necks too, perhaps, one of these days."

"I hope, Walter," said his sister, "the horses were not seriously
injured."

"No, I think not," was his reply; "nothing very much to speak of.
Charlie has cut one of his hind legs rather badly,--that must have been
when he flung out and broke away; but Beauty hasn't got a scratch, I'm
pleased to say, and seems all right."

"And yourself, Walter?"

"Oh, I'm all safe and sound, except a few bruises and a bit of a
sprained wrist.--And now, my boy, Walter, I must thank you once more for
your courage and spirit. But for you, your aunt and myself might have
been lying at the bottom of the chalk-pit, instead of sitting here at
the breakfast-table."

Walter laughed his thanks for the praise, declaring that he exceedingly
enjoyed getting his father and aunt on to dry land, only he was sorry
for the carriage and horses. But here the butler--who was an old and
privileged servant in the family, and therefore considered himself at
liberty to offer occasionally a remark when anything was discussed at
table in which he was personally interested--interrupted.

"If you please, sir, I think Master Amos hasn't had his share of the
praise. 'Twas him as wouldn't let us cut the traces, and then stood by
Beauty and kept her still. I don't know where you'd have been, sir, nor
Miss Huntingdon neither, if it hadn't been for Master Amos's presence of
mind."

"Ah, well, perhaps so," said his master, not best pleased with the
remark; while Amos turned red, and motioned to the butler to keep
silent. "Presence of mind is a very useful thing in its way, no doubt;
but give me good manly courage,--there's nothing like that, to my
mind.--What do _you_ say, Kate?"

"Well, Walter," replied his sister slowly and gravely, "I am afraid I
can hardly quite agree with you there. Not that I wish to take away any
of the credit which is undoubtedly due to Walter. I am sure we are all
deeply indebted to him; and yet I cannot but feel that we are equally
indebted to Amos's presence of mind."

"Oh, give him his due, by all means," said the squire, a little nettled
at his sister's remark; "but, after all, good old English courage for
me. But, of course, as a woman, you naturally don't value courage as we
men do."

"Do you think not, Walter? Perhaps some of us do not admire courage
quite in the same way, or the same sort of courage most; but I think
there can be no one of right feeling, either man or woman,