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B. M. Bower - "Cow Country"

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William Smith - "A Smaller History of Greece"

Laddie, A True Blue Story

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




"That I jest would!" said Mrs. Freshett. "Even if he turns up
his toes, 'tain't YOUR funeral, thank the Lord! an' looky here,
I'd jest as soon set things in a bake pan an' pass 'em for you,
myself. I'll do it, if you say the word."

Mother bit her lip, and fought her face to keep it straight, as
she said confidential-like: "No, I'm not going to toady to her.
I only want her to see that a meal really consists of food after
all; I don't mind putting my best foot foremost, but I won't ape
her."

"Huccome they to fuss like this, peaceable as Mr. Stanton be, an'
what's Shelley's beau to them?"

"I should think you could tell by looking at Pryors," said
mother. "He's their mystery, and also their son. Shelley met
him in Chicago, he came here to see her, and ran right into them.
I'll tell you about it before you go. Now, I must keep these
applications hot, for I've set my head on pulling Mr. Pryor out
so that he can speak, and have a few decent years of life yet."

"But why did the old devil--EX-cuse me, I mean the old GENTLEMAN,
want to shoot your man?"

"He didn't! I'll tell you all about it after they're gone."

"I bet you don't get shet of them the night," said Mrs. Freshett.

"All right!" said mother. "Whatever Dr. Fenner thinks. I won't
have Mr. Pryor moved until it can't hurt him, if he stays a week.
I blame her quite as much as I do him; from what I know. If a
woman is going to live with a man, there are times when she's got
to put her foot down--flat--most unmercifully flat!"

"Ain't she though!" said Mrs. Freshett; then she and mother just
laughed.

There! What did I tell you? I feel as good as if father had
patted me on the head and bragged on me a lot. I THOUGHT mother
wouldn't think that Mr. Pryor was ALL to blame, and she didn't.
I figured that out by myself, too.

Every minute Mr. Pryor grew better. He breathed easier, and
mother tilted on her toes and waved her hands, when he moved his
feet, threw back his head, lifted his hand to it, and acted like
he was almost over it, and still in shape to manage himself. She
hurried to tell Mrs. Pryor, and I know mother didn't like it when
she never even said she was glad, or went to see for herself.

Laddie and the Princess watched him, while every one else went to
supper. Laddie picked up Mrs. Pryor's chair, carried her to the
dining-room, and set her in my place beside father. He placed
Dr. Fenner next her, and left Robert to sit with Shelley. I
don't think Mrs. Pryor quite liked that, but no one asked her.

I watched and listened until everything seemed to be going right
there, and then I slipped into the parlour, where Laddie and the
Princess were caring for Mr. Pryor. With one hand Laddie held
hers, the other grasped Mr. Pryor's wrist. Laddie never took his
eyes from that white, drawn face, except to smile at her, and
squeeze her hand every little while. At last Mr. Pryor turned
over and sighed, pretty soon he opened his eyes, and looked at
Laddie, then at the Princess, and it was nothing new to see them,
so he smiled and dozed again. After a while he opened them
wider, then he saw the piano--that was an eye-opener for any
one--and the strange room, so he asked, most as plain as he ever
talked, why he was at our house again, and then he began to
remember. He struggled to sit up and the colour came into his
face. So Laddie let go the Princess, and held him down while he
said: "Mr. Pryor, answer me this. Do you want to spend the
remainder of your life in an invalid's chair, or would you like
to walk abroad and sit a horse again?"

He glared at Laddie, but he heard how things were plainly enough.

Laddie held him, while he explained what a fight we had to unlock
his muscles, and start him going again, and how, if we hadn't
loved him, and wanted him so, and had left him untouched until
the Doctor came, very likely he'd have been paralyzed all the
rest of his life, if he hadn't died; and he said he wished he
HAD, and he didn't THANK any one for saving him.

"Oh yes you do!" said Laddie, the same as he'd have talked to
Leon. "You can't stuff me on that, and you needn't try. Being
dead is a cold, clammy proposition, that all of us put off as
long as we can. You know you want to see Pamela in her own home.

You know you are interested in how I come out with those horses.
You know you want the little people you spoke of, around you.
You know the pain and suspense you have borne have almost driven
you insane, and it was because you cared so deeply. Now lie
still, and keep quiet! All of us are tired and there's no sense
in making us go through this again, besides the risk of crippling
yourself that you run. Right here in this house are the papers
to prove that your nephew took your money, and hid it in your
son's clothing, as he already had done a hundred lesser things,
before, purposely to estrange you. Hold steady! You must hear
this! The sooner you know it, the better you'll feel. You
remember, don't you, that before your nephew entered your home,
you idolized your son. You thought the things he did were
amusing. A boy is a boy, and if he's alive, he's very apt to be
lively. Mother could tell you a few pranks that Leon has put us
through; but they're only a boy's foolishness, they are not
unusual or unforgivable. I've gone over the evidence your son
brings, with extreme care, so has father. Both of us are quite
familiar with common law. He has every proof you can possibly
desire. You can't get around it, even if your heart wasn't worn
out with rebellion, and you were not crazy to have the loving
sympathy of your family again."

"I don't believe a word of it!"

"You have got to! I tell you it is PROOF, man! The documents
are in this house now."

"He forged them, or stole them, as he took the money!"

Laddie just laughed.

"How you do long, and fight, to be convinced!" he said. "I don't
blame you! When anything means this much, of course you must be
sure. But you'll know your nephew's signature; also your
lawyer's. You'll know letters from old friends who are above
question. Sandy McSheel has written you that he was with Robert
through all of it, and he gives you his word that everything is
all right. You will believe him, won't you?"

Big tears began to squeeze from under Mr. Pryor's lids, until
Laddie and the Princess each tried to see how much of him they
could hold to keep him together-like.

"Tell me!" he said at last, so they took turns explaining
everything plain as day, and soon he listened without being held.

When they had told him everything they could think of, he asked:
"Did Robert kill Emmet?"

"I am very happy to be able to tell you that he did not. It
would have been painful, and not helped a bad matter a particle.
Your nephew had dissipated until he was only a skeleton just
breathing his last. It's probable that his fear of death helped
your son out, so that he got the evidence he wanted easier than
he hoped to in the beginning. I don't mean that he is dead now;
but he is passing slowly, and loathsomely. Robert thinks word
that he has gone will come any hour. Think how pleasant it will
be to have your son! Think how happy your home will be now!
Think how you will love to see Sandy, and all your old friends!
Think how glad you'll be to go home, and take charge of your
estate!"

"Think!" cried Mr. Pryor, pushing Laddie away and sitting up:
"Think how I shall enjoy wringing the last drop of blood from
that craven's body with these old hands!"

What a sight he did look to be sure! Sick, half-crazy, on the
very verge of the grave himself, and wanting to kill a poor man
already dying. Aren't some people too curious?

Laddie carefully laid him down, straightened him out and held him
again. Mother always said he was "patient as Job," and that day
it proved to be a good thing.

"You're determined to keep yourself well supplied with trouble,"
laughed Laddie. I don't believe any one else would have dared.
"Now to an unbiased observer, it would seem that you'd be ready
to let well enough alone. You have your son back, you have him
fully exonerated, you have much of your property, you are now
ready for freedom, life, and love, with the best of us; you have
also two weddings on your hands in the near future. Why in the
name of sense are you anxious for more?"

"I should have thought that Sandy McSheel, if he's a real friend
of mine----"

"Sandy tells you all about it in the letter he has sent. He went
with Robert fully intending to do that very thing for you, but
the poor creature was too loathsome. The sight of him made Sandy
sick. He writes you that when he saw the horrible spectacle, all
he could think of was to secure the evidence needed and get
away."

Suddenly the Princess arose and knelt beside the davenport. She
put her arms around her father's neck and drew his wrinkled,
white old face up against her lovely one.

"Daddy! Dear old Daddy!" she cried. "I've had such a hard spot
in my heart against you for so long. Oh do let's forget
everything, and begin all over again; begin away back where we
were before Emmet ever came. Oh Daddy, do let's forget, and
begin all over new, like other people!"

He held her tight a minute, then his lips began whispering
against her ear. Finally he said: "Take yourselves off, and
send Robert here. I want my son. Oh I want my boy!"

It was a long time before Robert came from the parlour; when he
did, it was only to get his mother and take her back with him;
then it was a still longer time before the door opened; but when
it did, it was perfectly sure that they were all friends again.
Then Leon went to tell Thomas, and he came with the big carriage.

White and shaking, Mr. Pryor was lifted into it and they went
home together, taking Shelley with them to stay that night; so no
doubt she was proposed to and got her kiss before she slept.

That fall there were two weddings at our church at the same time.

Sally's had been fine; but it wasn't worth mentioning beside
Laddie and the Princess, and Robert and Shelley. You should have
seen my mother! She rocked like a kingbird on the top twig of
the winesap, which was the tallest tree in our orchard, and for
once there wasn't a single fly in her ointment, not one, she said
so herself, and so did father. As we watched the big ve-hi-
ackle, as Leon called it, creep slowly down the Little Hill, it
made me think of that pathetic poem, "The Three Warnings," in
McGuffey's Sixth. I guess I gave Mr. Pryor the first, that time
he got so angry he hit his horse until it almost ran away.
Mother delivered the second when she curry-combed him about the
taxes, and Mrs. Freshett finished the job. The last two lines
read as if they had been especially written about him:

"And now old Dodson, turning pale,
Yields to his fate--so ends my tale."

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