Janet McLaren

Janet McLaren
The Faithful Nurse
by W.H.G. Kingston
CHAPTER ONE.
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