she did
not fail to ask for guidance and direction in the matter which had so
sorely perplexed her mind.