Janet McLaren | Page 5

had so sorely perplexed her mind.
CHAPTER TWO.
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.