It is strange and beautiful,” thought Courage as she moved busily about
her room, putting one thing and another into a trunk that stood open
before the fireplace; “strange and beautiful how difficulties take to
themselves wings, when you once make up your mind what is right to do
and then go straight ahead and do it.”
“Miss Courage,” said a young coloured girl, who was leaning over the bed
trying to fold a black dress in a fashion that should leave no creases
to show for its packing, “I felt all along there was nothing else for
you to do.”
“Then, Sylvia, why did you not say so?” Courage asked, a little sharply.
“You knew how hard it was for me to come to any decision. It was not
because you were afraid to say so, was it?”
“Afraid?” and a merry look shone for a moment in Sylvia’s eyes. “No, I
don’t believe I ever could grow afraid of the little curly-headed girl
I used to work for when we {030}were both children together. No, indeed;
it was only because I thought you ought to see it so yourself. It seemed
as though it was just as plain a duty as the hand before your face, and
I felt sure you would come to it, as you have, if we only gave you time
enough.” It was a comfort to Courage to feel that Sylvia so thoroughly
understood her. Indeed, they were far more to each other than mistress
and maid; they were true friends these two, whose only home for a while
had been Larry Starr’s brave lighter, and for both of whom he had cared
in the same kind, fatherly way. Of course you do not understand about
Larry or Larry’s lighter, unless you have read “Courage,” but then on
the other hand there is no reason why you need to understand. Nor
was Sylvia the only one who approved of what Courage had done. The
Elversons, Miss Julia’s brother and his wife, and with whom Courage
and Miss Julia had lived, were as glad as glad could be to have Courage
carry out Miss Julia’s plan; and so in fact was everybody who saw how
sad and lonely Courage was, and what a blessing anything that would
occupy her thoughts must be to her. And so, in the light of all this,
you can see how sad it would have been if Courage had yielded to her
fears, and persistently turned away {031}from a duty, in very truth as
plain as the hand before your face, as Sylvia had put it. But Courage
had not turned away, nor for one instant wavered from the moment her
resolve was taken.
And now at last the day for the start had dawned. The little Bennetts
had been awake at sunrise. Fancy having three months of Christmas ahead
of you--for it seemed just as fine as that to them. It was a wonder they
had slept at all. They had read about brooks and hills and valleys, and
woods where all manner of beautiful wild things were growing; of herds
of cow’s grazing in grassy pastures; of loads of hay with children
riding atop of them, and of the untold delights of a hay-loft. And
now they were going to know and enjoy every one of these delights
for themselves. Why, they could not even feel sad about leaving their
mother, and indeed she was as radiant as they at the thought of their
going.
“You see,” she explained to them, “I shall have the baby for company,
and such a beautiful time to rest; and your father and I will take a
sail now and then down the bay, or go to the park for the day in the
very warm weather; and then it is going to be such a comfort to have
your father home for two whole months, and that couldn’t have happened
{032}either, you know, if you had not been going away for the summer.”
The children’s father, Captain Bennett, was one of the pilots who earn
their living by bringing the great ocean steamers into the harbour, and
often he would be aboard the pilot-boat, at sea for weeks at a time,
waiting his turn to take the helm of one of the incoming steamers, and
then, as like as not, he would have to put straight to sea again,
for there were many to keep, and there was need for every hard-earned
dollar. But the Captain’s chance for a vacation had come with the
children’s. He could afford to take it, since four of his little family
were to be provided for, for the entire summer, and so every one was
happy and every one believed that somehow Miss Julia must know and be so
glad for them all.
But this was the day for the start, as I told you, and the children had
started. They were in the waiting-room at the foot of Cortlandt Street,
where Courage was to meet them.
“And here she is,” exclaimed Mary, with a great sigh of relief, being
the first to espy Courage coming through the gate of the ferry-house,
“and doesn’t she look lovely!” Mary was right; Courage did look
lovely as, with Sylvia close behind her, she walked the length of the
waiting-room to where the little group {033}were standing. Other people
thought so too, as she passed, and watched her with keenest interest.
Her stylish black dress and black sailor hat were wonderfully becoming,
and the face that had been so pale and sad was flushed with pleasure
now, and with the rather uncomfortable consciousness that she and her
little party could scarcely fail to be the observed of all observers.
Mrs. Bennett was there, of course, to see them off, and the baby and
the Captain, and it must be confessed that the eyes of both father
and mother grew a little misty as they said “Good-bye” to their little
flock. The girl contingent was a trifle misty, too, but the baby was
the only one who really cried outright. However, I half believe that was
because he wanted a banana that hung in a fruit stand near by, and not
at all because the children were going to leave him; some babies seem to
have so very little feeling. But now it was time to go aboard the boat,
and the Captain and Mrs. Bennett saw the last of the little party
as they disappeared within the ferry-boat cabin, and then in fifteen
minutes more the same little party was ranged along one side of a parlor
car on the “Washington Limited”; then the wheels slowly and noiselessly
commenced to turn and they were really off; all of the little party’s
hearts thrilling {034}with the thought, and all sitting up as prim
as you please, in their drawing-room chairs, quite overawed with the
magnificence of their surroundings and the unparalleled importance of
the occasion.
Courage, very much amused, watched them for a few moments and then
suggested that they should settle themselves for the journey. Bags
were stowed away in the racks overhead, coats and hats banished to coat
hooks, and one thing and another properly adjusted, until at last four
little pair of hands having placed four little footstools at exactly the
desired angle, four pair of brand-new russet shoes found a resting-place
rather conspicuously atop of them, and the four children leaned
comfortably back in the large, upholstered chairs as though now at last
permanently established for the entire length of the journey. But of
course no amount of adjusting and arranging really meant anything of
that sort, or that they could be able to sit still for more than five
minutes at a time, and Courage and Sylvia soon had to put their wits
to work to think up ways of keeping the restless little company in some
sort of order. But fortunately none of the fellow-passengers appeared
disturbed thereby. On the contrary, they seemed very much interested,
and finally a handsome {035}old gentleman came down the aisle, and
leaning over the chair in which Courage was sitting, said courteously:
“My dear young lady, if you will pardon an old man’s curiosity, and do
not for any reason mind telling me, I should very much like to know what
you are doing, and where you are going with this little family?”
“And I am very glad to tell you,” answered Courage cordially, for since
that summer spent with Larry there had always been such a very warm
corner in her heart for all old people; and Teddy, who was sitting next
to Courage, had the grace to offer the old gentleman a chair. Then for
some time he listened intently, his kind old face glowing with pleasure
as Courage told him all about the children, and finally of the cosy
little cottage awaiting their coming down in Virginia.
“But in doing all this,” Courage concluded, “I am simply carrying out
the plans of my dearest friend, Miss Julia Everett.”
“Oh, you don’t mean it!” the old gentleman exclaimed, his voice
trembling. “I knew Miss Everett well. She always stopped with me when
she came to Washington.”
“Can it be that you are old Colonel Anderson?”
“Yes, I am Colonel Anderson, and I suppose {036}I am old,” he added,
smiling; “and can it be you are young Miss Courage, of whom I have heard
so often?”
“Yes, I am Courage, but you will excuse me, won’t you, for speaking as I
did? I only had happened to hear Miss Julia----”
Courage hesitated.
“Oh, yes, dear child, I understand perfectly. You used to hear Miss
Julia speak of me as old Colonel Anderson, and so I am, and I am not
ashamed of it either, although I could not resist the temptation to
tease you a little, which was very rude of me. But now, can it be that
it is to Miss Julia’s estate near Arlington that you are going--to the
home that her Uncle Everett left her when she was just a little slip of
a girl, years before the war?”
“Yes, that is exactly where, but I have never seen it.”
“Well, you will love it when you do. It is the dearest little spot in
the world. I will drive out some day and take luncheon with you and the
children, if I should happen to have an invitation. I could tell you
some interesting things about the old place.”
“Oh, will you come?” exclaimed Mary and Gertrude in one breath, for with
a curiosity as pardonable, I think, as that of old Mr. Anderson, all of
the children had grouped themselves {037}about Courage, and had listened
with keenest interest to every word spoken. And so one more happy
anticipation was added to the many with which their happy hearts were
overflowing.
At last the train steamed into Washington, although at times it had
seemed to the children as though it never would, and then a carriage was
soon secured, and, three on a seat, the little party crowded into it,
and they were off for their eight mile drive to Arlington.
{038}