Read Ebook: Courage A story wherein every one comes to the conclusion that the Courage in question proved a courage worth having by Ogden Ruth Gordon F C Illustrator

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Ebook has 316 lines and 21783 words, and 7 pages

Illustrator: Frederick C. Gordon

COURAGE

A Story Wherein Every One Comes To The Conclusion That The Courage In Question Proved A Courage Worth Having

Illustrated by Frederick C. Gordon

New York

Frederick A. Stokes Company

COURAGE

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.

"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" , "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.

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.

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