THE BOYS OBTAIN PRIZES.--JANET DECLINES RECEIVING VISITS FROM ALEC
GALBRAITH, OR ANY OF THEIR SCHOOL-MATES.--MARGARET'S ILLNESS.--IS
ORDERED FRESH AIR AND SEA-BATHING.--CARRIED OFF BY A WAVE, AND SAVED BY
ALEC GALBRAITH.--MARGARET AND HER BROTHERS ARE INTRODUCED TO HIS MOTHER.
It gave joy to the loving heart of Janet, when one day her two bairns
came home, each with a prize under his arm.
"But mine is only the second in my form; David got the first prize in
his," said Donald, as they exhibited their books to the eager eyes of
their nurse and sister.
"Weel, they are bonny--they are bonny," exclaimed Janet, as still
mechanically spinning away, she bent over the books which Margaret, with
sisterly eagerness, was examining.
"I thought I should have had the first, but another fellow ran me hard
and gained it," said Donald.
"Who was he?" asked Margaret, looking up, inclined to quarrel with the
boy who had deprived her brother of the honour which she thought ought
to have been his.
"A very fine fellow--one Alec Galbraith--he beat me fairly; and there's
as much in him as any boy at school." Margaret felt that she had been
too hasty in her conclusions. "I intended to bring him here for you to
see, Margaret," continued Donald. "Though he lives in a fine house, and
has a father and mother, and several big brothers away in foreign parts,
I am not going to let him suppose that I am ashamed of my home. He has
often asked me, and I am determined to be able to say, `That's where I
live, and now what do you think of me?'"
"Nay, nay, my bairn, dinna ye bring him here," exclaimed Janet. She
thought she knew more of the world than her young charge, and scarcely
comprehended his independent spirit, though her own in reality was very
similar. "He will just be laughing at you afterwards, and tell others
that ye live in an attic with a poor old woman."
"He had better not," exclaimed Donald, in an angry tone. "But I ken he
will na do ony sic thing--he is an honest fellow, and if he likes me it
is for what I am, and not for where I live."
"Dinna ask Galbraith to come here," put in David. "Though he may be the
same to you, he may be letting out to others, and maybe they will ne'er
he so kind in their remarks, and will be asking to come here
themselves."
This last observation of David's decided Janet. "We will ne'er have
Alec Galbraith, nor any other of your school-mates, coming here, Donald,
so just tell them that Janet McLaren does not wish to receive visitors,"
she exclaimed, in a more authoritative tone than she usually employed.
Donald promised to act as she desired, and Alec Galbraith continued to
be known only by name to her and Margaret.
Although the two boys, in consequence of the active life they led going
to and from school, and playing on the open links, retained their
health, Margaret, unaccustomed to the confinement to which she was
subjected, began to grow thin and pale. Her cheeks lost their bloom,
her spirit, and the joyous elasticity of her step, were gone. Janet at
length perceived the change in the sweet child, and saw that something
must be done for her. She took her to a doctor, who advised fresh air,
with a romp every day on the links, and sea-bathing. The remedies were
cheap; but Janet could not think of allowing Margaret to go out without
her, and she could not afford the time unless she took out her
knitting-needles, which usually employed her fingers when her
spinning-wheel was laid aside.
The next morning the old Highland woman was to be seen pacing the links,
knitting as she walked, while Margaret, delighted with her newly gained
freedom, went bounding away before her, only wishing that she had her
brothers to share her happiness. When they came home in the evening she
easily persuaded Janet to go out again; and as the three children set
off together, they felt as they had not since they left their Highland
home. Still, as the doctor had prescribed bathing, Janet, who had paid
for the advice, considered that it would be throwing away the siller if
it was not carried out.
The maidens, of high and low degree, in that unpretending little town,
both then and long after, were accustomed to enjoy the salt water in a
primitive fashion. Neither tents nor bathing machines were thought of.
Each matron stood ready with a large sheet, under which her charge put
on her bathing-dress, and then ran off to frolic amid the waves,
resuming her wonted garments in the same way, after her bath. Margaret,
till now, had never seen the ocean. It inspired no fear--only delight
and pleasure--and she hurried into the water like a sea nymph, enjoying
its bracing freshness. For many successive mornings she went down, in
company with several other girls of various ages, to bathe and sport
with glee in the bright waters of a little bay, sheltered on either side
by high rocks from the gaze of passers by.
One morning the sea, though still bright, came rolling in with greater
force than usual, dashing the sparkling spray high up against the dark
rocks. Several of the other girls exclaimed that they should enjoy a
delightful bath, and Janet, unaware of the treacherous character of the
ocean, did not hesitate to allow Margaret to join them. Now a wave came
rolling in, sweeping in a snowy sheet of foam high up the beach, now it
receded with a murmuring sound over the rounded pebbles. The girls,
taking each other's hands, ventured in as far as they were accustomed to
go, waiting till they saw a wave approaching, when they hurried back
again up the beach, where they could escape its force. Margaret, as the
last comer, was the outer one of the line. Not comprehending the
necessity of caution, she let go her companion's hand at the moment the
rest of the party were making their escape from the coming sea. In an
instant she felt herself lifted off her feet; she endeavoured to spring
forward, but the wave had her in its grasp, and, as with a loud roar it
receded, she was carried away towards the entrance of the bay.
For the first moment Janet did not perceive the danger of her darling.
"Oh my bairn! my bairn!" she shrieked out, when she discovered what had
occurred, and throwing down the sheet she rushed into the water vainly
attempting to reach her. Several of the elder girls, horror-stricken,
held her back, scarcely conscious of what they were doing. Louder and
louder she raised her imploring cries for help, as she endeavoured to
break loose from the agitated group surrounding her.
Margaret continued floating on the surface; but was every instant being
borne further away towards the white-topped waves which rose outside the
bay. At that instant a lad was seen to run along the top of the rocks
till he neared the end, when, without a moment's hesitation, he sprung
off into the water, and swam boldly towards the little girl. She had
not from the first struggled, and she lay perfectly quiet, while he
grasped her dress with one hand and struck out with the other towards
the beach. The danger of both was great. Now they appeared to have
made good progress, and now the sea carried them out again towards the
mouth of the bay; but the lad still swam on with undaunted courage
towards the eager arms which were stretched out to assist him in
landing. At length he succeeded in getting near enough to allow Janet
to grasp her charge, and once having her in her arms, she bore her away
up the beach to a warm nook under the rocks, while the lad, his task
accomplished, made good his footing, and then, without waiting to
receive the congratulations of the girls, and the thanks which Janet
would have poured out, hurried off towards his home to change his wet
clothing.
Margaret, who had fainted, quickly returned to consciousness; and from
the remarks she made while Janet was putting on her dry clothing, she
seemed scarcely aware of what had occurred, nor till the other girls,
who had speedily dressed, gathered round her, did she understand the
danger in which she had been placed.
"Who is he? Can ony o' ye tell me the brave laddie's name? that I may
thank him and love him for saving my bairn," asked Janet. Some of the
girls gave one name, some another.
"Na, na, he is neither o' them," exclaimed one of the elder girls. "He
is young Alec Galbraith, whose father and mother live in the big house
over the links there. He gangs to the school, and my brothers ken him
weel."
Taking her bairn in her arms, Janet hastened homewards. The boys had
already started for school, ignorant of the danger to which their sister
had been exposed. Janet placed her on the bed, and now, for the first
time, giving way to her feelings, burst into tears. "I'll ne'er again
trust you to that treacherous sea, my own sweet bairn," she exclaimed,
bending over her. "If it had taken you away, I could na have lived to
come home and see the poor boys breaking their hearts, and they would
have had no one left to care for them. But our God is kind and
merciful, and we maun lift up our hearts to Him in praise and
thanksgiving."
"I will try to do so, dear Janet, though I feel that I cannot be
grateful enough to Him," said Margaret, in a faint voice, and
comprehending perhaps now far more than before, from the unusual
agitation of her nurse, the fearful peril through which she had been
preserved. "And, Janet," she added, in a whisper, "I should like to
thank, with my whole heart, the brave boy who swam out to me and brought
me safely on shore. I remember seeing him running along the rocks and
coming towards me, and then I felt sure I was safe."
"Yes, we will thank him. If I had to live a hundred years, I would
thank him to the end of my days," exclaimed Janet. "But his parents are
rich people, and a poor body like me can give him ne'er more than empty
thanks."
"But if they come from the bottom of our hearts he'll prize them,"
observed Margaret. "And do ye ken who he is?"
"Ay, that I do--he is Donald's class-mate, no other than Alec Galbraith,
your brother is always talking about."
"Oh, I am so glad," exclaimed Margaret. "I can believe all Donald says
of him. I must go with you and thank him too, and I will never more be
jealous though he keeps at the head of the class, and Donald is only
second. He must be as brave as he is clever, or he would not have
risked his life to save that of a poor little stranger girl like me, and
then to have gone away without even stopping to be thanked."
Janet guessed that young Galbraith was not likely at that time to be
found at his house, and indeed Margaret was not fit to go out again at
present. She therefore waited till the boys came home in the evening
from school. They had heard nothing of what had occurred. All they
knew was, that Alec Galbraith had come later than usual to school, that
the master had received his excuse's, and that he had performed his
tasks with even more than his ordinary ability. They listened with
panting breath to the account Janet gave of the occurrence.
"Bless him," cried Donald, "I will never again try to take him down. I
would rather he had done it than any other fellow in the school."
"I will give him all my prizes, and pray for him as long as I live,"
exclaimed David.
Janet thought Margaret sufficiently recovered in the evening to venture
out. "We must go with you," exclaimed Donald. "I want to take
Galbraith by the hand, and tell him all I feel."
The party set off--Janet, as usual, taking her knitting as she quitted
her wheel, from which her active fingers had been spinning yarn even
while the conversation above described had been going on. Margaret was
rather pale, and somewhat weak, but her sturdy brothers supported her on
either side. Though she was eager to thank Alec Galbraith, she felt
somewhat timid at the thoughts of encountering him and his parents.
"I know Alec well enough to be sure that he will make light of the
matter," observed Donald. "He will tell you that he ran no danger, and
enjoyed the swim. But that must not make us less grateful to him. I do
not know what sort of people his parents are--perhaps high and mighty,
and may be angry with you for placing their son in danger. However, I
don't care what they say; nothing shall make any difference in my
feelings towards Alec."
"Nor in mine either," whispered Margaret.
"Nor in mine," said David. "I only wish that I had more to offer him,
not that I can ever pay him, but just to show my love and gratitude."
Would that people were as grateful to God for the benefits daily
received, and above all, to Jesus, for the great salvation He has
wrought for us, as these young people were to the brave boy who had
risked his life to save that of little Margaret.
The above conversation took place as they approached the handsome
residence of Mr Galbraith. Alec had seen them. He ran out to meet his
friends. "I am so glad you have come, Donald. My mother wants to know
you--for I have often told her about you, and how hard you pressed me in
the class. And is this little girl your sister? Why!" and he looked up
from Margaret to Janet, and blushed, as if he had done something to be
ashamed of. "I do believe that I had the pleasure of towing you on
shore this morning; but don't talk about it--it was no trouble at all,
and I have often wetted these old clothes through and through before."
"Oh, but I maun talk about it," exclaimed Janet, grasping his hands, and
pouring out her thanks with all the impetuosity which her grateful
feelings prompted.
"I knew that was what you would say, Alec," exclaimed Donald. "But we
know better about the danger and trouble. You might have been carried
away by the sea, for I am very sure you would never have let go of
Maggie while you had life."
Margaret tried to say something, but she could never exactly remember
what words she uttered.
"If there was any danger, I am sure I did not think about it," said
Alec. "And I am very glad, for your sakes that we got safe to shore.
But now come in and see my mother, for I have often told her that as you
would not lot me go to pay you a visit, we must get you to come here."
Mrs Galbraith, a very amiable and gentle looking woman, received her
visitors with the greatest kindness, and tried at once to make Janet at
home. The old nurse expressed to her the gratitude she felt to her
young son for the service he had rendered.
"It is indeed a happiness to me to find that my boy has behaved rightly
and bravely," answered the lady. "It would have been a sad thing if the
life of that sweet little girl had been lost, and I can only rejoice
that my dear boy was the means of preserving it. I should like to
become better acquainted with her, and you will, I hope, allow her and
her brothers to remain here. I'll send them home at night, or perhaps
you would like to come for them."
"I'll come for them, mem, and am grateful to you for your kindness,"
said Janet, who dreaded any one visiting her humble abode, while, at the
same time her heart beat with satisfaction at the hope that at length
her dear little Margaret might obtain a friend who would give her that
assistance in her education which she herself was unable to afford.
Leaving the children with their new friends, she cheerfully went to her
solitary home to sit and spin, and think over what might be their future
fate in life; and as she span many were the schemes she drew out in her
imagination of their destiny. The boys would do well she was sure,
though they might have a hard tussle with the world. Donald would do
battle bravely with any foes he might have to encounter, and David would
not be behind hand, although he might meet them in a more quiet manner.
Maybe he will wish to follow in the steps of his father, and become a
minister of the gospel, she thought. Weel, weel, its a true saying,
that "Man proposes, and God disposes." If we trust in Him all will be
for the best.