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Mary Roberts Rinehart and Avery Hopwood - "The Bat"

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Laddie, A True Blue Story

G >> Gene Stratton Porter >> Laddie, A True Blue Story




Leon crossed the room, but he never touched the horse. He threw
his arms around Laddie's neck.

"Son! Son! Haven't you let your feelings run away with you?
What does this mean?" asked father sternly.

"There's nothing remarkable in a big six-footer like me buying a
horse," said Laddie. "I expect to purchase a number soon, and
without a cent to pay, in the bargain. I contracted to give five
hundred dollars for this mare. She is worth more; but that
should be satisfactory all around. I am going to earn it by
putting five of Mr. Pryor's fancy, pedigreed horses in shape for
market, taking them personally, and selling them to men fit to
own and handle real horses. I get one hundred each, and my
expenses for the job. I'll have as much fun doing it as I ever
had at anything. It suits me far better than plowing, even."

Mother entered the room at a sweep, and pushed Leon aside.

"Oh you man of my heart!" she cried. "You man after my own
heart!"

Laddie bent and kissed her, holding her tight as he looked over
her head at father.

"It's all right, of course?" he said.

"I never have known of anything quite so altogether right," said
father. "Thank you, lad, and God bless you!"

He took Laddie's hand, and almost lifted him from the floor, then
he wiped his glasses, gathered up his books with a big, deep
breath of relief, and went into his room. If the others had
looked to see why he was gone so long, they would have seen him
on his knees beside his bed thanking God, as usual. Leon
couldn't have come closer than when he said, "The same yesterday,
to-day, and forever," about father.

Leon had his arms around the neck of his horse now, and he was
kissing her, patting her, and explaining to Shelley just why no
other horse was like her. He was pouring out a jumble all about
the oasis of the desert, the tent dwellers, quoting lines from
"The Arab to His Horse," bluegrass, and gentleness combined with
spirit, while Shelley had its head between her hands, stroking it
and saying, "Yes," to every word Leon told her. Then he said:
"Just hop on her back from that top step and ride her to the
barn, if you want to see the motion she has."

Shelley said: "Has a woman ever been on her back? Won't she shy
at my skirts?"

"No," explained Leon. "I've been training her with a horse
blanket pinned around me, so Susie could ride her! She'll be all
right."

So Shelley mounted, and the horse turned her head, and tried to
rub against her, as she walked away, tame as a sheep. I wondered
if she could be too gentle. If she went "like the wind," as Leon
said, it didn't show then. I was almost crazy to go along, and
maybe Leon would let me ride a little while; but I had a question
that it would help me to know the answer and I wanted to ask
father before I forgot; so I waited until he came out. When he
sat down, smiled at me and said, "Well, is the girl happy for
brother?" I knew it was a good time, and I could ask anything I
chose, so I sat on his knee and said: "Father, when you pray for
anything that it's all perfectly right for you to have, does God
come down from heaven and do it Himself, or does He send a man
like Laddie to do it for him?"

Father hugged me tight, smiling the happiest.

"Why, you have the whole thing right there in a nutshell, Little
Sister," he said. "You see it's like this: the Book tells us
most distinctly that `God is love.' Now it was love that sent
Laddie to bind himself for a long, tedious job, to give Leon his
horse, wasn't it?"

"Of course!" I said. "He wouldn't have been likely to do it if
he hated him. It was love, of course!"

"Then it was God," said father, "because `God is love.' They are
one and the same thing."

Then he kissed me, and THAT was settled. So I wondered when you
longed for anything so hard you really felt it was worth
bothering God about, whether the quickest way to get it was to
ask Him for it, or to try to put a lot of love into the heart of
some person who could do what you wanted. I decided it all went
back to God though, for most of the time probably we wouldn't
know who the right one was to try to awaken love in. I was
mighty sure none of us ever dreamed Laddie could walk over to
Pryors', and come back with that horse, in a way perfectly
satisfactory to every one, slick as an eel.

You should have seen Leon following around after Laddie, trying
to do things for him, taking on his work to give him more time
with the horses, getting up early to finish his own stunts, so he
could go over to Pryors' and help. Mother said it had done more
to make a man of him than anything that ever happened. It helped
Shelley, too. Something seemed to break in her, when she cried
so with Leon, because he was in trouble. Then he was so crazy to
show off his horse he had Shelley ride up and down the lane,
while he ran along and led, so she got a lot of exercise, and it
made her good and hungry. If you don't think by this time that
my mother was the beatenest woman alive, I'll prove it to you.
When the supper bell rang there was strawberry preserves instead
of the apple butter, biscuit, fried chicken, and mashed potatoes.

She must have slapped those chickens into the skillet before they
knew their heads were off. When Shelley came to the table, for
the first time since she'd been home, had pink in her cheeks, and
talked some, and ate too, mother forgot her own supper. She
fumbled over her plate, but scarcely touched even the livers, and
those delicious little kidneys in the tailpiece like Leon and I
had at Sally's wedding. When we finished, and it was time for
her to give the signal to arise, no one had asked to be excused,
she said: "Let us have a word with the Most High." Then she
bowed her head, so all of us did too. "O Lord, we praise Thee
for all Thy tender mercies, and all Thy loving kindness. Amen!"

Of course father always asked the blessing to begin with, and
mostly it was the same one, and that was all at meal time, but
this was a little extra that mother couldn't even wait until
night to tell the Almighty, she was so pleased with Him. Maybe I
haven't told everything about her, after all. Father must have
thought that was lovely of her; he surely felt as happy as she
did, to see Shelley better, for he hugged and kissed her over and
over, finishing at her neck like he always did, and then I be-
hanged, if he didn't hug and kiss every last one of us--tight,
even the boys. Shelley he held long and close, and patted her a
little when he let her go. It made me wonder if the rest of us
didn't get ours, so he'd have a chance at her without her
noticing it. One thing was perfectly clear. If shame came to
us, they were going to love her, and stick tight to her right
straight through it.

Now that everything was cleared up so, Shelley seemed a little
more like herself every day, although it was bad enough yet; I
thought I might as well hurry up the end a little, and stop the
trouble completely, so I began watching for a chance to ask her.
But I wanted to get her away off alone, so no one would see if
she slapped me. I didn't know how long I'd have to wait. I
tried coaxing her to the orchard to see a bluebird's nest, but
she asked if bluebirds were building any different that year, and
I had to admit they were not. Then I tried the blue-eyed Mary
bed, but she said she supposed it was still under the cling peach
tree, and the flower, two white petals up, two blue down, and so
it was. Just as I was beginning to think I'd have to take that
to the Lord in prayer, I got my chance by accident.

May and Candace were forever going snake hunting. You would
think any one with common sense would leave them alone and be
glad of the chance, but no indeed! They went nearly every day as
soon as the noon work was finished, and stayed until time to get
supper. They did have heaps of fun and wild excitement. May was
gentle, and tender with everything else on earth; so I 'spose she
had a right to bruise the serpent with her heel--really she used
sticks and stones--if she wanted to. I asked her how she COULD,
and she said there was a place in the Bible that told how a snake
coaxed Eve to eat an apple, that the Lord had told her she
mustn't touch; and so she got us into most of the trouble there
was in the world. May said it was all the fault of the SNAKE to
begin with, and she meant to pay up every one she could find,
because she had none of the apple, and lots of the trouble.
Candace cried so much because Frederick Swartz had been laid in
the tomb, that mother was pleased to have her cheer up, even
enough to go snake hunting.

That afternoon Mehitabel Heasty had come to visit May, so she
went along, and I followed. They poked around the driftwood at
the floodgate behind the barn, and were giving up the place.
Candace had crossed the creek and was coming back, and May had
started, when she saw a tiny little one and chased it. We didn't
know then that it was a good thing to have snakes to eat moles,
field mice, and other pests that bother your crops; the Bible had
no mercy on them at all, so we were not saving our snakes; and
anyway we had more than we needed, while some of them were too
big to be safe to keep, and a few poison as could be. May began
to bruise the serpent, when out of the driftwood where they
hadn't found anything came its mammy, a great big blacksnake,
maddest you ever saw, with its pappy right after her, mad as ever
too. Candace screamed at May to look behind her, but May was
busy with the snake and didn't look quick enough, so the old
mammy struck right in her back. She just caught in the hem of
May's skirt, and her teeth stuck in the goods--you know how a
snake's teeth turn back--so she couldn't let go. May took one
look and raced down the bank to the crossing, through the water,
and toward us, with the snake dragging and twisting, and trying
her best to get away. May was screaming at every jump for
Candace, and Mehitabel was flying up and down crying: "Oh
there's snakes in my shoes! There's snakes in my shoes!"

That was a fair sample of how much sense a Heasty ever had. It
took all Mehitabel's shoes could do to hold her feet, for after
one went barefoot all week, and never put on shoes except on
Sunday or for a visit, the feet became so spread out, shoes had
all they could do to manage them, and then mostly they pinched
until they made one squirm. But she jumped and said that, while
May ran and screamed, and Candace gripped her big hickory stick
and told May to stand still. Then she bruised that serpent with
her whole foot, for she stood on it, and swatted it until she
broke its neck. Then she turned ready for the other one, but
when it saw what happened to its mate, it decided to go back.
Even snakes, it doesn't seem right to break up families like
that; so by the time Candace got the mammy killed, loose from
May's hem, and stretched out with the back up, so she wouldn't
make it rain, when Candace wasn't sure that father wanted rain, I
had enough. I went down the creek until I was below the orchard,
then I crossed, passed the cowslip bed, climbed the hill and
fence, and stopped to think what I would do first; and there only
a few feet away was Shelley. She was sitting in the shade, her
knees drawn up, her hands clasped around them, staring straight
before her across the meadow at nothing in particular, that I
could see. She jumped as if I had been a snake when she saw me,
then she said, "Oh, is it you?" like she was half glad of it. My
chance had come.

I went to her, sat close beside her and tried snuggling up a
little. It worked. She put her arm around me, drew me tight,
rubbed her cheek against my head and we sat there. I was
wondering how in the world I could ask her, and not get slapped.
I was growing most too big for that slapping business, anyway.
We sat there; I was looking across the meadow as she did, only I
was watching everything that went on, so when I saw a grosbeak
fly from the wild grape where Shelley had put the crock for sap,
it made me think of her hair. She used to like to have me play
with it so well, she'd give me pennies if I did. I got up, and
began pulling out her pins carefully. I knew I was getting a
start because right away she put up her hand to help me.

"I can get them," I said just as flannel-mouthed as ever I could,
like all of us talked to her now, so I got every one and never
pulled a mite. When I reached over her shoulder to drop them in
her lap, being so close I kissed her cheek. Then I shook down
her hair, spread it out, lifted it, parted it, and held up
strands to let the air on her scalp. She shivered and said:
"Mercy child, how good that does feel! My head has ached lately
until it's a wonder there's a hair left on it."

So I was pleasing her. I never did handle hair so carefully. I
tried every single thing it feels good to you to have done with
your hair, rubbed her head gently, and to cheer her up I told her
about May and the snake, and what fool Mehitabel had said, and
she couldn't help laughing; so I had her feeling about as good as
she could, for the way she actually felt, but still I didn't
really get ahead. Come right to the place to do it, that was no
very easy question to ask a person, when you wouldn't hurt their
feelings for anything; I was beginning to wonder if I would lose
my chance, when all at once a way I could manage popped into my
mind.

"Shelley," I said, "they told you about Laddie and the Princess,
didn't they?"

I knew they had, but I had to make a beginning some way.

"Yes," she said. "I'm glad of it! I think she's pretty as a
picture, and nice as she looks. Laddie may have to hump himself
to support her, but if he can't get her as fine clothes as she
has, her folks can help him. They seem to have plenty, and she's
their only child."

"They're going to. I heard Mr. Pryor ask Laddie if he'd be so
unkind as to object to them having the pleasure of giving her
things."

"Well, the greenhorn didn't say he would!"

"No. He didn't want to put his nose to the grindstone quite that
close. He said it was between them."

"I should think so!"

"Shelley, there's a question I've been wanting to ask some one
for quite a while."

"What?"

"Why, this! You know, Laddie was in love with the Princess, like
you are when you want to marry folks, for a long, long time,
before he could be sure whether she loved him back."

"Yes."

"Well, now, 'spose she never had loved him, would he have had
anything to be ashamed of?"

"I can't see that he would. Some one must start a courtship, or
there would be no marrying, and it's conceded to be the place of
the man. No. He might be disappointed, or dreadfully hurt, but
there would be no shame about it."

"Well, then, suppose she loved him, and wanted to marry him, and
he hadn't loved her, or wanted her, would SHE have had anything
to be ashamed of?"

"I don't think so! If she was attracted by him, and thought she
would like him, she would have a right to go to a certain extent,
to find out if he cared for her, and if he didn't, why, she'd
just have to give him up. But any sensible girl waits for a man
to make the advances, and plenty of them, before she allows
herself even to dream of loving him, or at least, I would."

Now I was getting somewhere!

"Of course you would!" I said. "That would be the WAY mother
would, wouldn't it?"

"Surely!"

"If that Paget man you used to write about had seemed to be just
what you liked, you'd have waited to know if he wanted you,
before you loved him, wouldn't you?"

"I certainly would!" answered Shelley. "Or at least, I'd have
waited until I THOUGHT sure as death, I knew. It seems that
sometimes you can be fooled about those things."

"But if you thought sure you knew, and then found out you had
been mistaken, you wouldn't have anything to be ASHAMED of, would
you?"

"Not-on-your-life-I-wouldn't!" cried Shelley, hammering each word
into her right knee with her doubled fist. "What are you driving
at, Blatherskite? What have you got into your head?"

"Oh just studying about things," I said, which was exactly the
truth. "Sally getting married last fall, and Laddie going to
this, just started me to wondering."

Fooled her, too!

"Oh well, there's no harm done," she said. "The sooner you get
these matters straightened out, the better able you will be to
take care of yourself. If you ever go to a city, you'll find out
that a girl needs considerable care taken of her."

"You could look out for yourself, Shelley?"

"Well, I don't know as I made such a glorious fist of it," she
said, "but at least, as you say, I've nothing to be ashamed of!"

I almost hugged her head off.

"Of course you haven't!" I cried. "Of course you wouldn't have!"

I just kissed her over and over for joy; I was so glad my heart
hurt for father and mother. Shame had not come to them!

"Now, I guess I'll run to the house and get a comb," I told her.

"Go on," said Shelley. "I know you are tired."

"I'm not in the least," I said. "Don't you remember I always use
a comb when I fuss with your hair?"

"It is better," said Shelley. "Go get one."

As I got up to start I took a last look at her, and there was
something in her face that I couldn't bear. I knelt beside her,
and put both arms around her neck.

"Shelley, it's a secret," I said in a breathless half whisper.
"It's a great, big secret, but I'm going to tell you. Twice now
I've had a powerful prayer all ready to try. It's the kind where
you go to the barn, all alone, stand on that top beam below the
highest window and look toward the east. You keep perfectly
still, and just think with all your might, and you look away over
where Jesus used to be, and when the right feeling comes, you
pray that prayer as if He stood before you, and it will come
true. I KNOW it will come true. The reason I know is because
twice now I've been almost ready to try it, and what I intended
to ask for happened before I had time; so I've saved that prayer;
but Shelley, shall I pray it about the Paget man, for you?"

She gripped me, and she shook until she was all twisted up; you
could hear her teeth click, she chilled so. The tears just
gushed, and she pulled me up close and whispered right in my ear:

"Yes!"

It was only pretend about the comb; what I really wanted was to
get to father and mother quick. I knew he was at the barn and he
was going to be too happy for words in a minute. But as I went
up the lane, I wasn't sure whether I'd rather pray about that
Paget man or bruise him with my heel like a serpent. The only
way I could fix it was to remember if Shelley loved him so, he
must be mighty nice. Father was in the wagon shovelling corn
from it to a platform where it would be handy to feed the pigs,
so I ran and called him, and put one foot on a hub and raised my
hands. He pulled me up and when he saw how important it was, he
sat on the edge of the bed, so I told him: "Father, you haven't
got a thing in the world to be ashamed of about Shelley."

"Praise the Lord!" said father like I knew he would, but you
should have seen his face. "Tell me about it!"

I told him and he said: "Well, I don't know but this is the
gladdest hour of my life. Go straight and repeat to your mother
exactly what you've said to me. Take her away all alone, and
then forget about it, you little blessing."

"Father, have you got too many children?"

"No!" he said. "I wish I had a dozen more, if they'd be like
you."

When I went up the lane I was so puffed up with importance I felt
too dignified to run. I strutted like our biggest turkey
gobbler. The only reason you couldn't hear my wings scrape, was
because through mistake they grew on the turkey. If I'd had
them, I would have dragged them sure, and cried "Ge-hobble-
hobble!" at every step.

I took mother away alone and told her, and she asked many more
questions than father, but she was even gladder than he. She
almost hugged the breath out of me. Sometimes I get things
RIGHT, anyway! Then I took the comb and ran back to Shelley.

"I thought you'd forgotten me," she said.

She had wiped up and was looking better. If ever I combed
carefully I did then. Just when I had all the tangles out, there
came mother. She had not walked that far in a long time. I
thought maybe she could comfort Shelley, so I laid the comb in
her lap and went to see how the snake hunters were coming on. It
must be all right, when the Bible says so, but the African Jungle
will do for me, and a popgun is not going to scatter families. I
never felt so strongly about breaking home ties in my life as I
did then. There was nothing worse. It was not where I wanted to
be, so I thought I'd go back to the barn, and hang around father,
hoping maybe he'd brag on me some more. Going up the lane I saw
a wagon passing with the biggest box I ever had seen, and I ran
to the gate to watch where it went. It stopped at our house and
Frank came toward me as I hurried up the road.

"Where are the folks?" he asked, without paying the least
attention to my asking him over and over what was in the box.

"May and Candace are killing every snake in the driftwood behind
the barn, Shelley and mother are down in the orchard, and father
and the boys are hauling corn."

"Go tell the boys to come quickly and keep quiet," he said. "But
don't let any one else know I'm here."

That was so exciting I almost fell over my feet running, and all
three of them came quite as fast. I stood back and watched, and
I just danced a steady hop from one foot to the other while those
men got the big box off the wagon and opened it. On the side I
spelled Piano, so of course it was for Shelley. It was so heavy
it took all six of them, father and the three boys, the driver
and another very stylish looking man to carry it. They put it in
the parlour, screwed a leg on each corner, and a queer harp in
the middle, then they lifted it up and set it on its feet, under
the whatnot, and it seemed as if it filled half the room. Then
Frank spread a beauteous wine coloured cover all embroidered in
pink roses with green leaves over it, and the stylish man opened
a lid, sat down and spread out his hands. Frank said: "Soft
pedal! Mighty soft!" So he smothered it down, and tried only
enough to find that it had not been hurt coming, and then he went
away on the wagon. Father and the boys gathered up every scrap,
swept the walk, and put all the things they had used back where
they got them, like we always did.

Then Frank took a card from his pocket and tied it to the music
rack, and it read: "For Shelley, from her brothers in fact, and
in law." To a corner of the cover he pinned another card that
read: "From Peter."

"What is that?" asked father.

"That's from Peter," said Frank. "Peter is great on finishing
touches. He had to outdo the rest of us that much or bust. Fact
is, none of us thought of a cover except him."

"How about this?" asked father, staring at it as if it were an
animal that would bite.

"Well," said Frank, "it was apparent that practising her fingers
to the bone wouldn't do Shelley much good unless she could keep
it up in summer, and you and mother always have done so much for
the rest of us, and now mother isn't so strong and the expenses
go on the same with these youngsters; we know you were figuring
on it, but we beat you. Put yours in the bank, and try the feel
of a surplus once more. Haven't had much lately, have you,
father?"

"Well, not to speak of," said father.

"Now let's shut everything up, ring the bell to call them, and
get Shelley in here and surprise her."

"She's not very well," said father. "Mother thinks she worked
too hard."

"She's all right now, father," I said. "She is getting pink
again and rounder, and this will fix her grand."

Wouldn't it though! There wasn't one anywhere, short of the
city. Even the Princess had none. Father hunted up a song book,
opened it and set it on the rack. Then all of us went out.

"We'll write to the boys, mother and I, and Shelley also," said
father. "I can't express myself just now. This is a fine thing
for all of you to do."

Frank seemed to think so too, and looked rather puffed up, until
Leon began telling about his horse. When Frank found out that
Laddie, who had not yet branched out for himself, had given Leon
much more than any one of them had Shelley, he looked a little
disappointed. He explained how the piano cost eight hundred
dollars, but by paying cash all at once, the man took seven
hundred and fifty, so it only cost them one hundred and fifty a
piece, and none of them felt it at all.

"Sometimes the clouds loom up pretty black, and mother and I
scarcely know how to go on, save for the help of the Lord, but we
certainly are blest with good children, children we can be proud
of. Your mother will like that instrument as well as Shelley,
son," said father.

Frank went out and rang the bell, tolled it, and made a big noise
like he always did when he came unexpectedly, and then sat on the
back fence until he saw them coming, and went to meet them. He
walked between mother and Shelley, with an arm around each one.
If he thought Shelley looked badly, he didn't mention it. What
he did say was that he was starved, and to fly around and get
supper. I thought I'd burst. They began to cook, and the boys
went to feed and see Leon's horse, and then we had supper. I
just sat and stared at Frank and grinned. I couldn't eat.

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