Janet McLaren, the Faithful Nurse

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“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.