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