Amos Huntingdon | Page 8

about moral courage, and I begin to see that I am uncommonly short of
it, and that Amos has got my share of it as well as his own."
"But that need not be, Walter," said his aunt; "at least it need not
continue to be so."
"I don't know, auntie; perhaps not. But, at any rate, what father calls
old-fashioned courage is more in my line; and yet I don't want to be
quite without moral courage as well,--so will you promise me just two
things?"
"What are they, Walter?"
"Why, the first is to give me a bit of a hint whenever you see me--what
I suppose I ought to call acting like a moral coward."
"Well, dear boy, I can do that. But how am I to give the hint if others
are by? for you would not like me to speak out before your father or the
servants."
"I'll tell you, auntie, what you shall do--that is to say, of course, if you
don't mind. Whenever you see me showing moral cowardice, or want
of moral courage, and I suppose that comes much to the same thing,
and you would like to give me a hint without speaking, would you put
one of your hands quietly on the table, and then the other across it--just
so--and leave them crossed till I notice them?"
"Yes, Walter, I can do that, and I will do it; though I daresay you will
sometimes think me hard and severe."

"Never mind that, auntie; it will do me good."
"Well, dear boy, and what is the other thing I am to promise?"
"Why, this,--I want you, the first opportunity after the hint, when you
and I are alone together, to tell me some story--it must be a true one,
mind--of some good man or woman, or boy or girl, who has shown
moral courage just where I didn't show it. `Example is better than
precept,' they say, and I am sure it is a great help to me; for I shan't
forget Christopher Columbus and his steady moral courage in a hurry."
"I am very glad to hear what you say, Walter," replied his aunt; "and it
will give me great pleasure to do what you wish. My dear, dear nephew,
I do earnestly desire to see you grow up into a truly noble man, and I
want to be, as far as God permits me, in the place of a mother to you."
As Miss Huntingdon uttered these words with deep emotion, Walter
flung his arms passionately round her, and, sinking on his knees, buried
his face in her lap, while tears and sobs, such as he was little
accustomed to give vent to, burst from him.
"O auntie!" he said vehemently, when he had a little recovered himself,
"I know I am not what I ought to be, with all my dash and courage,
which pleases father so much. I'm quite sure that there's a deal of
humbug in me after all. It's very nice to please him, and to hear him
praise me and call me brave; but I should like to please you too. It
would be worth more, in one way, to have your praise, though father is
very kind."
"Well, my dear boy, I hope you will be able to please me too, and,
better still, to please God." She spoke gently and almost sadly as she
said these words, kissing at the same time Walter's fair brow.
"I'm afraid, auntie," was the boy's reply, "I don't think much about that.
But Amos does, I know; and though I laugh at him sometimes, yet I
respect him for all that, and I believe he will turn out the true hero after
all."

CHAPTER FOUR.
THE CRIPPLED HORSE.
Nature and circumstances had produced widely differing characters in
the two brothers. Walter, forward enough by natural temperament, and
ready to assert himself on all occasions, was brought more forward still
and encouraged in self-esteem and self-indulgence, by the injudicious
fondness of both his parents. Handsome in person, with a merry smile
and a ripple of joyousness rarely absent from his bright face, he was the
favourite of all guests at his father's house, and a sharer in their
field-sports and pastimes. That his father and mother loved him better
than they loved Amos it was impossible for him not to see; and, as he
grew to mature boyhood, a feeling of envy, when he heard both parents
regret that himself was not their heir, drew his heart further and further
from his elder brother, and led him to exhibit what he considered his
superiority to him as ostentatiously as possible, that all men might see
what a mistake Nature had made in the order of time in which she