The Blythes Are Quoted (29 page)

This was probably the longest speech Lionel had ever made in his life ... at least to a grown-up person.

Before it was finished Penelope and Marta were running like mad creatures across the yard to the garage.

Theodore was lying face downwards in a horrible, huddled little heap on the cruel-looking stones.

“Every bone of him is broken,” groaned Marta. Penelope wrung her hands.

“Telephone for Roger ... quick, Marta, quick!”

Marta was quick. As she disappeared into the house a lady in flowered chiffon, with very golden hair and very brilliant complexion and very red lips, came floating across the yard to where Penelope was standing in a trance of horror, not daring to touch Theodore.

“Miss Craig, I presume ... I ... I am Sandra Valdez ... I came ... Is that MY CHILD?”

With a piercing shriek the newcomer threw herself in the dust beside the limp body of the dishevelled Theodore.

Penelope seized her by the arm.

“Don’t touch him ... don’t dare to touch him ... you may do him harm ... the doctor will be here any moment.”

“Is
this
how I find my darling?” wailed the lady of the scarlet lips ... which had not paled in the least, any more than her cheeks. “My own, only little son! What have you done to him? Miss Craig,
I ask you what you have done to him?
”

“Nothing ... nothing. He did it himself.”

Oh, life was too terrible! Would Roger never come? Suppose he was out on another case! There were other doctors, of course, but she did not trust them. Nobody but Roger would do.

“See if Red can wriggle his toes,” said Lionel. “If he can his back ain’t broke. Ask him to wriggle his toes, Aunt Penelope.”

“Oh, my son ... my son ... my poor little son!” moaned Miss Valdez, rocking backward and forward over her son’s apparently unconscious body. “I should never have left you to the care of others ... I should have taken you with me ...”

“What’s all this?”

Dr. Galbraith had dropped in for a call while Marta was still trying frantically to locate him. It did not matter to Penelope that Dr. Blythe of Glen St. Mary was with him. They were on their way to a consultation. Nothing mattered but Theodore. Penelope almost flung herself on Dr. Galbraith’s breast.

“Oh, Roger ... Theodore jumped from the roof. I think he’s dead ... and this woman ... oh, can you do anything?”

“Not if he’s dead, of course,” said Dr. Galbraith skeptically. He seemed very cool about it all.

“IS HE DEAD?” demanded Sandra Valdez in capitals, springing up and confronting Dr. Galbraith like a queen of tragedy.

“I don’t think so,” said Dr. Galbraith, still coolly. Dr. Blythe seemed trying to hide a smile.

Dr. Galbraith stopped and tried Theodore’s pulse. His lips tightened ominously and he turned him callously over.

Theodore’s blue eyes opened.

“My son!” breathed Miss Valdez. “Oh, tell me you are living! Just tell me that!”

Then she gave a shriek as the doctor unceremoniously grasped Theodore’s shoulder and pulled him to his feet.

“You brute! Oh, you brute! Miss Craig, please tell me what you mean by having such a man? Surely there are doctors in Charlottetown capable ...”

“Dr. Galbraith is one of the best doctors on the Island,” said Marta indignantly.

“What does this mean?” said Dr. Galbraith, in a tone which Theodore understood. Dr. Blythe was actually laughing.

“I just wanted to scare them all,” said Theodore with unaccustomed meekness. “I ... I didn’t jump from the roof ... I just told Bumps I would to scare him. And when his back was turned I just ran round here and yelled and flopped. That’s all, honest.”

Dr. Galbraith turned to Penelope.

“I am going to teach this young man a lesson he won’t forget in a hurry. And you are going to marry me inside of three weeks. I’m not asking you ... I’m telling you. And no interference. It’s time somebody did something. Child psychology is all very well but you’ve lost fifteen pounds since I’ve been away ... and I’m at the end of my patience.”

“Congratulations,” said that abominable Dr. Blythe.

“Don’t you dast touch Red,” yelled Lionel. “This ain’t any of your business. Aunt Penelope is bringing us up. If you do I’ll bite you ... I’ll ...”

Dr. Blythe took Lionel by the scruff of the neck and set him on the gatepost.

“That will be enough out of you, my lad. You stay there until Dr. Galbraith says you can come down.”

A few minutes later certain sounds from the interior of the barn indicated that Theodore was not so indifferent to Dr. Galbraith’s punishment as he had been to Marta’s.

“He’s killing him,” gasped Sandra Valdez with another shriek.

“Oh, his life is safe enough,” said Dr. Blythe, still laughing.

But it was Penelope who stepped in front of Sandra Valdez ... Penelope, of all people.

“Don’t you interfere. Theodore has a spanking coming to him ... several spankings. I’ve been a weak, silly fool ... yes, Dr. Blythe, you have a right to laugh.”

“I wasn’t laughing at you, Miss Craig,” said Dr. Blythe apologetically. “I was laughing at the trick Theodore had played. I knew the moment we drove in at the gate it was only a trick. So did Galbraith.”

“After this is over you may have him, Miss Valdez,” said Penelope. “Bumps is enough for me ... even with ...”

Miss Valdez was suddenly meek ... and natural.

“I ... I don’t want him ... I can’t be bothered with a child in my career. You must realize that, Miss Craig. I only wanted to be sure he had a good home and was well-treated.”

“He has ... he is ...”

“And had a mother ... a loving mother ...”

“He will. And,” added Penelope to herself, “a father, too. Laugh away, Dr. Blythe. I suppose your own children are such perfect ...”

“They are very far from being perfect,” said Dr. Blythe, who
had
stopped laughing. “In fact, they ... the boys at least ... are very much like Lionel and Theodore in many ways. But they have three people to correct them. So we keep them in fair order. When a spanking is indicated we wait till Susan Baker is out of the house. And ... will you let me say it? ... I am very glad you have made up your mind to marry Dr. Galbraith at last.”

“Who told you I had?” blushed Penelope.

“I heard what he said. And I knew it when I heard you forbid Miss Valdez to interfere. We doctors are wise old fellows. And I am not running down your studies in child psychology, Miss Craig. There is a wonderful lot of wisdom in them. Mrs. Blythe has a bookcase full of volumes about it. But every once in so long ...”

“Something else is required,” admitted Penelope. “I’ve been a perfect idiot, Dr. Blythe. I hope you and Mrs. Blythe
will come to Willow Run the next time you are in town. I ... I should like to become better acquainted with her.”

“I can’t answer for myself ... I generally come in on professional business only. But I’m sure Mrs. Blythe will be delighted. She was charmed with you the day she met you at Mrs. Elston’s party.”

“Really?” said Penelope, wondering why she should feel so highly gratified. “I’m sure we have many things in common.”

The sounds from the garage had ceased.

“Will Dr. Galbraith whip us often?” inquired Lionel curiously.

“I am sure he will not,” said Dr. Blythe. “For one thing, you will not require it. For another, I am sure your Aunt Penelope would not allow it.”

“As if she could stop him when he had made up his mind,” said Lionel. “I’ll bet Mrs. Blythe couldn’t stop you.”

“Oh, couldn’t she! You don’t know as much about matrimony now as you will some day, my lad. But I recommend it for all that. And I’m sure you’ll like Dr. Galbraith for an uncle.”

“I’ve always liked him ... and I think Aunt Penelope should have married him long ago,” said Lionel.

“How did you know he wanted to marry me?” cried Penelope.

“Red told me. ‘Sides, everyone knows it. I like a man round. He’ll keep Marta in her place.”

“Oh, you mustn’t talk of your Aunt Marta like that, Lionel.”

“I’ll bet he won’t call me Lionel.”

“Why don’t you like Lionel?” inquired Penelope curiously.

“It’s such a sissy name,” said Lionel.

“It was the name your dear mother chose for you,” said Penelope reproachfully. “Of course, she may have been a wee bit romantic ...”

“Don’t you dast say a word against my mother,” said Lionel angrily.

Penelope could never have told why, but this pleased her. And Red and Dr. Galbraith were looking as if they were quite good friends. After all, the thrashing had not likely been a very severe one. Roger was not that kind of a man. And even Mrs. Blythe studied books on child culture. The world was not such a bad place after all. And Red and Bumps were not worse than other boys after all. She would wager they were just about as good as the Ingleside boys ... only the latter had had the advantages of a father.

Well, Red and Bumps ...

Come, drain the cup held to our lips at last,

Though it may yield the briny taste of tears,

For this we have foregone our joy of youth,

For this we have lived bitter, patient years ...

What tang does brew of fig and thistle keep?

Let us drink deep!

Oh, shudder not ... the goblet is of gold!

For this we bent our knee at a grim shrine

While others danced to kind and merry gods!

For this we put aside life’s choicest wine,

To slake our still unsated thirst lift up

This sacramental cup!

Surely ’twill pay for all that we have missed ...

Laughter unlaughed, sweet hours of love and sleep,

Hungers unsatisfied and barren dreams,

How the sly years are mocking us! Drink deep

And vaunt ... for who can guess it is a lie? ...

The price was not too high.

Was it for such a devil’s jorum we

Bartered our precious things and turned from ease,

Winning by dint of many a gallant day

Splendid defeats and abject victories?

But see you not how bright the diamonds wink?

Be brave ... once more ... and drink!

Anne Blythe

ANNE
:- “Boys, I’ve written a poem today your father won’t like.”
(Reads it.)

JEM
:- “Mums, what made you write such a thing? I’m sure you and dad have made a success of your lives.”

ANNE
:- “Oh, I was just expressing a mood ... picturing a man who had sacrificed everything for a certain kind of success and then found it wasn’t worth winning but wouldn’t admit it. There are plenty such in the world.”

JEM
:- “Wasn’t it because their desire for success was selfish and their sacrifices did them no good in the end?”

SUSAN
:- “Well, your father is a most successful doctor and has made sacrifices galore. I’m sure he doesn’t regret them or think it wasn’t worthwhile.”

ANNE
:- “Of course he doesn’t. He always wanted to help people.”

WALTER
:- “Don’t let him see that poem, mother. He might think you meant him.”

SUSAN
:- “Your father has too much sense for that, Walter. He would understand what your mother meant. I do myself, in my humble way. Old Tom Scott over at Mowbray Narrows spent all his life squeezing and saving and denied his family everything. And on his deathbed he said, ‘I guess it wasn’t worthwhile, boys. You’ll only waste the money having a good time.’ And they did. But you and the doctor, Mrs. Dr. dear, have had your good times and yet you are successful. You haven’t missed much, as I reckon it.”

ANNE
,
dreamily:
-“If Shakespeare had only kept a diary! What did
he
think of success? I remember old Richard Clark of Carmody had a queer habit of saying, ‘When I meet Moses in heaven I’m going to ask him, etc.’ So when I meet Shakespeare in heaven there are a million questions I mean to ask him.”

SUSAN
:- “From what I remember learning about him when I went to school I doubt very much if he did go to heaven. And whether or no, Walter, I wish you would remember that while writing poetry is a very good amusement for a woman it is no real occupation for a man.”

I seek a little hidden gate

That will swing wide to me,

Haply beneath a sunset cloud,

Or moonrise wizardry,

Or in some winking vale of noon

And shadow I may find it soon.

A star-like moth may be my guide

Where dear, dim pathways run,

Or a sweet something beckon me,

Fragrance and song in one,

Or a west wind may pipe me on

To it in some pale amber dawn.

Beside it blooms a single rose

By dews ambrosial fed,

Some say it is all ivory white,

But I know it is red,

And Memory fond and Hope elate

Are the twin warders of the gate.

Beyond it in the crystal sky

My Spanish castle towers,

And all its ways are garlanded

With my ungathered flowers,

While haunting music faintly sings

Of exquisite, immortal things.

Some halcyon days I never lived

And waiting there for me,

And laughter that I somehow missed

Echoes elusively ...

Oh, poignant quest! Oh, lure supreme!

When shall I find my gate of dream?

Anne Blythe

ANNE
:- “I composed that in Lover’s Lane when I was teaching school in Avonlea ... thanks to you, Gilbert. There seemed so many gates of dream then.”

SUSAN
:- “Will you please tell me, Mrs. Dr. dear, what a Spanish castle is and was there really one in Avonlea?”

ANNE
:- “A Spanish castle is just something you hope to possess one day. That is all. Mine eventually turned out to be our darling House of Dreams.”

DR. BLYTHE
:- “Lover’s Lane was a lovely spot. It is lovely still. My Spanish castle seems to have been the same as yours, Anne. And we all ask in youth when we shall find our gate of dream.”

ANNE
:- “Well, we found ours, after much misunderstanding.”

SUSAN
:- “Ingleside seems to me like a castle, after that miserable pantry in your House of Dreams which I shall never forget. If Spanish castles have as many good pantries as Ingleside I approve of them.”