Amos Huntingdon | Page 6

Charlie has cut one of his hind legs rather badly,--that must have been when he flung out and broke away; but Beauty hasn't got a scratch, I'm pleased to say, and seems all right."
"And yourself, Walter?"
"Oh, I'm all safe and sound, except a few bruises and a bit of a sprained wrist.--And now, my boy, Walter, I must thank you once more for your courage and spirit. But for you, your aunt and myself might have been lying at the bottom of the chalk-pit, instead of sitting here at the breakfast-table."
Walter laughed his thanks for the praise, declaring that he exceedingly enjoyed getting his father and aunt on to dry land, only he was sorry for the carriage and horses. But here the butler--who was an old and privileged servant in the family, and therefore considered himself at liberty to offer occasionally a remark when anything was discussed at table in which he was personally interested--interrupted.
"If you please, sir, I think Master Amos hasn't had his share of the praise. 'Twas him as wouldn't let us cut the traces, and then stood by Beauty and kept her still. I don't know where you'd have been, sir, nor Miss Huntingdon neither, if it hadn't been for Master Amos's presence of mind."
"Ah, well, perhaps so," said his master, not best pleased with the remark; while Amos turned red, and motioned to the butler to keep silent. "Presence of mind is a very useful thing in its way, no doubt; but give me good manly courage,--there's nothing like that, to my mind.--What do you say, Kate?"
"Well, Walter," replied his sister slowly and gravely, "I am afraid I can hardly quite agree with you there. Not that I wish to take away any of the credit which is undoubtedly due to Walter. I am sure we are all deeply indebted to him; and yet I cannot but feel that we are equally indebted to Amos's presence of mind."
"Oh, give him his due, by all means," said the squire, a little nettled at his sister's remark; "but, after all, good old English courage for me. But, of course, as a woman, you naturally don't value courage as we men do."
"Do you think not, Walter? Perhaps some of us do not admire courage quite in the same way, or the same sort of courage most; but I think there can be no one of right feeling, either man or woman, who does not admire real courage."
"I don't know what you mean, Kate, about `the same sort of courage.' Courage is courage, I suppose, pretty much the same in everybody who has it."
"I was thinking of moral courage," replied the other quietly; "and that often goes with presence of mind."
"Moral courage! moral courage! I don't understand you," said her brother impatiently. "What do you mean by moral courage?"
"Well, dear brother, I don't want to vex you; I was only replying to your question. I admire natural courage, however it is shown, but I admire moral courage most."
"Well, but you have not told me what you mean by moral courage."
"I will try and explain myself then. Moral courage, as I understand it, is shown when a person has the bravery and strength of character to act from principle, when doing so may subject him, and he knows it, to misunderstanding, misrepresentation, opposition, ridicule, or persecution."
The squire was silent for a moment, and fidgeted on his chair. Amos coloured and cast down his eyes; while his brother looked up at his aunt with an expression on his face of mingled annoyance and defiance. Then Mr Huntingdon asked, "Well, but what's to hinder a person having both what I should call old-fashioned courage and your moral courage at the same time?"
"Nothing to hinder it, necessarily," replied Miss Huntingdon. "Very commonly, however, they do not go together; or perhaps I ought rather to say, that while persons who have moral courage often have natural courage too, a great many persons who have natural courage have no moral courage."
"You mean, aunt, I suppose," said her nephew Walter, rather sarcastically, "that the one's all `dash' and the other all `duty.'"
"Something of the kind, Walter," replied his aunt. "The one acts upon a sudden impulse, or on the spur of the moment, or from natural spirit; the other acts steadily, and from deliberate conviction."
"Can you give us an example, aunt?" asked the boy, but now with more of respect and less of irritation in his manner.
"Yes, I can," she replied; "and I will do so if you like, and my example shall be that of one who combined both natural and moral courage. My moral hero is Christopher Columbus."
"A regular brick of a man, I allow; but, dear aunt, pray go on."
"Well, then, I have always had a special admiration for Columbus because of