CHAPTER IV.—EVERYBODY HAPPY.
It is strange and beautiful,” thought Courage as she moved busily about her room, putting one thing and another into a trunk that stood open before the fireplace; “strange and beautiful how difficulties take to themselves wings, when you once make up your mind what is right to do and then go straight ahead and do it.”
“Miss Courage,” said a young coloured girl, who was leaning over the bed trying to fold a black dress in a fashion that should leave no creases to show for its packing, “I felt all along there was nothing else for you to do.”
“Then, Sylvia, why did you not say so?” Courage asked, a little sharply. “You knew how hard it was for me to come to any decision. It was not because you were afraid to say so, was it?”
“Afraid?” and a merry look shone for a moment in Sylvia’s eyes. “No, I don’t believe I ever could grow afraid of the little curly-headed girl I used to work for when we were both children together. No, indeed; it was only because I thought you ought to see it so yourself. It seemed as though it was just as plain a duty as the hand before your face, and I felt sure you would come to it, as you have, if we only gave you time enough.” It was a comfort to Courage to feel that Sylvia so thoroughly understood her. Indeed, they were far more to each other than mistress and maid; they were true friends these two, whose only home for a while had been Larry Starr’s brave lighter, and for both of whom he had cared in the same kind, fatherly way. Of course you do not understand about Larry or Larry’s lighter, unless you have read “Courage,” but then on the other hand there is no reason why you need to understand. Nor was Sylvia the only one who approved of what Courage had done. The Elversons, Miss Julia’s brother and his wife, and with whom Courage and Miss Julia had lived, were as glad as glad could be to have Courage carry out Miss Julia’s plan; and so in fact was everybody who saw how sad and lonely Courage was, and what a blessing anything that would occupy her thoughts must be to her. And so, in the light of all this, you can see how sad it would have been if Courage had yielded to her fears, and persistently turned away from a duty, in very truth as plain as the hand before your face, as Sylvia had put it. But Courage had not turned away, nor for one instant wavered from the moment her resolve was taken.
And now at last the day for the start had dawned. The little Bennetts had been awake at sunrise. Fancy having three months of Christmas ahead of you—for it seemed just as fine as that to them. It was a wonder they had slept at all. They had read about brooks and hills and valleys, and woods where all manner of beautiful wild things were growing; of herds of cow’s grazing in grassy pastures; of loads of hay with children riding atop of them, and of the untold delights of a hay-loft. And now they were going to know and enjoy every one of these delights for themselves. Why, they could not even feel sad about leaving their mother, and indeed she was as radiant as they at the thought of their going.
“You see,” she explained to them, “I shall have the baby for company, and such a beautiful time to rest; and your father and I will take a sail now and then down the bay, or go to the park for the day in the very warm weather; and then it is going to be such a comfort to have your father home for two whole months, and that couldn’t have happened either, you know, if you had not been going away for the summer.” The children’s father, Captain Bennett, was one of the pilots who earn their living by bringing the great ocean steamers into the harbour, and often he would be aboard the pilot-boat, at sea for weeks at a time, waiting his turn to take the helm of one of the incoming steamers, and then, as like as not, he would have to put straight to sea again, for there were many to keep, and there was need for every hard-earned dollar. But the Captain’s chance for a vacation had come with the children’s. He could afford to take it, since four of his little family were to be provided for, for the entire summer, and so every one was happy and every one believed that somehow Miss Julia must know and be so glad for them all.
But this was the day for the start, as I told you, and the children had started. They were in the waiting-room at the foot of Cortlandt Street, where Courage was to meet them.