Among those who suffered under king James, the family of Gilbert Wilson is worthy of special notice.  Neither Gilbert, nor his wife, had espoused the Covenanters’ cause; but they had three children who claimed the enviable distinction; Margaret, aged eighteen years, Thomas, sixteen, and Agnes, thirteen.  These children had been deeply moved by the stories of bloodshed, that were then recited, night by night at many a fireside.  Their sympathy with the persecuted was aroused unwittingly, and they absorbed the principles of the Covenant; somehow, and it could not be explained, they became Covenanters, and that of the noblest type.  Their parents were shocked, for their property, and freedom, and even their lives were involved.  The children were required to abandon the Covenant, or quit their home.  They chose the latter, sad and terrible as it was.  These young hearts had grasped one of the highest and hardest truths in the religion of Jesus Christ—­“He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me.”

[Illustration:  Choosing death rather than life

Margaret McLaughlin was a widow, 63 years of age; Margaret Wilson a girl of 18.  False accusations were preferred against them, but the real ground of their death was their faith in Jesus Christ and piety before God.  They were offered life, if they would renounce the Covenant.  They chose death rather than forfeit God’s favor, by breaking Covenant.  Several costly and beautiful monuments have been erected in Scotland to their honor.  The strand where they died is still marked by stakes, which are replaced from time to time.  The place is near Wigtown, in the south of Scotland.]

One day they walked slowly and sadly away from their beloved parents, and their pleasant home.  From a distance they cast a farewell glance upon the scenes of their childhood, then quickened their pace to reach the solitudes and escape the soldiers.  The dragoons came to the house, but missed their prey.  They were very angry, and enjoined the parents, under a heavy penalty, to refuse their children food and shelter; yea, all human kindness.  The children pursued their way, not knowing whither they were going.  The desolate moors, the dreary mountains, the damp caves, the chilly moss-hags were before them, but their resting-place this night must be determined by the setting of the sun.  We have not been told where they wrapped themselves in their plaids for sleep, but it was likely on the ground.  They sadly missed the cozy bed their mother used to make.  Where they had to stop was so shelterless, silent, chilly, and lonely.  They were weary, hungry, defenceless, trembling like nestlings cast violently out of the nest.  Margaret the oldest was a mother to the others.  She loved her Bible.  It contained God’s many promises, one especially precious on a night like this:  “Fear thou not; for I am with thee; be not dismayed; for I am thy God:  I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.”  With such assuring words, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, their heads resting on the bosom of Christ’s everlasting love.  The sun arose, and they, wandering on, found the Covenanters, with whom they shared the privations, yea, also the consolations, of persecuted life.