“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.
CHAPTER II.—ON THE WATCH.
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'?”