"Why, of course there is. Picking up a shell just before it bursts in a hospital tent, and throwing it out of the door, is presence of mind."
"Yes, and tying a string round the right place on your leg when you've cut an artery," added Harry, eagerly.
"Swallowing a quart of whiskey when a rattlesnake bites you," suggested Jack.
"Saving the silver, instead of the waste-paper basket, when the house is on fire," put in Erma.
Dolly looked from one to the other.
"What funny things!" she cried. "I don't believe you know anything about it. Mamma, tell me what it really means."
"I think," said Mrs. Ware, in those gentle tones to which her children always listened, "that presence of mind means keeping cool, and having your wits about you, at critical moments. Our minds—our reasoning faculties, that is—are apt to be stunned or shocked when we are suddenly frightened or excited; they leave us, and go away, as it were, and it is only afterward that we pick ourselves up, and realize what we ought to have done. To act coolly and sensibly in the face of danger is a fine thing, and one to be proud of."
"Should you be proud of me if I showed presence of mind?" asked Dolly, leaning her arms on her mother's lap.
"Very proud," replied Mrs. Ware, smiling as she stroked the brown head,—"very proud, indeed."
"I mean to do it," said Dolly, in a firm tone.