medico might have found ample atonement for the want of rich furniture
within, in the magnificent view without. The windows looked down on a
lovely champaign, through which the many-winding Forth span its silver
network, until, vanishing in the distance, a white sparkle here and
there only showed whither the river wandered. In the distance, the blue
mountains rose like clouds, marking the horizon. The foreground of this
landscape was formed by the hill, castle-crowned--than which there is
none in the world more beautiful or more renowned.

In short, Olive Rothesay shared with many a king and hero the honour of
her place of nativity. She was born at Stirling.

Perhaps this circumstance of birth has more influence over character
than many matter-of-fact people would imagine. It is pleasant, in after
life, to think that we first opened our eyes in a spot famous in the
world's story, or remarkable for natural beauty. It is sweet to say,
"Those are _my_ mountains," or "This is _my_ fair valley;" and there
is a delight almost like that of a child who glories in his noble or
beautiful parents, in the grand historical pride which links us to
the place where we were born. So this little morsel of humanity, yet
unnamed, whom by an allowable prescience we have called Olive, may
perhaps be somewhat influenced in after life by the fact that her cradle
was rocked under the shadow of the hill of Stirling, and that the first
breezes which fanned her baby brow came from the Highland mountains.

But the excellent presiding genius at this interesting advent "cared for
none of these things." Dr. Jacob Johnson stood at the window with his
hands in his pockets--to him the wide beautiful world was merely a field
for the exercise of the medical profession--a place where old women
died, and children were born. He watched the shadows darkening over
Ben-Ledi--calculating how much longer he ought in propriety to stay with
his present patient, and whether he should have time to run home and
take a cosy dinner and a bottle of port before he was again required.

"Our sweet young patient is doing well, I think, nurse," said he, at
last, in his most benevolent tones.

"Ye may say that, doctor--ye suld ken."

"I might almost venture to leave her, except that she seems so lonely,
without friend or nurse, save yourself."

"And wha's the best nurse for Captain Angus Rothesay's wife and bairn,
but the woman that nursed himsel?" said Elspie, lifting up