ing busily engaged in preparations for
the morrow's journey. "And now, auntie," said Walter, "here are two
very docile and attentive scholars come for a promised lesson on moral
courage."

"Oh, but I have not promised them a lesson," said Miss Huntingdon,
laughing.

"No, auntie, perhaps not; but your hands have,--these hands, which were
crossed at breakfast, they have promised the lesson."

"Well, dear boy, that is true in a measure, but I hardly know how to
begin. I have nothing to rebuke or find fault with in you, unless it
was just a little want of consideration in your dealing with Amos; but I
am sure you meant no unkindness."

"Certainly not, auntie, not a bit of it. But now I don't quite
understand about Amos and his leaving off taking butter. It has
something to do with that selling of his pony, I'm sure. Perhaps you
can explain it, and give us a lesson of moral courage from it,
illustrated by historical examples."

"I will try, dear boy. The fact is--and I am under no promise of
secrecy in the matter; for while Amos is not one to sound a trumpet
before him to proclaim his good deeds, he has no wish to hide them, as
though he were half-ashamed of them--the fact is that Amos wishes to
save every penny just now, in order to be perfectly free to carry out
anything he may see it right to undertake in this scheme of his for
bringing back your dear mother once more amongst us. Every farthing
spent on himself he grudges, and he would not for the world draw on your
father; so he has not only sold his pony, but has also given up taking
butter at meals, having made me promise, as I am housekeeper and hold
the purse, to give him in money the worth of the butter he would eat,
that he may put it to this special fund for his cherished scheme. And I
have gladly consented to his wish. It is but a small matter, and he
knows it, but it is through small things that great good is brought
about. As Martin Tupper says, `Trifles light as air are levers in the
building up of character.' This self-denial on the part of dear Amos
brings out and heightens the nobility of his character; and when the
occasion for such self-denial shall have passed away, it will leave him
far advanced on the upward and heavenward road."

"He's a brick, every inch of him," said Walter, in a voice half-choked
with tears; "and much more than a brick too--he's a great square block
of marble, or Scotch granite, as fine a one as ever Freemason tap