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diff --git a/old/51924-0.txt b/old/51924-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ff40b2b..0000000 --- a/old/51924-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2472 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Courage, by Ruth Ogden - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Courage - -Author: Ruth Ogden - -Illustrator: Frederick C. Gordon - -Release Date: May 1, 2016 [EBook #51924] -Last Updated: March 13, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COURAGE *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - -COURAGE - -A Story Wherein Every One Comes To The Conclusion That The Courage In -Question Proved A Courage Worth Having - -By Ruth Ogden - -Illustrated by Frederick C. Gordon - -With Twenty Original Illustrations - -New York - -Frederick A. Stokes Company - -1891 - -[Illustration: 0001] - -[Illustration: 0004] - -[Illustration: 0005] - - - - - -COURAGE - - - - -CHAPTER I.--NAMED AT LAST. - - -If one has a fairy tale in mind, why then, of course, the more mystery -the better; but when you have a story to tell about people who cannot -fly from hill-top to hill-top, and who to live at all must have food -more substantial than rose-leaves and honey-dew, why then, say I, the -less mystery the better. Therefore, let me tell you at once that the -Courage of this story is not at all the sort of thing you might at first -imagine. Auburn-haired, brown-eyed, and rosy-cheeked was this particular -Courage; in point of fact, as charming a little maiden as you would meet -on a long day's journey, and with Courage for her name. An odd name no -doubt you think it. Courage herself did not like it, but the suns of a -half-dozen summers and winters had risen for the little lady in question -before she could so much as lay claim to any name whatsoever. All -that while she was simply known as Baby Masterson. Her father, Hugh -Masterson, was foreman in a machine shop over on the west side of the -city, and “a very queer man,” people said. Probably they were right -about it. He was unquestionably a very clever man, and queerness and -cleverness seem to go hand-in-hand the world over. He was the author of -at least three successful inventions, but, as often happens, others -made more money out of them than he. Hugh, nevertheless, did not seem -inclined to grumble at this state of affairs. Having a wife whom he -loved devotedly and a comfortable home of his own, he felt thoroughly -contented and happy. Then when, one bright June morning, Hugh found -himself the father of a lovely baby daughter, happy was no name for it, -and he was quite beside himself with joy. But, sadly enough, the joy was -soon over, for scarcely three months after the baby-life came into the -little home the mother-life went out of it, and then it seemed to poor -Hugh as though his heart would break. He hired a kind-hearted woman -named Mary Duff to care for his baby, and plunged harder than ever into -his work, hoping by delving away at all sorts of difficult problems to -grow less mindful of his great sorrow; but do what he would, there was -always a sense of irreparable loss hanging over him. However, between -his work and his sorrow he did often succeed in altogether forgetting -his baby. Still the little daughter grew and flourished, apparently none -the worse for this neglect. Mary Duff was love and tenderness itself, -and it were well for the children if every mother in name were just such -a mother at heart. But at last there came a time when Hugh Masterson -could no longer fail to notice his baby's charms. She had taken it into -her wise little head to grow prettier and prettier, and more and -more cunning with every day, till there was no more forgetting of her -possible; and first thing her father knew, he found himself thinking of -her right in the midst of his work, and then hurrying home through the -crowds of laboring people at night, fairly longing for a sight of her. -And so it happened that the little girl grew to fill a larger and still -larger place In his life, till on her sixth birthday he decided that -she really ought to have a name, that little woman beginning strongly to -resent the fact that she was known only as Baby Masterson to the small -world in which she lived. So when Sunday came, Hugh carried her in his -arms up to St. Paul's to be christened. But the name that he gave her! -Well, it was not in the least like other little girls' names, as you -know. No wonder Mary Duff, who was standing godmother, was more than -surprised when she heard it, having simply taken for granted that -Baby would be named for her mother. Baby herself was naturally greatly -mystified at the whole proceeding. - -[Illustration: 0012] - -“What did you say I had been, papa?” she asked, as with her hand held -fast in his she trudged home beside him. - -“I said you had been christened, darling.” - -“Christened!” she repeated softly, wondering just what the word might -mean. - -“And did you say I had a name now, papa?” - -“Yes, dear; and you think it was time, don't you?” - -“I have wanted one for a very long while,” she said, with a little half -sigh; “but did you say my name was Courage?” - -“Yes, Courage; it's a pretty name, isn't it?” - -“I don't know,” rather doubtfully. “Do other little girls have it?” - -“No, I believe not; but probably they don't deserve it.” - -“I would like to have been named Arabella,” she replied, somewhat -aggrieved. “Why did you not let me choose, papa?” - -“Why, I never thought of that, Baby; besides, it isn't customary to -consult children about what names they shall have--is it, Mary?” turning -to Mary Duff, who, because of the narrow flagging, was walking just -behind them. - -“No, I believe not, Mr. Masterson,” said Mary; “but then, sir, no more -is it customary to delay a naming of them till they're old enough to be -consulted.” - -“Well, I reckon Mary's right about that, Baby, and perhaps I ought to -have talked matters over with you; but I can tell you one thing, I never -should have consented to Arabella--never in this world. I should -say Arabella was a regular doll name, and not at all suited to a -sturdy-limbed little girl like you.” - -“But there are other beautiful names, papa--Edith and Ethel and Helen! I -love Helen.” Then suddenly coming to a standstill and eagerly looking up -to her father's face, she exclaimed: “Papa, if we hurried back perhaps -the minister would un-un-christen me”--proud to have remembered the -proper word and evidently comprehending that the rite was a binding one. - -“No, I fear not,” laughed her father; “but take my word for it, you'll -like Courage after a while; it's just the name for you.” - -“Does it mean something, papa?” - -“Yes, something fine. Why, when you grow up, Baby” (for the new name was -quite too new for use), “you'll discover that there's nothing finer than -courage.” - -“Is courage something that people have? Have I got it?” - -“Some people, dear, and I hope that you have it.” - -“But why am I named it, if you are not sure, papa?” - -“Because then perhaps the name may help you to get it; but the best -reason of all is this, that the sight of you, darling, always puts new -courage into me and although she did not in the least understand it, -Baby felt somehow that that was a beautiful reason, and as her father -lifted her up in his arms, gave him a tight little hug and was perfectly -satisfied. - -“How do you like my new name?” she said, looking over her father's -shoulder at Mary. - -“Faith, darling.” said Mary, taking hold of her little extended hand, -“I thought it some queer at the first, but now that I've learned the -reason, I think it's an elegant name.” - -It may be that you do not agree with Mary Duff in this, and yet you must -know that it was just because Courage proved to be so well named that -there is this little story to tell about her. - - - - -CHAPTER II.--ON THE WATCH. - - -At the time of the commencement of our story Courage was twelve years -old. To be sure, she was only six over in that little first chapter, but -to be quite honest, that wasn't a first chapter at all. It was simply -what is termed an introduction, but we did not dare to mention the fact, -because, if you will believe it, that is something many people cannot -be persuaded to read. So the real story commences with a twelve-year-old -Courage standing one May morning on the edge of a wharf at the foot of -a West side street. The wind was tossing her auburn hair and winding her -little plaid skirt close about her, but was not strong enough by half to -blow a sad, wistful look from her brown eyes. Morning after morning she -had taken her position at exactly the same spot, and there had sat or -stood for hours at a time. The men who worked on the wharf had come -to know her, and some of them to wish her a cherry good-morning as she -tripped by. It was evident that she was watching for somebody, and that -the somebody did not come. After awhile they began to feel sorry for -her, and finally one of them--Big Bob they called him--resolved to -stroll out to where she was standing that breezy May morning and have a -word with her. - -“Be yez watchin' for some one, miss?” he said. - -“Yes,” answered Courage; “I've been watching a great many days.” - -“That's what the men was a-noticin', miss. Is it for yer father ye're -lookin'?” - -“No, not for him and there was a sadness in her voice which even the big -burly Scotchman was not slow to detect. - -“Mayhap ye've no longer a right to be lookin' for him on ony o' this -world's waters,” said the man, gazing down sympathetically over the -ledge of his great folded arms. - -Courage bit her lip, and the tears sprang into her eyes, but she managed -to answer, “My father died two weeks ago, sir--just two weeks ago -to-day,” while the man looked the sympathy he could not speak. “That is -why I am watching for Larry,” Courage added. - -“For Larry!” he exclaimed. “Is it for Larry Starr ye're watchin'?” - -“Why, yes,” said Courage, as though she thought any one should have -known that; “do you know him?” - -“Of course I do. Every 'longshoreman knows Larry.” - -“Have you seen him lately?” very eagerly. - -“No, not for a twelvemonth; but come to think of it, he often ties up at -this very wharf.” - -“Yes, often,” said Courage; “but it's two months now since he's been -here, and he never stays away so long as that. You don't think”--she -paused a moment, as though afraid to give words to her fears--“you don't -think, do you, that he can have died too, somewhere?” - -Poor little Courage! with her mother dead since her babyhood and her -father lately gone from her, no wonder she felt it more than possible -that Larry would never come back. - -“Oh, no, miss,” said the man reassuringly; “he'd never a-died without -our a-hearin' of it; still, it's some old he's a-gettin', is Larry.” - -“He's a good strong man yet, though,” Courage replied, not willing to -admit the possibility of waning powers in her hero. - -“Faith, and I know he's a good man, miss, and no doubt, too, but his -strength will be as his day.” - -“But you don't know anything about where he is now?” Courage asked -rather hopelessly. - -“No, not for this twelvemonth, as I was a-tellin' ye; but like as not -some of the men has heard some word on him. Gang back wi' me and we'll -speir 'em a question or two,” whereupon he extended his hand, which -Courage took rather reluctantly, it was such a powerful-looking hand; -but there proved to be nothing rough in the way it closed over the small -brown hand she placed in it. So side by side, in this friendly fashion, -they walked up the dock to where the men were unloading a Southern -steamer. - -[Illustration: 0020] - -“Has ony o' ye heard a word o' Larry Starr o' late?” called Big Bob, but -in a tone so different from the one in which he had spoken to Courage, -that she gave a little start of surprise, and then hoped he had not seen -it. Most of the men shook their heads in the negative. “Niver a wurrud,” - answered an old Irishman. Indeed, only one of the number made no reply -whatsoever, so that Courage thought he could not have heard. It was his -place to free the huge iron hook from the bales, after they had -been landed on the wharf, and he seemed all absorbed in his work. -Fortunately, however, he had heard, and as he stood watching the hook -as it slowly swung back aboard of the vessel, he called out, “Yes, I has -some word on him, Bob; anybody 'quiring for him?” - -“O' course there is, just the verra little leddy what I've here by the -hand. If ye'd eyes worth the name, John, ye'd seen her 'fore this!” - -“Oh, is it you, miss?” said John, looking for the first time toward -Courage, and at once recognizing the little girl who had been so long -on the watch. “Well, then, I can tell ye he'll be at this wharf this -day week, certain. The Lady Bird's due here on Friday or Saturday, and -Larry's under contract to carry part of her cargo down to the stores -Monday morning. It's a pity, miss, you hadn't asked me afore, I could -a-told you the same any day back for a fortni't. But run down bright and -early next Monday morn-in', and take my word for it, you'll find Larry's -lighter swinging up to this wharf, as sure as my name's Jack Armstrong.” - -Courage, meantime, had grown radiant. “Oh, he'll come sooner than that!” - she exclaimed exultingly. “He'll tie up Saturday night and spend Sunday -with us. He always does that when he has work at this pier for Monday.” - Then, looking up to Big Bob, she said gratefully, “Thank you very much -for finding out for me. I will run right home now and tell Mary Duff,” and -suiting the action to the word, Courage was at the wharf's end and up -the street and out of sight before the slow-moving longshoremen had -fairly settled to work again. - -Now that Courage was sure that Larry was coming, as sure as though it -had been flashed across the blue May sky in letters of silver, all the -hours of weary foreboding and waiting were quite forgotten. So true is -it, as Celia Thaxter sings in that peerless song of hers, as brave as -any bird note, and as sweet: - - “Dark skies must clear, and when the clouds are past, - - One golden day redeems a weary year.” - - - - -CHAPTER III.--LARRY COMES. - - -Strange as it still may appear to you that a little girl should have -Courage for her name, yet, true it is, that she was no sooner named -herself than she had a namesake. It was none of your little baby -namesakes either, but a stanch and well-built boat, and one that was -generally admitted to be the finest craft of her class in the harbor. -The Courage Masterson was what is commonly known as a lighter, and to -whom of course did she belong but to Larry Starr, Hugh Masterson's best -friend; but she was no common lighter, I can assure you. Larry had -given his whole mind to her building, and it was unlike any of the other -lighters that make their way up and down the river or out on the bay, -with their great cumbersome loads. She had a fine little cabin of her -own, a cosey, comfortable cabin, with two state-rooms, if you can give -them so fine a title, opening out of it, and a tiny kitchen beyond, -lighted by a small sky-window. All this, as any one knows, was very -luxurious, but Larry had put the savings of many years into that boat, -and he meant to have it as he liked it. To be sure, the cabin, occupying -as it did some twenty square feet, greatly lessened her carrying -capacity, for one square foot on the deck of a lighter stands for -innumerable square feet of merchandise, which may be piled to almost any -height upon it. Larry was quite willing, however, to lose something from -the profits of every trip for the sake of the added comfort. But it -was six years now since the lighter had been launched, and so it had -happened that all that time, while the little girl Courage had been -having a variety of experiences on land, the big boat Courage had -been sailing under “fair skies and foul” on the water, and safely -transporting many a cargo that netted a comfortable living for Larry. -And now Saturday afternoon had come, and Courage was down in her old -place at the dock's end with a happy certainty in her eyes, and yet with -a sorrowful look overshadowing it, for there was such sad news to be -told when at last Larry should come, and at last he came. - -[Illustration: 0025] - -Courage first thought she discovered a familiar boat away down the -river, and then in a moment there was no longer a doubt of it. The -lighter, with her one broad sail spread to the wind, came slowly -nearer and nearer, and Courage in her eagerness stood way out on the -farthermost corner of the dock, so that Larry caught sight of her long -before she put her two hands to her mouth, trumpet fashion, and called, -“Hello there, Larry,” at the top of her strong little lungs. - -“Hello there, Courage,” rang back Larry's cheery answer, as leaning hard -against the tiller, he swung his boat into place with the skill of a -long-time sailor. - -“I knew you'd find out somehow that I was coming,” he called, and then -in another second he was ashore and had Courage's two hands held fast -in his, and was gazing gladly into her face. But instantly the look of -greeting in her eyes faded out of them. She could find no words for the -sad news she had to tell. Larry was quick to see her trouble, and his -voice trembled as he asked, “Why, Courage, child, what has happened?” - and then he drew her to a seat beside him on a great beam that flanked -the wharf. - -[Illustration: 0027] - -It was easier to speak, now that she could look away from Larry's -expressive face, and she said slowly, “The saddest thing that could -happen, Larry. Papa----” and then she could go no further. - -“You don't mean that your father is----” but neither could Larry bring -himself to voice the fatal, four-lettered little word. - -“Yes,” said Courage, knowing well enough that he understood her, “nearly -three weeks ago. He had typhoid fever, and he tried very hard to get -well, and we all tried so hard, Larry--the Doctor and Mary Duff and -me--but the fever was the kind that wouldn't break. And then one day -papa just said, 'It isn't any use, darling. I'm going to give up the -fight and go to your blessed mother, but you need have never a fear, -Courage, while Larry Starr is in the world.'” - -“Did he say that really?” asked Larry, tears of which he was not ashamed -rolling down his bronzed face. - -“Yes,” said Courage solemnly; “but oh, Larry, I have been waiting here -for so many days that I began to think perhaps you would never come, -and if you hadn't come, Larry--” and then the recollection of all these -hours of watching proved quite too much for her overwrought little -frame, and burying her face in her hands on Larry's knee, she cried very -bitterly. - -“It is best,” thought Larry, “to let her have her cry out.” Besides he -was not sure enough of his own voice to try to comfort her, so he just -stroked the auburn hair gently with his strong hand, and said not a -word. Meanwhile another old friend had come upon the scene, and stood -staring at Larry and Courage with a world of questioning in his eyes. -He seemed to have his doubts at first as to the advisability of coming -nearer. He discovered, it was evident, that there was trouble in the -air. That he was greatly interested, and fully expected to be confided -in sooner or later, was also evident from the beseeching way in which -he would put his head on one side and then on the other, looking up to -Larry, as much as to say, “When are you going to tell me what it is all -about?” But never a word from Larry and never a glance from Courage, -till at last such ignominious treatment was no longer to be borne, and -walking slowly up, he also laid his head upon Larry's knee. Courage -felt something cold against her cheek and started up to find a pair of -wonderfully expressive eyes raised beseechingly to hers. “Oh, Bruce, old -fellow,” she cried, “I forgot all about you,” and then, flinging her arms -about his neck, she literally dried her tears on his beautiful silky -coat. But Bruce would not long be content with mere passive acceptance -of affection, and in another second rather rudely shook himself free -from her grasp, and began springing upon her, so that she had to jump -to her feet and cry, “Down, Bruce,” three or four times before he would -mind her; but Bruce was satisfied. Things could not have come to such a -terrible pass if it took no more than that to make Courage seem her old -self again, and finally, concluding that she really said “Down, Bruce,” - quite as though she meant it, he decided to give his long legs a good -run, and call on an old collie friend of his who picked up a living -on Pier 17. Never, however, had visit of sympathetic friend proved as -timely as this call of Bruce's. With what infinite tact had he first -sympathized with and then tried to cheer his little friend! And he had -succeeded, for both Larry and Courage now found themselves able to talk -calmly of all that had happened, and of what had best be done. - -“So you would like to come on the lighter with me for the summer,” said -Larry somewhat doubtfully, after they had been conferring for some time -together, and yet with his old face brightening at the thought. - -Courage simply nodded her head in the affirmative, but her eyes said, -“Oh, wouldn't I, Larry,” as plainly as words. - -“And Mary Duff thinks it would be all right, too?” - -“The very best thing for the summer, Larry.” - -“Well then, bless your heart, you shall come; but how about next -winter? Why, then I suppose I shall have to send you away to a school -somewhere.” - -Courage shrugged her shoulders rather ruefully. - -“Perhaps,” she said; “but next winter's a long way off.” - -“That's so,” said Larry, every whit as glad of the fact as was Courage -herself. “And you said,” he continued, “that Mary Duff is going to care -for that little lame Joe of John Osborne's.” - -“Yes,” Courage answered, “though Mr. Osborne can't afford to pay her -anything, as papa did for me; but she says she doesn't mind; if she only -has her home and her board she can manage, and that it's just her life -to care for motherless little children that need her.” - -“Ah! but that Mary Duff's a good woman,” said Larry, and Courage mutely -shook her head from side to side, as though it were quite hopeless to so -much as attempt to tell how very good she was. - -After awhile Larry went down to the boat to give some directions to his -cabin-boy, Dick, and Courage went with him. When that was completed, a -long shrill whistle brought Bruce bounding from some mysterious quarter, -and the three started up the dock. The 'longshoremen were just quitting -work as they neared them, and Larry paused to have a word with Big Bob -and the other men whom he knew, Courage keeping fast hold of his hand -all the while. - -“Now she's got him she don't mean to let him go,” said one of the men as -they passed on. - -“I'd like to be in Larry's shoes, then,” muttered Big Bob, who led -rather a lonely life of it, and would have been only too glad to have -had such a little girl as Courage confided to his keeping. - - -[Illustration: 0033] - - - - -CHAPTER IV.--MISS JULIA. - - -It was “high noon” in New York, as our English cousins say, but in a -wider sense than our English cousins use it. Not only was it twelve by -the clock, with the sun high in the heavens, flooding the streets with -brilliant sunshine, but the whole city apparently was in the highest -spirits. The sidewalks were alive with gayly dressed people, gayly -liveried carriages rolled up and down the avenue, violets and lilacs -were for sale at the flower-stands, and the children were out in crowds -for an airing. - -Here a little group of them, with unspeakable longing in their hearts, -surrounded a grimy man who had snow-white puppies for sale; there -another and larger group watched a wonderful ship in a glass case, -riding angular green waves which rose and fell with the regularity of a -pendulum, and some of them furtively glanced up now and then, with eyes -full of astonished admiration, to the gray-bearded man who claims the -honor of the invention. - -But notwithstanding it was Saturday, with half the world bent on a -holiday, and schools as a rule at a discount, there was one school -over on the West side that threw open its doors to an eager company of -scholars. It was a school where the children came because they loved to -come, and no wonder. You had only to see the teachers to understand it. -They were lovely-looking girls, with their bright, wide-awake faces and -becoming, well-fitting dresses; enthusiastic, earnest girls, thoroughly -abreast of the times, interested in everything, and fond of all that -is high and ennobling--working in the sewing school this afternoon, -attractive matinées notwithstanding, and talking it over in some bright -circle this evening; girls, the very sight of whom must somehow have -done good to the very dullest little maids upon their roll books. -But queen among even this peerless company reigned “Miss Julia,” the -superintendent, or whatever the proper name may be for the head teacher. -She was lovely to look at, and lovely in spirit, and beyond that it is -useless to attempt description, so impossible is it to put into words -the indefinable charm that won every one to her. But with the bright -May Saturday, about which we are writing, the afternoon for closing the -school had come, and there was a wistful expression on the faces of many -of the children. Not that they were exactly anxious to stitch on and -on through the spring-time, when every healthy little body loves -out-of-door life and lots of it, but no sewing school meant no Miss -Julia; so, with reason, they looked less glad than sorry. - -Miss Julia, as was her custom, had started in abundance of time from her -old-fashioned home in Washington Square, but not too early, it seemed, -to find at a corner near the chapel where the school was held, half a -dozen little girls already on the look-out. As soon as they spied her -they flocked down the street to meet her, and then with her in their -midst flocked back again. Presently, in twos and threes, the young -teachers began to arrive, and soon it was time to open the school and to -settle down to the last day's lesson. - -Courage Masterson happened to be in Miss Julia's own class, and was -ordinarily a most apt little scholar; but on this particular Saturday -her thoughts seemed to be everywhere rather than on her work; indeed, -she had to rip out almost every stitch taken, until Miss Julia wondered -what could have happened. Afterward, when the children had said their -good-byes and gone home, and the teachers, with the exception of -Miss Julia, had all left the building, Courage, who had been standing -unnoticed in one corner, rushed up to her, burying her red-brown curls -in the folds of her dress and sobbing fit to break her heart. - -“Why, Courage, dear, what is the matter?” and Miss Julia, sitting down -on one of the benches, drew Courage into her lap. “I was afraid all -the lesson that something had gone wrong. Poor child! have you some new -sorrow to bear?” - -“No, Miss Julia; I am going to do just what I want to do most; I am -going to live on a boat; but, oh! I can't bear to go away from you and -Mary Duff.” - -“Going away, and to live on a boat! why, how is that, Courage?” and then -as Courage explained all the plans, and how she was to spend the whole -summer out on the bay with “Larry, the goodest man that ever was,” her -sad little face gradually grew bright again. - -“Look here,” said Miss Julia, after they had been talking a long while -together, “I am sure”--and then she paused and looked Courage over quite -carefully--- “yes, I am sure I have something that will be just the -thing for you now that you are to be so much on the water; wait here -for a moment,” and going into a little room that opened from the chapel, -she immediately returned with something in her hands that made Courage -open her eyes for wonder. It was a beautiful astrachan-trimmed blue -coat, with a wide-brimmed hat to match. They had belonged to a little -niece of Miss Julia's--a little niece who no longer had need for any -earth-made garment, and so here they were in Miss Julia's hands awaiting -some new child-ownership. - -She had already thought of Courage Masterson as one to whom they would -prove not only useful but becoming, and yet had feared to excite the -envy of the other children. But if Courage was going away, that settled -it; she should have them; for in that case her less fortunate little -sisters need never be the wiser. So Miss Julia gladly held them up to -view, for she dearly loved little Courage, while Courage, incredulous, -exclaimed: “For me? Oh, Miss Julia!” and proceeded to don the coat and -hat with the alacrity of a little maid appreciative of their special -prettiness. Then what did the little witch do but run post-haste to the -rear of the chapel, mount the high and slippery organ-bench, and have a -peep into the mirror above it. Miss Julia could not keep from smiling, -but said, as she came running back: “It does look nicely on you, -Courage, but you must not let it make you vain, darling.” - -“Was it vain to want to see how it looked?” - -“No, Courage; I don't believe it was.” - -“I'm glad I did see just once, though, because, Miss Julia, I guess -it will not do for me to have it,” and Courage reluctantly began to -unfasten the pretty buttons. - -“Not do for you to have it! Why, Courage dear, what do you mean?” - -“It is so bright-looking, Miss Julia. Even this curly black stuff -doesn't darken it much (admiringly smoothing the astrachan trimming with -both little hands), and one of the girls said to-day in the class that -'orphans as had any heart always wore black.' At any rate, she said -she shouldn't think if I had loved my father _very_ much I'd wear a gay -ribbon like this in my hair,” whereupon Courage produced a crumpled -red bow from the recesses of a pocket to which it had been summarily -banished; “So, of course, Miss Julia, it would be dreadful to wear a -blue coat like this. It's queer Mary Duff never told me about orphans -wearing black always.” - -“But they do not always wear it, Courage. It seems sad to me to see a -child in black, and I think Mary Duff did just right in not putting you -into mourning.” - -“Into mourning?” queried Courage. - -“Yes; into black dresses, I mean, because some one had died.” - -Courage looked critically at Miss Julia, noticing for the first time -that her dress was black, and that even the little pin at her throat was -black, too. - -“Why, Miss Julia,” she said, her voice fairly trembling with the -surprise of the discovery, “you are in mourning!” - -“Yes, Courage.” - -“And did somebody die, Miss Julia?” - -“Some one I loved very much.” - -“Long ago?” and Courage came close to the low bench, and lovingly laid -her hand upon Miss Julia's shoulder. - -“Yes, very long ago.” - -“Not your father or mother, was it?” - -“No, darling.” - -“And you mind still?” ruefully shaking her head from side to side. - -“Yes, Courage; I shall always mind, as you call it, but I am no longer -miserable and unhappy--that is, not very often, and one reason is that -all you little girls here in the school have grown so dear to me. But -about the coat; you must surely keep it. I scarcely believe your father -would like to have seen his little girl all in black; and besides, black -does not seem to belong with that brave little name of yours.” - -Courage stood gazing into Miss Julia's face with a puzzled look in her -eyes, as though facing the troublesome question. Then suddenly -diving again into her spacious pocket--a feature to be relied upon in -connection with Mary Duffs dressmaking--and evidently discovering -what she sought, she said, eagerly: “Miss Julia, will you wait here a -moment?” - -“Certainly, dear; but what are you up to?” Courage, however, had no time -to explain, and with the blue coat flying out behind her, darted from -the chapel, across the street, into a little thread-and-needle store, -and was back again in a flash, carrying a thin flimsy package. Hastily -unwrapping it, she disclosed a yard of black ribbon, which she thrust -into Miss Julia's hands. - -“What is this for, Courage?” - -In her excitement Courage simply extended her left arm with a “Tie it -round, please,” indicating the place with her right hand. Miss Julia -wonderingly did as she was bid. - -[Illustration: 0041] - -“You tie a lovely bow,” said Courage, twisting her neck to get a look -at it. “You know why I have it, don't you?” Miss Julia looked doubtful. -“It's my mourning for papa. I have seen soldiers with something black -tied round their arms because some other soldier had died, haven't you?” - -“Oh, that is it,” said Miss Julia, very tenderly. - -“Yes, that is it; and now you see I don't mind how bright the coat -is--the little bow tells how I miss him. Will you just take a stitch in -it, please, so that it will stay on all summer?” - -So Miss Julia reopened her little sewing-bag, and the stitches were -taken, and a few moments later Courage was on her way home, proud -enough of the beautiful coat and hat, and eager to show them to Mary -Duff, and yet sad at heart, too, for she had said good-bye to “Miss -Julia.” - - - - -CHAPTER V.--SYLVIA. - - -There had been a week of active preparation, and now everything was -ready, and Mary Duff and Courage, seated on a new little rope-bound -trunk, were waiting for Larry to come. The house looked sadly forlorn -and empty, for Mary had sold most of the furniture, that the money it -brought might be put in the bank for Courage, and the only thing yet to -be done was to hand over the keys to the new tenant expecting to take -possession on the morrow. Mary had intentionally arranged matters in -just this fashion. It was not going to be an easy thing to say good-bye -to the little girl she had so lovingly cared for since her babyhood, and -she knew well enough that to come back alone to the old home would half -break her heart; therefore she had wisely planned that it should be -“good-bye” to Courage and “how do you do” to little lame Joe in as -nearly the same breath as possible. - -At last there came a knock at the door, and Courage bounded to open it. -Bruce, unmannerly fellow, crowded in first, and after Bruce, Larry, and -after Larry--what? who? A most remarkable-looking object, with tight -curling hair braided fine as a rope into six funny little pig-tails, -with skin but a shade lighter than her coal-black eyes, and with a -stiffly starched pink calico skirt standing out at much the same angle -as the pig-tails. Mary Duff apparently was not in the least surprised at -this apparition, but Courage stared in wide-eyed wonder. “Oh, isn't she -funny?” were the words that sprang to her lips, but too considerate to -give them utterance, she simply asked, “Who is she, Larry?” - -“This is Sylvia,” said Larry; “Sylvia, this is Miss Courage,” whereupon -Sylvia gave a little backward kick with one foot, which she meant to -have rank as a bow. - -“And who is Sylvia?” in a friendly voice that went straight to Sylvia's -heart. - -“She's to be company for you on the lighter, Courage, and a little maid -of all work besides.” - -“Spesh'ly I'se to wash up,” Sylvia volunteered, beaming from ear to ear. - -“What do you mean?” asked Courage, with considerable dignity, seeming to -realize at a bound the relation of mistress and maid. - -“Mean dat on boats dere's allers heaps an' heaps to wash up--pots an' -kittles an' dishes an' lan' knows what--an' dat me's de one dat's gwine -do it. A-washin' of demselves is all de washin' dat's 'spected of dose -little lily white han's, Miss Courage, case de Cap'n say so--didn't yer, -Cap'n?” whereupon Sylvia gave a marvellous little pirouette on one foot, -that made pigtails and skirt describe a larger circle than ever. - -“Yes, that's what I said,” answered Larry, rather taken aback by this -performance, and wondering if he had gotten more than he had bargained -for in this sable little specimen, chosen somewhat at random from the -half dozen presented for his inspection at an asylum the day before. But -Courage had no fears, and saw in anticipation delightful opportunities -for no end of fun, and, when it should be needed, for a little -patronizing discipline. Meanwhile Bruce, who seemed unquestionably -worried as to what sort of a move was pending, had made his way out of -doors, and taken up his stand near the boy who stood in waiting with a -hand-cart, ready to carry the trunk to the boat. When at last the trunk -was in the cart, with Sylvia's bundle atop of it, and it became evident -that the little party were actually on their way to the lighter, his -delight knew no bounds, and he flew round and round after his tail, as a -relief to his exuberant feelings. - -Courage kept tight hold of Mary Duff's hand all the way. Of course it -was going to be lovely out on the water all summer, and with Larry; but -oh, how she wished Mary was to be there too! But that always seemed to -be the way somehow--something very nice and something very sad along -with it. Glancing ahead to Sylvia, who, with a jolly little swing of her -own, was trotting along at the side of the cart, steadying her bundle -with a very black hand, Courage wondered if she had found it so too, and -resolved some day to ask her. - -The good-byes were said rather hurriedly at the last. Mary Duff first -went down into the cabin with Courage and helped to unpack her trunk. -Then, when finally there was nothing more for her to do, there was just -a good hard hug and two or three very hard kisses, and then you might -have seen a familiar figure disappearing around the nearest corner of -the dock, and Mary Duff was gone. As soon as she was out of sight she -stopped a moment and wiped the tears from her eyes with a corner of her -shawl, for they were fairly blinding her, and then hurried right on -to the little cripple, to whom her coming was to prove the very most -blessed thing that had ever happened. As for Courage, she went to her -own little room and had a good cry there, and though neither of them -knew of the other's tears, the skies soon looked clearer to them both. -But there was one pair of eyes in which tears were not for a moment to -be thought of. Tears! with the great orphan asylum left behind and all -the delights of life on that beautiful boat opening out before her? No -indeed! Let Miss Courage have her little cry out if she must, but -for Sylvia, a face wreathed in smiles so broad as to develop not -unfrequently into an audible chuckle. And so while Courage was trying -to get herself in hand, for she did not want Larry to know how badly she -felt, Sylvia, acting under orders, was as busy as could be, setting the -table in the cabin, and making supper ready in the tiny kitchen. - -When Courage again came on deck, the lighter had cleared the wharf and -was well out upon the river. Larry was at the helm, and she made her -way straight to him and slipped her hand in his, as much as to say, “I'm -yours now, you know, Larry,” and Larry gave it a tight little squeeze, -as much as to say, “Yes, I know you are, dear,” and they understood each -other perfectly, though not a word was spoken. - -“Don't you think I had better call you uncle or something instead of -just Larry?” said Courage after she had stood silently at his side for -ever so many minutes. - -“Why?” asked Larry, amused at the suggestion. - -“Oh, because it doesn't seem right for a child like me to call you by -your first name. I should have thought that they would have taught me -different.” - -“Oh, bless your heart, Courage! nobody taught you what to call me..You -just took up 'Larry' of yourself in the cutest sort of a way, and before -you could say half-a-dozen words to your name, and now to tack an uncle -on to it after all these years would sound mighty queer, and I shouldn't -like it.” - -“Well, then, we'll just let it be Larry always,” and indeed Courage -herself was more than willing to have things remain as they were. As for -Sylvia, she soon decided that her one form of address for Larry should -be “my Cap'n,” for was he not in very truth _her_ captain by grace of -his choice of her from among all the other little colored orphans -whom he might have taken? Indeed, Sylvia fairly seemed to revel in the -two-lettered personal pronoun, for if there is a Saxon word for which -the average institution child has comparatively little use it is that -word _my_. Where children are cared for by the hundreds, _my_ and _me_ -and _mine_ and all that savors of the individual are almost perforce -lost sight of. No wonder, then, when Sylvia said “my Cap'n,” it was in -a tone implying a most happy sense of ownership, and as though it stood -for the “my father” and “my mother” and all the other “mys” of more -fortunate little children. - -At last Sylvia's supper was ready, and before announcing the fact, she -stood a moment, arms akimbo, taking a critical survey of her labors. -Then, convinced that nothing had been forgotten, she cleared the cabin -stairs at a bound, and beckoning to Larry and Courage, called out -excitedly, “Come 'long dis minute, please, 'fore it all gets cold.” - -Larry, who had many misgivings as to the result of his protegee's first -efforts, was greatly surprised on reaching the cabin to find a most -tempting little table spread out before them, but it was hard to tell -whether surprise or indignation gained the mastery In the eyes of -astonished Courage. That the table looked most attractive no one could -for a moment deny, but what most largely contributed thereto was -a glorious bunch of scarlet geraniums, to compass which Sylvia had -literally stripped a double row of plants standing in the cabin window -of every flower. These plants had been Mary Duff's special pride for -several seasons, and she herself had carefully superintended their -transportation in a wheelbarrow to the lighter the day before. - -[Illustration: 0051] - -Who could marvel, then, that the tears came unbidden, as Courage at one -glance took in the whole situation--the elaborate decorations, the sadly -despoiled plants. - -“Oh, Sylvia, how could you?” was all she found words to say. Poor -Sylvia, never more surprised in her life, stood aghast for a moment, -looking most beseechingly to Larry. Then a possibility dawned upon her. - -“Am it dem posies, Miss Courage?” and the question let the light in on -Larry's bewildered mind. - -“Of course I mean the flowers,” said Courage, laying one hand -caressingly on a poor little dismantled plant. “You have not left a -single one, and I wouldn't have had you pick them for all the world.” - -“But I was 'bliged to, Miss Courage,” with all the aplomb of a -conscientious performance of duty. - -“Obliged to?” and then it seemed to occur simultaneously to Larry and -Courage that they had possibly secured the services of a veritable -little lunatic. - -“Yes, Miss Courage; hab you neber hearn tell of a kitchen garden?” - -“Never,” said Courage; and now she and Larry exchanged glances as to the -certainty of Sylvia's mental condition. - -“Well, I'se a kitchen-garden grajate,” Sylvia announced with no little -pride. - -“Bless my stars! if you're not a stark little idiot,” muttered Larry -under his breath, but fortunately Sylvia was too absorbed to hear. - -“Well, dere ain't much you kin tell a kitchen-garden grajate,” she -continued complacently, “'bout setting tables and sich like. Dere's -questions and answers 'bout eberyting, you know, an' when Miss Sylvester -ses, 'What must yer hab in de middle ob de table?' the answer is, 'Fruit -or flowers so as there wasn't no fruit, why--” and Sylvia, pausing -abruptly, gave a little shrug of her shoulders, and with a grandiloquent -gesture, pointed to the geraniums, as though further words were -superfluous. - -“Oh, I didn't understand,” said Courage, for both she and Larry were -beginning to comprehend the situation, and a little later on, when they -had had time to realize more fully the careful arrangement of the table, -to say nothing of the tempting dishes themselves, they were ready to -pronounce the little lunatic of a few moments previous a veritable -treasure. The ham was done “to a turn;” the fried potatoes were -deliciously crisp; dainty little biscuits fairly melted in your mouth; -the coffee was perfection, and Sylvia sat beaming and radiant, for there -was no lack of openly expressed appreciation. - -“What did you say you were, Sylvia?” asked Courage during the progress -of the meal. - -“Oh, I didn't say I was nuffin 't all,” nervously fearing that in some -unconscious way she might again have offended her new little mistress. - -“Yes, you did, don't you know?” pretending not to notice the -nervousness. “It was something nice to be; it began with kitchen.” - -“Oh, yes,” said Sylvia, much relieved, “a kitchen-garden grajate. Want -to see my di-diplomer?” including both Larry and Courage in one glance -as she spoke. Wholly mystified as to what the article might be, both of -course nodded yes, whereupon Sylvia, plunging one little black fist -down the neck of her dress, vainly endeavored to bring something to the -surface. - -“It kinder sticks,” she explained confidentially, but in another second -a shining medal attached to a blue ribbon came flying out with appalling -momentum. “Dere now,” she said, giving a backward dive through the -encircling ribbon, “dat's what I got for larning all dere was to larn.” - -Courage took the medal and examined it. It was made of some bright -metal, and was stamped with the figure of a girl with a broom in her -hand. Across the top were the words “Kitchen Garden,” and on a little -scroll at the bottom the name Sylvia Sylvester. - -“Why do they call it a kitchen garden?” asked Courage, passing the medal -on for Larry's inspection; “it's an awful funny name.” - -“Glory knows! ain't no sense in it, I reckon.” - -“And that medal,” added Courage, “was a sort of a prize for doing things -better than the others, wasn't it?” - -“No, Miss Courage, dat's a reg'lar diplomer. All de chillens in de -school had 'em when, dey grajated.” - -Courage looked appealingly toward Larry, to see if he knew what she -meant, and Larry looked just as appealingly to Courage. The truth was, -Sylvia had the best of them both. To be sure, she used a pronunciation -of her own, but it was near enough to the original to have suggested -graduate and diploma to minds in anywise familiar with the articles. - -“And did they teach you to cook in the kitchen garden?” Courage asked, -feeling that she must remain quite hopelessly in the dark regarding the -words in question. - -“No, dat was an extry. One ob de lady man'gers, Miss Caxton, teached us -de cookin'. She was a lubly lady--sich a kind face, and sich daisy gray -haar, and allers so jolly. She came twic't a week, case she was dat -fond ob cookin' and liked chillens. She ses black skins didn't make no -difference. One ob dese days I'se gwine to write down for yer all de -dishes what she teached how to cook.” - -And so the first meal aboard the lighter fared on, and before it was -over Larry made up his mind that as soon as he could afford it he would -send five dollars to the orphan asylum and a letter besides, in which he -would warmly express his approval of an institution that sent its -little waifs out into the world so well equipped for rendering valuable -service. - - - - -CHAPTER VI.--ABOARD THE LIGHTER. - - -It took such a very little while for Courage to feel perfectly -contented and at home on the boat, that she was more than half inclined -to take herself to task for a state of things which would seem to imply -disloyalty to Mary Duff. As for Sylvia, she felt at home from the very -first minute, and was constantly brimming over with delight. Nor was -Larry far below the general level of happiness, for work seemed almost -play with Courage ever at his side. As for Larry's boy, Dick, of a -naturally mournful turn of mind, he too seemed carried along, quite in -spite of himself, on the tide of prevailing high spirits. On more -than one occasion he was known to laugh outright at some of Sylvia's -remarkable performances, though always, it must be confessed, in -deprecatory fashion, as though conscious of a perceptible loss of -dignity. And who would not have been happy in that free, independent -life they were leading! To be sure, there were discomforts. Sometimes, -when the lighter was tied to a steaming Wharf all day, the sun would -beat mercilessly down upon them, but then they could always look forward -to the cool evening-out upon the water; and so happily it seemed to be -in everything--a hundred delights to offset each discomfort. Even for -Larry and Dick, when work was hardest and weather warmest, there was -a sure prospect of the yellow pitcher of iced tea, which Courage never -failed to bring midway in the long morning, and then at the end of the -day the leisurely, comfortable dinner, for they were quite aristocratic -in their tastes, this little boat's company. - -[Illustration: 0057] - -No noon dinner for them, with Larry in workaday clothes and the stove -in the tiny kitchen piping its hottest at precisely the hour when its -services could best be dispensed with, but a leisurely seven-o'clock -dinner, with the lighter anchored off shore, and when, as a rule, Dick -also had had time to “tidy up,” and could share the meal with them. And -in this, you see, they were not aristocratic at all. Even little black -Sylvia had a seat at one side of the table, which she occupied as -continuously as her culinary duties would admit. - -One night, when Larry stood talking to a friend on the wharf, Courage -and Sylvia overheard him say, “They're a darned competent little pair, I -can tell you.” Now, of course, this was rather questionable English for -a respectable old man like Larry, but he intended it for the highest -sort of praise, and the children could hardly help being pleased. - -“Larry oughtn't to use such words,” said Courage. - -“But den I specs he only mean dat we jes' knows how to do tings,” said -Sylvia apologetically; and as that was exactly what Larry did mean, we -must forgive him the over-expressive word; besides they were, in point -of fact, the most competent pair imaginable. - -Early every morning, when near the city, Dick would bring the lighter -alongside a wharf, and Courage and Sylvia would set off for the nearest -market, Sylvia carrying a basket, and always wearing a square of bright -plaid gingham knotted round her head. There was no remembrance for her -of father or of mother, or of much that would have proved dear to her -warm little heart, but tucked away in a corner of her memory were faint -recollections of a Southern fish market, with the red snapper sparkling -in the morning sunlight, and the old mammies, in bandana turbans, busy -about their master's marketing; and as though to make the best of this -shadowy recollection, Sylvia insisted upon the turban accompaniment to -the basket. - -[Illustration: 0060] - -Then, after the marketing, came the early breakfast; and after that, for -Courage, the many nameless duties of every housekeeper, whether big -or little; and for Sylvia the homelier tasks of daily recurrence; but -fortunately she did not deem them homely. Why should she, when pretty -Miss Sylvester, as perfect a lady as could be, herself had taught her -how to do them, every one? Nor was this work, so dignified by the manner -and method of teaching, performed in silence. Every household task had -its appropriate little song, and the occasions were rare on which Sylvia -did not make use of them. - - “Washing dishes, washing dishes, suds are hot, suds are hot, - - Work away briskly, work away briskly, do not stop, do not stop,” - -was the refrain that would greet the ear first thing after breakfast, -followed by - - “First the glasses, rinse them well, rinse them well, - - If you do them nicely, all can tell, all can tell,” - -and so on _ad infinitum_. - -Then, after everything had been gotten into “ship-shape” condition, came -the mending, of which there seemed to be an unending supply. Tarry and -Dick were certainly very hard on their clothes, and when, once a week, -Dick brought the heaping basketful aboard from the washer-woman, who -lived at the Battery, Courage and Sylvia knew that needles and thimbles -would need to be brought into active requisition. - -Then, in odd hours, there was studying and reading, and whenever they -could manage it, a little visit to be paid to Mary Duff. In addition -to all this, Courage had taken upon herself one other duty, for big, -fifteen-year-old Dick did not so much as know his letters. He one day -blushingly confessed the fact to Courage, who indeed had long suspected -it, with tears in his honest blue eyes. Dick's mother--for that is what -she was, though most unworthy of the name--had shoved him out of the -place he called home when he was just a mere slip of a lad, and since -then it had been all he could manage simply to make a living for -himself, with never a moment for schooling. But a happier day had -dawned. No sooner was Courage assured of his benighted condition than -she won his everlasting gratitude by setting about to mend it. Their -first need, of course, was a primer, and they immediately found one -ready to the hand, or rather to the _eye_, for it could not be treated -after the fashion of ordinary primers. - -There were only seven letters in it, five capitals and two small ones, -and the large letters were fully ten feet high. It did not even commence -with an A, but C came first, and then R; then another R, followed by -a little o and a a little f; and after that a large N and a large J. -Indeed, C. R. R. of N. J. was all there was to it, for the letters were -painted on a depot roof that happened to be in full sight on the evening -when Dick commenced his lessons. And so Dick finally mastered the entire -alphabet by the aid of the great signs in the harbor, and do you think -they ever rendered half such worthy service? - -This, then, was the story of the uneventful days as they dawned one -after the other, until at last May yielding place to June, and June to -July, Saturday, the first day of August, came in by the calendar, ran -through its midsummer hours, and then sank to rest in the cradle of a -wonderful sunset. It was such a sunset as sometimes glorifies the bay -and the river, and will not be overlooked. Long rays of gold and crimson -shot athwart even the narrowest and darkest cross streets of the city, -compelling every one who had eyes to see and feet to walk upon to come -out and enjoy its beauty; while a blaze of light, falling full upon the -myriad windows of Brooklyn Heights, suggested the marvellous golden city -of the Revelation. Full in the wake of all this glory, and just to the -southeast of Bedloe's Island, Larry had moored the lighter. It was a -favorite anchorage with all the little boat's company. - -[Illustration: 0064] - -“The Statue of Liberty”, standing out so grandly against the western sky, -and with the light of her torch shining down all night upon them, seemed -always a veritable friend and protector. - -To-morrow, perhaps, they would touch at Staten Island, and locking the -cabin, “all hands” repair to a little church they loved well at New -Brighton; or, should it prove a very warm day, they might have a little -service of their own on board instead, sailing quite past the church and -as far down the bay as the Bell Buoy. - -But for the present there was nothing to be done but watch the sun set, -so they sat together in the lee of the cabin, silently thinking their -own thoughts as the sun went down. Courage had on the blue coat and hat, -and from the wistful look in her eyes, might easily have been thinking -of Miss Julia. Larry sat looking at Courage more, perhaps, than at the -sunset, and his face was grave and sad. Courage had noticed that it had -often been so of late, and wondered what could be the trouble. After -awhile Larry slowly strolled off by himself to the bow of the boat, and -Courage gazed anxiously after him; then, turning to Dick, she said with -a sigh, “We had better have a lesson now, Dick.” - -“Ay, ay,” answered Dick, always glad of the chance. - -“It's too dark for a book,” Courage added, “but there's a good sign;” - whereupon Dick set himself to master two large-lettered words over on -the Jersey shore, one of which looked rather formidable. - -“Begin with the last word, Dick. You've had it before.” - -“D-o-c-k--dock, of course.” - -“Now the first word. Try to make it out yourself.” - -Dick shrugged his shoulders, for it was rather a jump to a word of three -syllables, but success at last crowned his efforts. “National Docks!” he -exclaimed, with the delight of unaided discovery, feeling as though the -attainment had added a good square inch to his height. Then came another -sign with the one word Storage, but that was easy, for “Prentice Stores” - had been achieved the day before off the Brooklyn warehouses, and it was -only a step from one word to the other. Finally, when there were no new -signs to conquer, Courage began a sort of review, from memory, of all -they had been over. In the midst of it Sylvia suddenly ran to the side -of the boat, arched one black hand over her eyes that she might see the -more clearly, and then flew back again. - -“Dat horrid statue boy is comin',” she cried excitedly; “I thought -it looked like him, an' if onct he gets a foot on dis boat he'll keep -comin', he will; I knowed him.” - -“I don't see that you can help it, though,” laughed Courage; “you can't -tell him that we just don't want to have anything to do with him.” - -Sylvia looked perplexed, but only for a moment; then, indulging in one -of those remarkable pirouettes with which she was accustomed to announce -the advent of a happy thought, she ran back again to the boat's edge. - -Meanwhile every dip of the oars was bringing the objectionable boy -nearer, and a horrid boy he was, if one may be permitted to speak quite -honestly. Dick and Sylvia had made his undesirable acquaintance one -evening when Larry had sent them to the island to learn the right time. -He was the son of one of the men employed to care for the statue, and -was, alas! every whit as disagreeable in manners as in looks, which is -not to put the case mildly. - -“Hello, Miss Woolly-head!” he called, bringing his boat to the lighter's -side, and tossing a rope aboard, which Miss Woolly-head was supposed to -catch, but didn't, so that the boat veered off again. - -“What's the name of your little missus?” called the boy, apparently not -in the least nonplussed by his rather chilling reception. The knowledge -that Sylvia had a little “missus” had been obtained by means of several -leading questions which had characterized the young gentleman's first -interview with Sylvia and Dick, and which they had regarded as the very -epitome of rudeness. - -“Dis yere lighter is called for my missus,” said Sylvia, “so you kin -jes' read her name dere on de do' plate,” pointing to the lettering at -the bow of the boat, “an den again, mebbe you can't,” she chuckled. - -It looked as though the statue boy “couldn't,” for he did not so much -as glance toward the bow, as he added, “Well, it's your missus I want to -see, and not you, you little black pickaninny.” - -“Dat's all right, sah,” and Sylvia folded her arms aggressively, “but -you can't see her.” - -“Ain't she in?” - -“Yes, she's in, but she begs to be excuged.” This last in the most -impressive manner possible. - -Dick and Courage, who were sitting just out of sight, looked at -each other and almost laughed outright. What remarkable phrases -Sylvia seemed always to have at her tongue's end! Indeed, Dick did -not know at all what was meant by the fine phrase, but fortunately the -statue boy did--that is after a moment or two of reflection. - -“So she don't want to see me,” he said, sullenly adjusting his oars with -considerable more noise than was necessary; “well, no more then do I -want to see her. I ain't no mind to stay where I ain't wanted, but I -reckon it's the last time you'll be 'lowed to anchor your old scow over -the line without there being a row about it,” and with this parting -rejoinder their would-be caller beat a welcome retreat. - -“Oh, Sylvia, how did you happen to think to say that?” laughed Courage. - -“Why, dat's what you must allers say when anybody calls. Dey teached it -in a game in de Kitchen Garden. We all stood up in a ring, an' a girl -came an' knocked on yer back and axed, 'Is Mis' Brown to home?' Den you -turn roun' an' say, 'Mis' Brown are to home, but begs to be excuged,' -and den it was yer turn to be de caller and knock on some other girl's -back.” - -“But, Sylvia, if Mrs. Brown wanted to see the caller what would you -say?” - -“I don' prezachly recommember. I mos'ly likes de excuged one de bes'.” - -Meantime Dick made his way to Larry. - -“Did you know we were anchored inside the line?” he said. Larry stood -up to take his bearings. “Why, so we are,” with evident annoyance, for -Larry prided himself on his observance of harbor rules. - -[Illustration: 0071] - -“And I guess we've done it before,” added Dick; “the boy from the island -there said it would be the last time we'd be 'lowed to do it.” - -“And it ought to be,” for Larry was thoroughly out of patience with -himself; “we'll show 'em we meant to obey orders anyway. Let go her -anchor, Dick,” and then in a moment the big sail, that had been furled -for the night, was spread to the wind once more, and the Courage -Masterson was running out upon the bay, that she might swing in again -and anchor at the proper distance from the island. - -“What's up, I wonder,” said Sylvia, starting to her feet when she felt -the lighter in motion. “Oh, I know; Dick's told Larry we were anchored -too near,” and she settled down again in the most comfortable position -imaginable, on the rug beside Courage. - -“Tell me, Sylvia, what is your other name?” Courage asked after a little -pause; “I've been meaning to ask you this ever so long. I think it was -on the medal, but I do not remember it.” - -“Sylvester,” said Sylvia complacently, smoothing out her gingham apron. -“Sylvy Sylvester; dose two names hitch togedder putty tol'ble, don't -dey, Miss Courage?” - -“Yes, they go beautifully together; that's why you're named Sylvia, of -course.” - -Sylvia shook her head. “No, dat's why I'se named Sylvester.” Courage -looked puzzled. “I'se named arter Miss Sylvester, one ob de Kitchen -Garden ladies.” - -“But, Sylvia, children can only have their first names given to them; -they're born to their last names.” - -“Dis chile wa'nt, Miss Courage; leastways nobody didn't know at de -'sylum what name I was bawn to, cep'n jes' Sylvy, so I picked mine out -mysel'. One day I went to Miss Sylvester an' sez, kind o' mischievous, -'How do yer like yer namesake?' 'Ain't got none, Sylvy,' sez she. 'Yes -you hab,' I done told her. 'It's ten year old an' its black, but I hope -yer don't mind, 'case it's me.' An' she didn't mind a bit, jes' as I -knowed she wouldn't, and she sez some beautiful 'things 'bout as I mus' -'allers be a honor to the name, an' arter dat she gimme two books, -wid Sylvy Sylvester wrote into 'em, from her everlastin' friend an' -well-wisher, Mary Sylvester. Youse done seen dose two books on my -table, Miss Courage. One's called--” but the sentence was not finished. -Something happened just then that made both children spring to their -feet and hold their breath for fear of what was coming. A few minutes -before they had noticed that one of the large Sandy Hook boats seemed -to be bearing down upon them, and that to all appearances they were -directly in her track. But their faith in Larry was supreme. He would -surely manage to get out of the way in time, but alas! they were -mistaken, for the great boat came looming up like a mountain beside -them, and in another second there was a deafening, heart-sickening -crash, and splintering of timbers. Sylvia gave one piercing, terrified -scream, while she and Courage clung as for their lives to the coping of -the cabin roof. And indeed it was a terrible moment. The force of the -collision sent the lighter careening so much to one side that it seemed -for an instant hopeless that she could possibly right herself; and oh! -low frightful to go down, down into that cruel dark water; but then in -another instant she swung violently to the other side, and they knew -that the danger of capsizing was over, though the boat was still rocking -like a cradle. Then they saw the captain of the St. Johns come hurrying -to the deck-rail, and heard him angrily call out, “Man alive there, are -you drunk?” - -“No, I'm not drunk,” Larry answered, from where he stood, pale and -trembling, leaning heavily against the tiller. - -“Not drunk? Then you're too green a hand to be minding a helm in salt -water. Only for our reversed engines you'd not have a shingle under -you.” - -Larry made no reply; Courage, still holding Sylvia by the hand, looked -daggers at the man. To think of any one daring to speak like that to -good old Larry. Of course he was not the one to blame, and but that the -two boats were fast drifting apart, she would then and there have told -the St. Johns' captain what she thought of him. Just at this moment -Courage noticed a lady and gentleman on the rear deck of the steamer. -She saw the lady give a start of surprise and speak hurriedly to -the gentleman, who immediately called in as loud a voice as he could -command, “What is your name, little girl? Tell me quickly.” He meant -Courage, and Courage knew that he did; but Sylvia not so understanding -it, a confusion of sounds smote the air, of which a shrill little Syl -was all that could by any chance be distinguished; then in a second -they were all hopelessly out of hearing of each other, and the big boat -steamed on to her pier, none the worse for the encounter save for a -great ugly scar on her white-painted bow. - -But alas! for Larry's lighter. Although she was still sound as a nut -below the water's edge, above it she looked as though a cyclone had -struck her. And so it was a subdued though a thankful little company -that stowed themselves away in their berths an hour or so later, after -the boat had again been brought to anchor, and they had had time to talk -everything over. But there was one pillow that lay unpressed that night. -With his mind full of anxiety, bed was out of the question for Larry, -and for hours he slowly paced the deck; at least, it seemed hours to -Courage, as she lay awake in her little state-room, counting his steps -as he went up and down, until she knew precisely at just what number -he would turn. She had first tried very hard to go to sleep. She had -listened to the water quietly lapping the boat's side, imagining it a -lullaby, but the lullaby proved ineffectual. At last she pulled back the -curtain from the little window over her berth, so that the light from -the statue might stream in upon her, entertaining a childish notion -that she might perhaps sort of blink herself to sleep; but all in vain. -Finally she heard Larry come into the cabin and apparently stop there. -Why didn't he go on into his state-room, she wondered. When she could -stand it no longer, she put on her wrapper and slippers, and stole out -into the cabin. The little room, lighted by Liberty's torch, was bright -as her own, and Larry sat at the table, his head bowed upon his folded -arms. Courage went close to him, and putting out one little hand, began -softly to stroke his gray hair. Larry did not start as she touched him, -so she knew he must have heard her coming. - -[Illustration: 0076] - -“Do you feel so very sorry about the lighter, Larry?” she asked -anxiously; “will it take such a great lot of money to mend it?” - -Larry did not raise his head, but it seemed to Courage that a sob, as -real as any child's, shook his strong frame. - -“Please, Larry, speak to me,” Courage pleaded, and feeling her two hands -against his face, Larry suffered her to lift it up. Yes, there were -tears in his eyes. Courage saw them and looked right away--even to -the child there was something sacred in a strong man's tears--but she -slipped on to his knee, nestled her head on his shoulder, and then -said, in the tenderest little voice, “It isn't just the accident, is it, -Larry? Something's been troubling you this long while. Please tell me -what it is. Don't forget about my name being Courage, and that p'r'aps I -can help you.” - -The words fell very sweetly upon Larry's ear, and he drew her closer to -him, but she could feel him slowly move his head from side to side, as -though it were hopeless to look for help from any quarter. Suddenly -a dreadful possibility flashed itself across her mind, and sitting -upright, she said excitedly, “You're not going to die, Larry? Say it -isn't _that_, quick, Larry!” - -“No, darling, it isn't that,” Larry hastened to answer, deeply touched -by the agony in her voice, “but it's almost worse than dying; -I'm going--” and then the word failed him, and he passed his hand -significantly across his eyes. - -“Not _blind_, Larry?” yet instantly recalling, as she spoke, many a -little incident that confirmed her fears. - -“Yes, blind, Courage; that's the way it happened to-night. It was all my -fault. I couldn't rightly see.” - -“But, Larry, hardly any one could see, it was getting so dark.” - -“Courage, darling,” Larry said tenderly, “it's been getting dark for me -for a year. I shall never sail a boat again. They told me in the spring -that I wasn't fit for it, but then I found you'd set your heart on being -on the water with me, and so, with Dick's eyes to help, I thought I -could manage just for the summer; but it's all over now, and it's plain -enough that I've got to give in.” - -And so Larry has done all this for her. At first Courage cannot speak, -but at last she contrives to say, in a tearful, trembling voice, “Try -not to mind, Larry. If you'll only let me take care of you, it won't -matter at all whether we live on the water or not. I can be happy -any-where with you.” - -And Larry is in no small degree comforted. How could it be otherwise -with that loyal child-heart standing up to him so bravely in his trial! -And finally he tells Courage of a plan, that has come into his mind, to -spend the remainder of the summer in the queerest little place that -ever was heard of, and he proceeds to describe the little place to her. -Courage is delighted with the scheme, and they talk quietly about it -for ever so long, till after awhile, right in the midst of a sentence, -Courage drops asleep on Larry's shoulder. Then, rather than disturb -her, Larry sits perfectly motionless, and at last the noble gray head, -drooping lower and lower, rests against the red-brown curls, and Larry -is also asleep, while across them both slants a band of marvellous light -from the torch of the island statue. - - - - -CHAPTER VII.--“THE QUEEREST LITTLE PLACE.” - - -It's mos' as nice as de boat, an' eber so much like it,” said Sylvia. - -“Yes, most as nice,” Courage conceded, “and the next best thing for a -man like Larry, who's lived all his life on the water. It looks a sight -better than when we came, doesn't it? But hush! Look, Sylvia; isn't that -a bite? Have the net ready.” - -And Sylvia had the net ready, and in another second a great sprawling -crab was landed in the boat beside them, for you must know that mistress -and maid are out crabbing on the South Shrewsbury, and are meeting with -much better luck than is generally experienced in midsummer weather. -Directly over their heads is the queer little place that has recently -become their home. That chink there is in the floor of Sylvia's -carpetless room, and those wisps of straw are sticking through from -Bruce's kennel. To be sure, you have heard nothing of that young -gentleman since the day when Courage dried her tears on his coat, but -that is only because there have been more important things to tell -about. He has, however, been behaving in the most exemplary manner all -the while, and has been, as always, Larry's constant companion. - -As for the queer little place, you have probably never seen anything at -all like it, unless, as is possible, you have chanced to see this very -little place itself. It is a house, of course, but wholly unlike other -houses. It has several rooms, but they are all strung along in a row, -and boasts neither attic nor cellar. There is water under it and water -on every side of it; in short, it is on the drawbridge that spans the -river between Port-au-Peck and Town Neck, and is what I presume may be -called a draw-house. Of the many bridges spanning the inlets threading -all that region of sea-board country, this South Shrewsbury Bridge is by -far the longest, and therefore the most pretentious. - -[Illustration: 0081] - -The draw, to accommodate the channel of the river, has been placed near -the southern end, while at either end of it on the main bridge are gates -that swing to for the protection of teams when the draw itself is open. -The house also stretches its length along the main bridge toward its -southern end. - -From the day when the ice goes out of the river to the day when it -locks it in again it is David Starr's home, and David is Larry Starr's -brother. David's wife has been dead these many years; all his children -are married and settled; and David, not wishing, as he says, “to be -beholden to ony of 'em,” minds the South Shrewsbury draw. For nine -months or thereabouts he stays on the bridge, and then, while the river -is ice-bound, retreats to a little house on the main-land, living quite -by himself all the while. - -And this is the place to which Larry has come with Courage and Sylvia, -and lonely old David is glad enough to see them, particularly as Larry -proposes to pay a snug little sum weekly, by way of board. - -What they will do when cold weather sets in Larry has not yet decided; -he fully expects, however, to send Courage to school somewhere in the -city, if it take half his savings to do it; but for Larry himself, alas! -the darkness is settling down more and more surely. Meantime, Courage -and Sylvia do all in their power to cheer him, and everybody, Larry -included, tries hard not to think of the on-coming blindness. As for -Larry's cabin-boy, Dick, he could not, unfortunately, be included in -this new plan, but Courage, at Larry's dictation, wrote him a most -promising sort of a reference, and one which succeeded in obtaining him -just as promising a situation. And there was one other important matter -attended to before they all took final leave of Dick and the dear old -lighter. Larry painted out her name from the bow with the blackest -of black paint. He would sell his boat if he must, but the Courage -Masterson, never! - -But while I have been telling you all this, Courage and Sylvia, their -crabbing concluded, have tied their boat to the shore, and with a -well-filled basket swinging between them, are coming down the bridge. -Over against the house Larry sits in the sunshine, smoking his pipe, -that is now more of a comfort than ever, and with Bruce at his feet. -He hears the children and knows their tread almost the instant they -set foot on the roadway, his good old ears seeming kindly bent on doing -double service. - -“Any luck?” he calls out, as soon as he reckons them within speaking -distance. - -“Yes, twelve big ones,” answers Sylvia; “but Lor'! Ise don' know nuffin -'bout how to cook things what's alive to start with.” - -“David'll tell you how to manage,” laughs Larry, and just then a -carriage, crossing over the bridge, comes close upon them. Courage -instinctively glances over her shoulder, and straightway dropping her -end of the basket, cries out, with what little remaining breath surprise -has left her, “Why, Miss Julia!” - -“Why, Courage, dear, _where_ did you come from?” and instantly the -phaeton is brought to a standstill, and Courage bounds into it, and then -there is the report of a kiss loud enough to have started any save the -most discriminating of ponies on the wildest of gallops. - -“But I thought you were to be on a boat all summer!” exclaims Miss Julia -the next minute. - -“Yes, I was, but--” and then, feeling that there is something even -more important than an immediate explanation, Courage bounds out of -the carriage again, that she may lead Larry to Miss Julia, and they of -course shake hands very heartily, as two people should who have heard so -much of each other. Then Larry and Courage between them explain matters, -and Miss Julia in turn tells of her summer home, but a mile away on the -Rumson Road, and of how very often she drives over the Shrewsbury Draw. - -Meanwhile poor Sylvia has been having an anxious time of it. When -Courage so unceremoniously dropped her end of the basket, several of the -crabs went scrawling out of it, and, as you know, there is nothing more -lively than a hard-shell crab, struggling with all its might to regain -its native element. But with the aid of Miss Julia's man, who has sprung -down from the rumble to help her, Sylvia does succeed in recapturing -four of the runaways, not, alas! however, before two beauties have -succeeded in gaining the edge of the bridge, and in plumping themselves -back into the water with a splash that must have consumed with envy the -hearts of their less fortunate fellows. - -At last it is time for Sylvia to be introduced, and, as usual, her -beaming face expresses her satisfaction. Then there is a general -chatting for a little while longer, in which each bears a hand. - -“And how pretty you have made it all!” says Miss Julia, taking up the -reins, preparatory to driving on. “I never should have known the place, -with the dainty dimity curtains at the windows and these starch boxes -full of plants along the rail here; such nice old-fashioned plants, -too--geraniums and lemon verbena and that little low plant with the -funny name--oh, yes, I remember--portulaca. How long has it taken you to -work such a transformation, Courage?” - -“Only a week, Miss Julia. We came down last Monday; but then Sylvia and -I have worked pretty hard.” - -“Of course you have. You're a pair of regular wonder-working fairies, -you and your faithful Sylvia. And now I must say good-bye, but not until -Larry promises that you shall come, both of you, and spend day after -to-morrow with me. I will send John down for you, with the ponies, -bright and early, and we'll have such a day of it.” - -Larry promised, Miss Julia drove on, and the children looked a delight -which was, in very truth, unspeakable. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII.--COURAGE DOES IT. - - -Really, I believe it's nicer than being on the boat.” - -“Yes,” responded Sylvia, with a supreme faith in any assertion that -Courage might choose to make; “but why?” - -“Because we have the fun of living out on the water, and Miss Julia -besides.” - -“Oh, yes, to be sure!” half ashamed to have ventured so obvious a -question. - -Miss Julia besides! No one could imagine what those three little words -meant to Courage. It was a delight in itself simply to waken in the -morning, and know that before night Miss Julia would probably come -riding over on her beautiful “Rex” or driving the gray ponies, or if not -to-day, then to-morrow. Whenever she came she would stop for a chat, and -more likely than not bring with her some little gift from the wonderful -place on the Rumson--a plant from the greenhouse, a golden roll of -delicious butter, or just a beautiful flower or two that her own hands -had picked in the garden. And so the summer was crowned for Courage by -the happy accident of nearness to Miss Julia, and the only sad moments -were when, now and then, a great longing for her father surged over -her, or when the realization of Larry's ever-increasing blindness -pressed heavily down upon even her buoyant spirit. - -[Illustration: 8089] - -As for life on the draw, the days slipped by as uneventfully as on -the lighter, though no doubt they were more monotonous. There were no -morning trips through the busy streets to market (David had all their -supplies sent over from Red Bank), and nothing, of course, of the -ever-changing life of the harbor; but the children were more than -contented. Sylvia was never so happy as when at work, and somehow or -other there always seemed to be plenty of work for the little black -hands to do. But, it must be confessed, there were times when Courage -did find the days rather dull--times when she did not feel quite like -reading or studying, and when she could think of nothing that needed to -be done. There was one recreation, however, that always served to add -a zest to the quietest sort of a day. Every clear afternoon, somewhere -between four and six o'clock, she would don the pretty blue hat, and -when it was anywise cool enough the blue coat, too--for she loved to -wear it--and then go out and perch herself safely somewhere on the top -of the bridge rail and with her back to the sun, should he happen to -be shining. Then in a little while some of her friends, out for their -afternoon drive, would be pretty sure to come crossing the bridge, and -though possibly lacking the time to stop for a chat, would at least -exchange a few cheery words as they perforce walked their horses over -the draw. I say some of her friends, for already there were many of -them, for people could hardly escape noticing the pretty little house -and the kind-faced, halfblind old man sitting in the door-way, or -failing these, the little girl in the handsome blue coat and hat. Some -had either guessed or found out the meaning of the black bow on the -sleeve, and ever afterward seemed to regard her with an interest close -bordering on downright affection. Indeed, in one way and another, the -household on the draw became known far and wide, and strangers sometimes -driving that way for no other reason than to see the beautiful little -girl with the remarkable name, were disappointed enough if they did not -chance to come across her; but of this far-reaching notoriety Courage -fortunately never so much as dreamed. - -And so the days fared on much as I have described until there came an -evening when something happened. It was an evening early in October, and -our little party sitting down to their six o'clock supper were every one -in a particularly happy frame of mind. The sun had gone down in a blaze -of gold and crimson, and the river, which is wide enough below the -bridge to be dignified as a bay, lay like a mirror reflecting the -marvellous color. Later, when the twilight was fusing all the varying -shades into a fleecy, wondrously tinted gray; a brisk little breeze -strode up from the west, and instantly the water rose in myriad tiny -waves to meet it, and each wave donned a “white-cap,” as in honor of its -coming. - -Low down on the horizon the veriest thread of a new moon was paying -court to the evening star, that was also near its setting, but both -still shone out with more than common brilliancy through the early -evening air. Here, then, was one cause for the generally happy feeling, -and another, no doubt, lay in the all-pervading cheeriness of the little -home. Humble and small it was, to be sure, but there was comfort, and -plenty of it, on every side--comfort in the mere sight of the daintily -set table; comfort of a very substantial kind in the contents of the -shining teapot, in the scrambled eggs sizzling away in a chafing-dish, -which Sylvia had cleverly concocted, and, above all, in the aroma, -as well as in the taste, of the deliciously browned toast. People who -chanced to come driving over glanced in at the cosey, lamp-lighted -table, caught a whiff of the savory odors, and then the moment they were -off the draw urged on their horses in elusive hope of finding something -as inviting at home. During the progress of the meal, and while Sylvia, -who was an inimitable little mimic, was giving a lisping impersonation -of one of the teachers at the Asylum, a carriage rolled rapidly by, and -some one called, “Hello there, Courage!” Quickly recognizing the voice, -Courage rushed out-of-doors, almost upsetting the table in her eagerness, -but even then Miss Julia was a long way past, having actually trotted -her ponies right over the draw itself in most unprecedented fashion. -This was a grave offence in David's eyes, and Courage, retaking her seat -at the table, wondered what he would have to say about it. - -“Miss Julia must have been in a great hurry,” she ventured. - -“Yes, a ten-dollar hurry,” growled David. - -“Oh, you won't fine her!” Courage exclaimed, alarmed at the mere thought -of anything so ungracious; “she just couldn't have been thinking.” - -“Well, then, we'll just teach her how to think;” but Sylvia, quite -sure that she detected a lack of determination in David's tone, said -complacently, “Neber you fear, Miss Courage. Mr. David don' sure nuff -mean what he sez, I reckon,” whereupon Mr. David shook his head, as much -as to say, “Well, he rather guessed he did,” but Courage saw with relief -that there really was nothing to fear. After supper Larry and David took -a turn on the bridge while the table was being cleared, and then coming -back to the little living-room, Courage read aloud for an hour from one -of Sylvia Sylvester's namesake books. It chanced to be the incomparable -story of “Alice in Wonderland,” and David and Larry were as charmed as -the little folk themselves. At nine o'clock the book was laid away and -Larry went directly to bed. Courage and Sylvia hurried into coats and -hats for a run in the bracing night air, and David, stopping first to -light his pipe, followed them out onto the bridge. All three found to -their surprise that the sky had grown suddenly lowering and overcast, -while the breeze of the twilight was fast stiffening to a vigorous west -wind. - -[Illustration: 0094] - -“We're in for a blow, I'm thinkin',” said David, looking down-river, -with the children standing beside him, “and, bless me! there isn't a -star to be seen. Who'd a-thought it after that sunset.” - -Courage, seeing something in the distance, paid no attention to this -last remark. “Mr. David, what's that?” she exclaimed, pointing in the -direction in which she had been gazing. - -“Sure it looks like a sail, Courage. Can it be that they're wantin' -to get through, I wonder? What's a boat out for this time o' night, -anyhow?” Then for several minutes all was silent. - -“Listen,” said Sylvia at last; “doesn't that sound like rowing?” - -“Yes it do,” said David, after listening intently, his hand to his ear. -“I thought it didn't 'pear just like a sail-boat; howsomever, there's a -white thing dangling to it that looks--” but here David was interrupted -by a coarse voice calling out, “Hello there! Open the draw, will you?” - -“Hello there!” David answered; “but what'll I open it for? Ye're rowin', -aren't ye?” - -“Yes, we're rowing to gain time, but there's a sail to the boat as plain -as daylight, isn't there? Now hurry, man alive, and do as you're told; -we've sprung aleak.” - -“Sprung aleak! Then ye're fools not to make straight for the shore,” - reasoned David. - -“That's our lookout; but for land's sake! open the draw, instead of -standing there talking all night,” and David, realizing that there may -be danger for the men in longer parleying, puts his hand to the lever, -hurriedly dispatching the children to close the gates at either end; -and away they fly, eager to render a service often required of them when -there was need for special expedition. Indeed, one can but wonder how -David sometimes managed when alone, and a boat tacking against the wind -had need to make the draw at precisely the right moment. - -But to-night it happens that he is in too great haste, and while yet -several yards from the gate, Courage, with horror, feels the draw -beginning to move under her. “Wait,” she calls back to David, but her -voice is weak with fear, and her feet seemed weighted. Oh, if she cannot -reach the end in time to make the main bridge and close the gate, and -some one should come driving on in the darkness, never seeing that -the draw was open! At last she is at the edge, but only the tenth of a -second more and it will be too late to jump. Shall she try it? It will -be taking a dreadful risk. She may land right against the rail, be -thrown back into the water, and no one know in time to hasten to her -rescue. She hesitates. _No_--and then _yes_, for an instantly deciding -thought has come to her. - -The draw swings clear of the bridge. The men in the boat, grumbling at -everything, paddled clumsily through, while over the other gate, reached -barely in time, Sylvia hangs breathless and trembling. At the same -moment with Courage, she, too, felt the draw begin to move, but luckily -chanced to be nearer her goal. Meanwhile, where is Courage? Not in the -water, thank God, but prone upon the bridge above it, lying just where -she fell when, as she jumped, the rail of the draw struck her feet and -threw her roughly down upon it. She feels terribly jarred and bruised, -and tries in vain to lift herself up. But, hark! is that the sound of -horses on the road? Yes, surely, and they are coming nearer; and -now they are on the bridge, and the gate--the gate is open. With one -superhuman effort she struggles to her feet, reaches out for it, and -swings it to. Then, leaning heavily against the rail, she utters one -shrill, inarticulate scream. There is another scream almost as shrill in -answer, and instantly a pair of ponies, brought to an alarmingly sudden -standstill, rear high in the air beside her, and Courage, unable to -stand another moment, drops in a limp little heap to the flooring. - -“My darling, darling Courage!” whispers some one close bending above -her. - -“_Dear_ Miss Julia,” and a little hand all of a tremble gropes for Miss -Julia's face in the darkness. - -The draw swings back into place, and Sylvia is on it in a flash. - -“Oh, you didn't gib us 'nough time,” she cries accusingly to David as -she flies past. David instantly divines her meaning, for they both know -Courage well enough to fear she may have run some terrible danger, and -seizing the lantern, hanging midway in the draw, David follows Sylvia -as fast as tottering limbs will carry him. What a sickening sensation -sweeps over him as the horses loom up in the darkness and he sees a -group of people crowding about something hung on the bridge! - -[Illustration: 0099] - -“She isn't deaded! she isn't deaded!” Sylvia joyfully calls out, and -that moment the light from the lantern falls athwart a prostrate little -figure in the midst of the group. - -“I think I can get up now” are the words that meet David's ear, and an -answering “God be praised!” escapes from his quivering lips. Then some -one turns the heads of the quieted horses, and two ladies, one on either -side of Courage, help her back to the house. Larry, who has heard the -commotion, succeeds in getting dressed and out to the door just as the -little party reach it. He starts alarmed and surprised at the sight -of Courage, but fortunately is too blind to see the alarming stains of -blood on her little white face, but the moment they enter the light the -others are quick to see them. Courage is lifted into David's big rocker, -and Larry, groping into his own room, brings a pillow for her back; -Sylvia disappears and returns in a trice with a towel and a basin of -water; Miss Julia, with shaking hands, measures something into a -glass; the other lady, with a little help from Courage, removes the -dust-begrimed coat, and then lays it very tenderly over a chair. And now -the color begins to surge back into the little pale face. The cut under -the curls, which is not severe enough to need a surgeon, is tightly -bound, and then at last they all sit down to get their breath for a -moment. The horses, which of course were none other than Miss Julia's -gray ponies, are secured to a rail outside, and David brings a strange -gentleman into the room. - -“This is my brother, Courage,” says Miss Julia--“he has often heard me -speak of you--and this lady is his wife.” - -Courage smiles in acknowledgment of the introduction, for, indeed, -she does not feel equal to talking yet, and so keeps perfectly quiet, -listening to all the others--to David's reiterated self-accusations for -forgetting, in his haste, to make sure that the children were clear -of the draw; to Sylvia's excited account of the way she had “jes' ter -scrabble” to get over in time; to Miss Julia's explanation of how they -had set out at that late hour, and on a sudden impulse, to pay a call -down at Elberon, and of how, in her eagerness to spend as little time -as possible on the road, she had forgotten to walk the ponies over the -draw; and then to her description of her terror when the scream smote -her ears, and she reined in her ponies so suddenly as to almost throw -them over backward; until, at last, Courage herself feels inclined to -put in a little word of her own. - -“And you didn't hear me call at all, Mr. David?” she asked in a low -little voice. - -“Never a word, darling--never a word. Oh, it's dreadful to think what -might ha' happened, and I so careless!” - -“It's all right now though, Mr. David,” Courage said comfortingly, “but -it was terrible to have to jump at the last moment like that. I thought -I couldn't at first, that no team would be likely to come over so late, -and then--oh, it's wonderful how many things you can think just in a -moment--I remembered that Miss Julia was over the draw, and I felt I -must try to do it,” and Courage looked toward Miss Julia with eyes that -said, “There is nothing in the world I would not try to do for you,” and -then what did Miss Julia herself do but break right down and cry. - -“Oh, why are you crying?” asked Courage, greatly troubled. - -“Because I cannot help it, Courage. It was so brave to risk so much, and -all for my sake, too.” - -“But I was not really brave, Miss Julia. You see”--and as though fully -convinced of the logic of her position--“I think I was not going to do -it at all till I remembered about you. And if I hadn't, and even if no -one had happened to come on the bridge, I should have been ashamed of it -always every time any one called me Courage.” - -“And so you are not going to take the least credit to yourself,” said -Mr. Everett, Miss Julia's brother. “Well, you certainly are a most -unheard-of little personage.” - -Courage was not at all sure whether this was complimentary or otherwise, -but no matter. She had not much thought or heed for anything beyond the -fact that Miss Julia was crying, and she very much wished she wouldn't. - -Meanwhile, Miss Julia's sister sat thinking her own thoughts with a sad, -far-away look in her eyes. She knew that little blue coat so well, and -this was not the first time she had come across it since, months before, -she had sent it away, expecting never to see it again. - -“Courage,” she asked at last in what seemed an opportune moment, “were -you not on a lighter that was run into by the St. Johns a few weeks -ago?” - -“Why, yes,” answered Courage, surprised; “and were you the lady and the -gentleman?” (glancing toward Mr. Everett). - -“Yes; we wanted to learn your name, but you and Sylvia here both -answered at once, so we could not make it out.” - -“But why did you want to know?” - -“Because I thought I recognized the little blue coat you had on, and now -that I have seen you again, I feel sure of it. I think it must have been -given to you by Miss Julia.” - -“Why, yes,” said Courage; “and did you know the little girl it used to -belong to?” - -“It belonged to my own little girl, Courage.” - -“To your little girl? Oh, I would love to have seen her wear it, it's -such a beautiful coat! Did she mind having it given away?” - -“Courage,” said Miss Julia sadly, “little Belle died last winter, and so -there was no longer any need for it.” - -“Oh, dat's how it was,” said practical Sylvia, who had listened -attentively to every word. “We've spec'lated of 'en an' over--ain't we, -Miss Courage?--why a jes-as-good-as-new coat was eber gib away.” - -“Hush, Sylvia!” whispered Courage, feeling instinctively that this -commonplace remark was untimely; and then by grace of the same beautiful -intuition she asked gently, “Did it make you feel very badly to see your -little Belle's coat on a strange little girl?” - -“It almost frightened me. Courage, for Belle had auburn curls, too, and -you seemed so like her as you stood there. Then, after a moment, when -I had had time to think, I felt pretty sure it must be Belle's own coat -that I saw.” - -“I am sorry that I happened to have it on,” said Courage; “I would not -like to have seen anything of my papa's on anybody else.” - -“And so I thought,” said Mrs. Everett, wondering that a child should so -apparently understand every phase of a great sorrow, “but I find I was -mistaken,” and Mrs. Everett, moving her chair close beside Courage, took -her little brown hand in hers, as she added: “More than once since that -evening it has been on my lips to ask Miss Julia if she knew who was the -owner of Belle's coat.” - -“And more than once,” said Miss Julia, “it has been on my lips to tell -without your asking, and then I feared only to start for you some train -of sad thoughts.” Miss Julia by this time had gotten the best of her -tears, and stood behind Courage affectionately stroking the beautiful -wavy hair, for both she and Mrs. Everett were longing to give expression -to the overpowering sense of gratitude welling up within them. - -“Do you know what the black bow is for?” Courage asked of Mrs. Everett. - -“I thought it was mourning for some one, perhaps.” - -“Yes; it is mourning for my papa. A little girl told me I ought to wear -all black clothes, but Miss Julia thought not; only she just tied this -bow on for me the last day of sewing-school, because I wanted to have -something that would tell that I was very lonely without him. Soldiers -wear mourning like that, you know.” - -All this while Larry had sat quietly on one side, his dimmed eyes -resting proudly on Courage; but now he had something to say on his own -account. - -“It was all my fault, sir,” he began abruptly, addressing Mr. -Everett--“that accident on the bay a few weeks back. I was losing my -sight, and was just going to give up my life on the water when I found -that Hugh Masterson had died, and that Courage there had set her heart -on spending the summer with me on the boat. And so I tried for her sake -to hold on a while longer, but it wa'nt no use, and I'd like to made an -end to us all that evening. I wish sometime when ye're aboard the -St. Johns ye'd have a word with the captain, and tell him how it all -happened, and that Larry Starr has not touched a drop of liquor these -twenty years; he thought I was drunk, you know, and no wonder.” - -“Indeed I will, Larry, and only too gladly,” Mr. Everett promised, -drawing closer to Larry's side, that they might talk further about it. - -Not long after this Miss Julia made a move to go, not, however, you -may be sure, until she had seen Courage tucked away in her own bed, -and dropping off into the soundest sort of a sleep the moment her tired -little head touched the pillow. But before Miss Julia actually gave -the reins to her ponies for the homeward drive there was a vigorous -hand-shaking on all sides, for the exciting experiences of the last hour -had made them all feel very near to each other. - -“Well, Julia, we must do something for that precious child,” said Mrs. -Everett as soon as the ponies struck the dirt road, and it was less of -an effort to speak than when their hoofs were clattering noisily on the -bridge. - -“And what had it best be?” asked Miss Julia, and yet with her own mind -quite made up on the subject. - -“Nothing less than to have her make her home with us always.” - -“Nothing less,” said Miss Julia earnestly. - -“Bless her brave heart! nothing less,” chimed in Mr. Everett; “but what -will become of poor Larry?” - -True enough! what would become of poor Larry? and would it be right -to ask him to make such a sacrifice? It was not necessary, however, to -discuss all the details of the beautiful plan just then, and even Mr. -Everett, who had raised the question, had faith to believe that somehow -or other everything could be satisfactorily arranged. For the remainder -of the drive home not a word was spoken. People who have just been face -to face with a great peril, and realize it, are likely to find thoughts -in their hearts quite too deep for utterance and too solemn. - - - - -L'ENVOI - - -You may not happen to know what this “l'envoi” means. Neither do I -exactly, only nowadays poets who try to make English poems like French -ones put it at the head of their last verse; so I have a notion to -follow their example and put it at the head of this last chapter. - -As to its meaning as the poets use it, I find that even some pretty wise -people are not able to enlighten us, so we'll have it mean just what we -choose, and say that it stands for the winding up of a story by which -you learn what became of all the people in it. At any rate, as that's -what this chapter's to be, we'll press this mysterious little L'Envoi -into service in lieu of such a long title. Confidentially, however, I -have an idea that it isn't “the thing” to wind up a story at all. -That to give you merely an intimation as to what probably happened to -Courage, and to leave you wholly in ignorance as to the others, would be -far more in keeping with modern story-telling; but why try to be modern -unless it is more satisfactory? Then I imagine you really would like to -know something more of the friends we have been summering with through -these eight chapters, and besides, if someday you should yourself go -driving over the South Shrewsbury draw, you would naturally expect to -at least have a chat with David Starr, feeling that he was a fixture, -whatever might have become of Larry and Courage and Sylvia. But alas! -that cannot be, and you ought to know it beforehand. The same little -house is there, and in summer weather the same boxes of geraniums, -verbena, and portulaca line the rail in front of it, but the old man at -present employed at the draw is as much of a stranger to me as to you. - -It is several years now since that eventful night on the bridge, and all -this while Courage has been living in Washington Square, for it had been -easily arranged with Larry that she should make her home with Miss Julia -and Mrs. Everett. Indeed, it had proved an immense relief to Larry's -anxious heart to know that her future would be so well provided for, and -it all came about at the right time, too, for the very next winter Larry -died. He had not been feeling well for a few days, and Sylvia, who had -been left behind at the bridge, wrote for Courage; and Courage, losing -not a moment, came in time to care for him for two whole weeks before -he passed away. His illness was not a painful one, and now that complete -darkness had closed in about him, he had no great wish to live. The many -mansions of the Father were very real to Larry, and the eyes that were -blind to all on earth seemed to look with wondrous keenness of vision -toward “the land that is very far off;” while to have Courage at his -side in this last illness summed up every earthly desire that remained -to him. He was buried in the cemetery over at Shrewsbury, and it was not -long before a grave was dug for faithful Bruce, who seemed to lose all -heart from the hour his master left him. - -When Courage went back to Washington Square, the day after the funeral, -Sylvia went with her, to assist in the care of a blessed Everett baby -that had lately come to gladden every one in the home; and Sylvia was -overjoyed to be once more under the same roof with Courage. - -For a year or two after that David continued to keep the draw, living -alone in the same way as before, which must have seemed a more lonely -way than ever, with Larry out of the world and Courage and Sylvia quite -the same as out of it, as far as he was concerned. But finally David had -to give up. “The rheumatics,” as he said, “got hold of him so drefful -bad that there was no help for it but that he must just go and be -beholden to his daughter,” which, as you can imagine, must have been no -little trial to independent old David. - -And Courage! brave little Courage! just how does the world fare with -her? Well, she is quite a young lady by this time, with the beautiful -auburn curls twisted into a knot, and dresses that sometimes have trains -to them, and yet she is just the same Courage still. It seems to Mr. -and Mrs. Everett as though they could hardly have loved their own -little Belle more, while to Miss Julia it seems as though she could not -possibly live without her; and no one who truly knows Courage wonders -at this for a moment. As for Courage herself, she looks up to Miss Julia -with all the saint-like adoration of the old sewing-school days, and -Miss Julia is every whit worthy of such loyal devotion. At the same -time, they are the best of friends. - -[Illustration: 0111] - -During these five years of daily companionship Miss Julia has been -unconsciously training Courage to be just such another noble woman as -she is herself, and so they have been constantly growing nearer and -still nearer to each other, if that were possible. They love the same -books, they enjoy the same things, and now that regular school-life is -over for Courage, they have the happiest sort of time together, day in -and day out. Often, indeed, they have a very merry time of it, largely -accounted for by the fact that Courage, being well and strong, as well -as young, is often brimming over with a contagious buoyancy, sometimes -called animal spirits, but to my thinking, it deserves a better name -than that. - -Everywhere that Miss Julia goes Courage goes too that is, if she is -wanted (and seldom is she not), and one of the places where they go most -frequently, and never empty-handed, is to a great hospital, where, since -little lame Joe died, Mary Duff has become one of the sisters who give -their lives to caring for sick children. - -Courage even has a class next to Miss Julia's in the sewing-school where -she used to be a scholar. Now and then she feels some little finger -pointing at her, and knows well enough what is being said. One Saturday -afternoon, when on her way to the chapel, she noticed two rather unkempt -little specimens in close conference. “Yes, that's her,” she heard -the smaller girl exclaim as she neared them, “and ain't she sweet and -stylish! Well, she used to belong down here somewhere, but now she lives -in a beautiful house with Miss Julia in Washington Square.” - -“Like as not she didn't do nothin' to deserve it, either,” said the -larger girl enviously, with a sullen shrug of her shoulders. - -“Didn't do nothin'? Well, perhaps you don't know that she just saved -Miss Julia's life; that's something, ain't it?” And with the color -mantling forehead and cheeks Courage hurried on, grateful for the -championship of her unknown little friend. - -[Illustration: 0114] - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Courage, by Ruth Ogden - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COURAGE *** - -***** This file should be named 51924-0.txt or 51924-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/2/51924/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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