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Courage (Dramatic Reading)

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<h2> CHAPTER II.—ON THE WATCH. </h2> At the time of the commencement of our story Courage was twelve years old. To be sure, she was only six over in that little first chapter, but to be quite honest, that wasn't a first chapter at all. It was simply what is termed an introduction, but we did not dare to mention the fact, because, if you will believe it, that is something many people cannot be persuaded to read. So the real story commences with a twelve-year-old Courage standing one May morning on the edge of a wharf at the foot of a West side street. The wind was tossing her auburn hair and winding her little plaid skirt close about her, but was not strong enough by half to blow a sad, wistful look from her brown eyes. Morning after morning she had taken her position at exactly the same spot, and there had sat or stood for hours at a time. The men who worked on the wharf had come to know her, and some of them to wish her a cherry good-morning as she tripped by. It was evident that she was watching for somebody, and that the somebody did not come. After awhile they began to feel sorry for her, and finally one of them—Big Bob they called him—resolved to stroll out to where she was standing that breezy May morning and have a word with her. “Be yez watchin' for some one, miss?” he said. “Yes,” answered Courage; “I've been watching a great many days.” “That's what the men was a-noticin', miss. Is it for yer father ye're lookin'?” “No, not for him and there was a sadness in her voice which even the big burly Scotchman was not slow to detect. “Mayhap ye've no longer a right to be lookin' for him on ony o' this world's waters,” said the man, gazing down sympathetically over the ledge of his great folded arms. Courage bit her lip, and the tears sprang into her eyes, but she managed to answer, “My father died two weeks ago, sir—just two weeks ago to-day,” while the man looked the sympathy he could not speak. “That is why I am watching for Larry,” Courage added. “For Larry!” he exclaimed. “Is it for Larry Starr ye're watchin'?” “Why, yes,” said Courage, as though she thought any one should have known that; “do you know him?” “Of course I do. Every 'longshoreman knows Larry.” “Have you seen him lately?” very eagerly. “No, not for a twelvemonth; but come to think of it, he often ties up at this very wharf.” “Yes, often,” said Courage; “but it's two months now since he's been here, and he never stays away so long as that. You don't think”—she paused a moment, as though afraid to give words to her fears—“you don't think, do you, that he can have died too, somewhere?” Poor little Courage! with her mother dead since her babyhood and her father lately gone from her, no wonder she felt it more than possible that Larry would never come back. “Oh, no, miss,” said the man reassuringly; “he'd never a-died without our a-hearin' of it; still, it's some old he's a-gettin', is Larry.” “He's a good strong man yet, though,” Courage replied, not willing to admit the possibility of waning powers in her hero. “Faith, and I know he's a good man, miss, and no doubt, too, but his strength will be as his day.” “But you don't know anything about where he is now?” Courage asked rather hopelessly. “No, not for this twelvemonth, as I was a-tellin' ye; but like as not some of the men has heard some word on him. Gang back wi' me and we'll speir 'em a question or two,” whereupon he extended his hand, which Courage took rather reluctantly, it was such a powerful-looking hand; but there proved to be nothing rough in the way it closed over the small brown hand she placed in it. So side by side, in this friendly fashion, they walked up the dock to where the men were unloading a Southern steamer. <div class="fig"> <ANTIMG src="images/0020.jpg" alt="0020 " width-obs="100%" /> </div> <h5> <ANTIMG src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </h5> “Has ony o' ye heard a word o' Larry Starr o' late?” called Big Bob, but in a tone so different from the one in which he had spoken to Courage, that she gave a little start of surprise, and then hoped he had not seen it. Most of the men shook their heads in the negative. “Niver a wurrud,” answered an old Irishman. Indeed, only one of the number made no reply whatsoever, so that Courage thought he could not have heard. It was his place to free the huge iron hook from the bales, after they had been landed on the wharf, and he seemed all absorbed in his work. Fortunately, however, he had heard, and as he stood watching the hook as it slowly swung back aboard of the vessel, he called out, “Yes, I has some word on him, Bob; anybody 'quiring for him?” “O' course there is, just the verra little leddy what I've here by the hand. If ye'd eyes worth the name, John, ye'd seen her 'fore this!” “Oh, is it you, miss?” said John, looking for the first time toward Courage, and at once recognizing the little girl who had been so long on the watch. “Well, then, I can tell ye he'll be at this wharf this day week, certain. The Lady Bird's due here on Friday or Saturday, and Larry's under contract to carry part of her cargo down to the stores Monday morning. It's a pity, miss, you hadn't asked me afore, I could a-told you the same any day back for a fortni't. But run down bright and early next Monday morn-in', and take my word for it, you'll find Larry's lighter swinging up to this wharf, as sure as my name's Jack Armstrong.” Courage, meantime, had grown radiant. “Oh, he'll come sooner than that!” she exclaimed exultingly. “He'll tie up Saturday night and spend Sunday with us. He always does that when he has work at this pier for Monday.” Then, looking up to Big Bob, she said gratefully, “Thank you very much for finding out for me. I will run right home now and tell Mary Duff,” and suiting the action to the word, Courage was at the wharf's end and up the street and out of sight before the slow-moving longshoremen had fairly settled to work again. Now that Courage was sure that Larry was coming, as sure as though it had been flashed across the blue May sky in letters of silver, all the hours of weary foreboding and waiting were quite forgotten. So true is it, as Celia Thaxter sings in that peerless song of hers, as brave as any bird note, and as sweet:= ```"Dark skies must clear, and when the clouds are past, ```One golden day redeems a weary year."= <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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