You know the story that Courage told—if not you may read it if you have a mind, in the little book to which this is a sequel. At the outset, of course, she told how she had come by her unusual name, which was the greatest relief to Joe and Brevet. They had wanted so much to have that explained the whole summer through and yet had not quite liked to ask. The remainder of the story was new to all save Grandma Ellis, and Courage, now that she had really started, tried to be faithful to every detail that could possibly have any interest, from the day of her christening to the night when the draw was open and she took her wild leap in the darkness. When she had finished every one sat perfectly still for a minute. Courage told her own story much better than any one else has told or could tell it, and her great absorbing love for Miss Julia shone out like a golden thread all through the telling. Grandma Ellis was the first to draw a long breath and break the silence.
“Oh, but I wish I might have known your Miss Julia,” she said.
“You know somebody who is just exactly like her,” said Mary Bennett, putting her arm about Courage; “just exactly!” and this she said very slowly and firmly, as though she thought Courage might be inclined to differ with her, but Courage only said, “Dear child,” in a low whisper, so grateful was she for the most blessed praise that could possibly come to her.
“Let us see Miss Julia’s picture now, please,” urged the children, and Courage drew from her dress an exquisite miniature, set in pearls, and attached to a violet ribbon worn about her neck. They had all seen it many a time before, but it seemed to take on a new beauty in the light of all they had been hearing. It was when the picture had been passed slowly from hand to hand, and the natural thing seemed to be for the little party to break up, that Allan was the first to discover that one of the party had disappeared.
“Why, where is Brevet?” he exclaimed, as though part of his personal belongings had given him the slip.
“Why, sure ‘nuff, where is dat chile?” queried Joe, getting up from his chair a little stiffly and peering up to the gallery roof and to the branches of the trees, as though the most unlikely spot imaginable was precisely the spot in which to expect to find his little Captain. “Seems to me it looks a little ugly over there toward Fort Meyer,” he added, stepping to the end of the porch and shading his eyes with his hand.
At these words Harry, who had been thinking over all he had heard, rose noiselessly from the lounge and slipped away to the rear of the house. There he saw at a glance that it did indeed look more than “a little ugly” over toward Fort Meyer. A large, funnel-shaped cloud of a dark brown color loomed high on the horizon and Harry’s heart sank within him. He had seen and known during a summer’s surveying in the West, the wreck and ruin that may follow in the train of such a cloud, and he knew that everything should be gotten into shape as quickly as possible. Hurrying quickly to the front porch he said, with as much composure as he could muster:
“You would better go directly into the house, Grandma, we may be going to have quite a storm. Send the children through all the rooms and have every shutter drawn to, and every window closed and fastened.”
“But Brevet,” said Grandma, trying her best to keep her voice steady, “no one knows where Brevet is. No one saw him go, or has any idea where he went.”
“Oh, he can’t be far away,” Harry answered, cheerily. “Joe and I will find him in a jiffy. Now you do as I say, Grandma,” gently pushing her toward the door, “and, children, whisk these chairs into the house, and then make for the doors and windows and close them tightly. Don’t stop to look, or lose a single minute.”