ntie, what you shall do--that is to say, of course, if
you don't mind. Whenever you see me showing moral cowardice, or want of
moral courage, and I suppose that comes much to the same thing, and you
would like to give me a hint without speaking, would you put one of your
hands quietly on the table, and then the other across it--just so--and
leave them crossed till I notice them?"

"Yes, Walter, I can do that, and I _will_ do it; though I daresay you
will sometimes think me hard and severe."

"Never mind that, auntie; it will do me good."

"Well, dear boy, and what is the other thing I am to promise?"

"Why, this,--I want you, the first opportunity after the hint, when you
and I are alone together, to tell me some story--it must be a true one,
mind--of some good man or woman, or boy or girl, who has shown moral
courage just where I didn't show it. `Example is better than precept,'
they say, and I am sure it is a great help to me; for I shan't forget
Christopher Columbus and his steady moral courage in a hurry."

"I am very glad to hear what you say, Walter," replied his aunt; "and it
will give me great pleasure to do what you wish. My dear, dear nephew,
I do earnestly desire to see you grow up into a truly noble man, and I
want to be, as far as God permits me, in the place of a mother to you."

As Miss Huntingdon uttered these words with deep emotion, Walter flung
his arms passionately round her, and, sinking on his knees, buried his
face in her lap, while tears and sobs, such as he was little accustomed
to give vent to, burst from him.

"O auntie!" he said vehemently, when he had a little recovered himself,
"I know I am not what I ought to be, with all my dash and courage, which
pleases father so much. I'm quite sure that there's a deal of humbug in
me after all. It's very nice to please him, and to hear him praise me
and call me brave; but I should like to please you too. It would be
worth more, in one way, to have _your_ praise, though father is very
kind."

"Well, my dear boy, I hope you will be able to please me too, and,
better still, to please God." She spoke gently and almost sadly as she
said these words, kissing at the same time Walter's fair brow.

"I'm afraid, auntie," was the boy's reply, "I don't think much about
that. But Amos does, I know; and though I laugh at him sometimes, yet I
respect him for all that, and I believe he will turn out the true hero
after all."

CHAPTER FOUR.

T