There was only one Sunday at home before the day came for going. It was a cold and snowy day; too cold, it was decided, for the children to go to church, so in the afternoon their mother sent for them all to read with her. The stormy weather led to their talking about adventures in winter—about poor travellers being lost in the snow, and the brave things that had been done to rescue them sometimes, and the children's mother told them some stories which they thought very interesting.
'What is "brave?"' asked Denis suddenly. He was sitting beside his mother, and was holding her hand.
Mother looked round.
'Suppose you each answer Denis's question?' she said. 'I'll begin with you, Alex, as you're the oldest. What does true bravery mean?'
'Den didn't say "true" bravery, mother,' objected Linda, who had already shrugged her plump shoulders contemptuously at her little brother's question, with a muttered 'So silly—anybody could tell that.'—'He only said, "what does 'brave' mean?" If you say "true bravery," it gets more puzzling.'
Mother looked at Linda with a rather amused expression.
'That is why I added the word you object to, my dear Linda. I want you all to think about it a little, not just to answer what "anybody can tell," without reflecting at all.' Linda blushed. Sometimes it was annoying that mother had such quick ears. But she said nothing. 'Come, Alex,' continued mother, 'what is true bravery?'
'Oh, I don't know. I don't see anything puzzling,' said Alex, looking puzzled, nevertheless. 'It just means not being afraid of anything. It's just the way people are made. Some are afraid, and some aren't. I'm never afraid, but it's just that I'm made that way,' he went on.
'But if that's it, it has nothing to do with being good,' said Lambert, who was more thoughtful than Alex. 'I mean, it's no use thinking about a thing that comes of itself like that, mother. And yet being brave is always counted as if it was something good, something to be praised for.'