Amos Huntingdon | Page 6

shall have
broken bones, and broken necks too, perhaps, one of these days."
"I hope, Walter," said his sister, "the horses were not seriously injured."
"No, I think not," was his reply; "nothing very much to speak of.
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