The Pryor Mystery
"And now old Dodson, turning pale,
Yields to his fate--so ends my tale."
It didn't take me long to see why Shelley liked Robert Paget. He was
one of the very most likeable persons I ever had seen. We were sitting
under the apple tree, growing better friends every minute, when we
heard a smash, so we looked up, and it was the sound made by Ranger as
Mr. Pryor landed from taking our meadow fence. He had ridden through
the pasture, and was coming down the creek bank. He was a spectacle to
behold. A mile away you could see that Thomas had told him he had seen
Robert, and where he was. Father had been mistaken in thinking Mr.
Pryor would go to the house. He had lost his hat, his white hair was
flying, his horse was in a lather, and he seemed to be talking to
himself. Robert took one good look. "Ye Gods!" he cried. "There he
comes now, a chattering madman!"
"The Station," I panted. "Up that ravine! Roll back the stone and
pull the door shut after you. Quick!"
He never could have been inside, before Mr. Pryor's horse was raving
along the embankment beside the fence.
"Where is he?" he cried. "Thomas saw him here!"
I didn't think his horse could take the fence at the top of the hill,
but it looked as if he intended trying to make it, and I had to stop
him if I could.
"Saw who?" I asked with clicking teeth.
"A tall, slender man, with a handsome face, and the heart of a devil."
"Yes, there was a man here like that in the face. I didn't see his
heart," I said.
"Which way?" raved Mr. Pryor. "Which way? Is he at your house?"
Then I saw that he had the reins in his left hand, and a big revolver
in his right. So there was no mistake about whether he'd really shoot.
But that gun provoked me. People have no business to be careless with
those things. They're dangerous!
"He didn't do what you think he did," I cried, "and he can prove he
didn't, if you'll stop cavorting, and listen to reason."
Mr. Pryor leaned over the fence, dark purple like a beet now.
"You tell me where he is, or I'll choke it out of you," he said.
I guess he meant it. I took one long look at his lean, clawlike
fingers, and put both hands around my neck.
"He knew Thomas saw him. He went that way," I said, waving off toward
the north.
"Hah! striking for petticoats, as usual!" he cried, and away he went in
the direction of his house. Then I flew for the Station.
"Come from there, quick!" I cried. "I've sent him back to his house,
but when he finds you're not there, he will come here again. Hurry,
and I'll put you in the woodshed loft. He'd never think of looking
there."
He came out and we started toward the house, going pretty fast. Almost
to the back gate we met Shelley.
"Does mother know?" I asked.
"I just told her," she said.
"Father," I cried, going in the back dining-room door. "Mr. Pryor was
down in the meadow on Ranger. Thomas did see Robert, and his father is
hunting him with a gun. We saw him coming, so I hid Robert in the
Station and sent Mr. Pryor back home--I guess I told him a lie, father,
or at least part of one, I said he went 'that way,' and he did, but not
so far as I made his father think; so he started back home, but when he
gets there and doesn't find Robert he'll come here again, madder than
ever. Oh father, he'll come again, and he's crazy, father! Clear,
raving crazy! I know he'll come again!"
"Yes," said father calmly. "I think it very probable that he will come
again."
Then he started around shutting and latching windows, closing and
locking the doors, and he carefully loaded his gun, and leaned it
against the front casing. Then he put on his glasses, and began
examining the papers they had brought out again. Robert stood beside
him, and explained and showed him.
"You see with me out of the way, the English law would give everything
to my cousin," he said, and he explained it all over again.
"And to think how he always posed for a perfect saint!" cried the
Princess. "Oh I hope the devil knows how to make him pay for what all
of us have suffered!"
"Child! Child!" cried mother.
"I can't help it!" said the Princess. "Let me tell you, Mr. Stanton."
Then SHE told everything all over again, but it was even more
interesting than the way Robert explained it, because what she said was
about how it had been with her and her mother.
"It made father what he is," she said. "He would have killed Robert,
if our friends hadn't helped him away. He will now, if he isn't
stopped. I tell you he will! He sold everything he could legally
control, for what any one chose to give him, and fled here stricken in
pride, heartbroken, insane with anger, the creature you know. In a
minute he'll be back again. Oh what are we going to do?"
Father was laying out the papers that he wanted to use very carefully.
"These constitute all the proof any court would require," he said to
Robert. "If he returns, all of you keep from sight. This is my house;
I'll manage who comes here, in my own way."
"But you must be allowed to take no risk!" cried Robert. "I cawn't
consent to youah facing danger for me."
"There will be no risk," said father. "There is no reason why he
should want to injure me. As the master of this house, I am accustomed
to being obeyed. If he comes, step into the parlour there, until I
call you."
He was busy with the papers when he saw Mr. Pryor coming. I wondered
if he would jump the yard fence and ride down mother's flowers, but he
left his horse at the hitching rack, and pounded on the front door.
"Did any of you notice whether he was displaying a revolver?" asked
father.
"Yes father! Yes!" I cried. "And he's shaking so I'm afraid he'll
make it go, when he doesn't intend to."
Father picked up and levelled his rifle on the front door.
"Leon," he said, "you're pretty agile. Open this door, keep yourself
behind it, and step around in the parlour. The rest of you get out,
and stay out of range."
Those nearest hurried into the parlour. Candace, May, and I crouched
in the front stairway, but things were so exciting we just had to keep
the door open a tiny crack so we could see plain as anything. There
had been nothing for Mrs. Freshett to do all afternoon, so she had gone
over to visit an hour with Amanda Deam. Now Mr. Pryor probably thought
father would meet him with the Bible in his hand, and read a passage
about loving your neighbour as yourself. I'll bet anything you can
mention that he never expected to find himself looking straight down
the barrel of a shining big rifle when that door swung open. It
surprised him so, he staggered, and his arm wavered. If he had shot
and hit anything then, it would have been an accident.
"Got you over the heart," said father, in precisely the same voice he
always said, "This is a fine day we are having." "Now why are you
coming here in such a shape?" This was a little cross. "I'm not the
man to cringe before you!" This was quite boastful. "You'll get
bullet for bullet, if you attempt to invade my house with a gun." This
pinged as if father shot words instead of bullets.
"I want my daughter to come home," said Mr. Pryor. "And if you're
sheltering the thief she is trying to hide, yield him up, if you would
save yourself."
"Well, I'm not anxious about dying, with the family I have on my hands,
neighbour," said father, his rifle holding without a waver, "but unless
you put away that weapon, and listen to reason, you cannot enter my
house. Calm yourself, man, and hear what there is to be said! Examine
the proof, that is here waiting to be offered to you."
"Once and but once, send them out, or I'll enter over you!" cried Mr.
Pryor.
"Sorry," said father, "but if only a muscle of your trigger finger
moves, you fall before I do. I've the best range, and the most
suitable implement for the work."
"Implement for the work!" Well, what do you think of father? Any one
who could not see, to have heard him, would have thought he was talking
about a hoe. We saw a shadow before we knew what made it; then, a
little at a time, wonderingly, her jolly face a bewildered daze, her
mouth slowly opening, Mrs. Freshett, half-bent and peering, stooped
under Mr. Pryor's arm and looked in our door. She had come back to
help get supper, and because the kitchen was locked, she had gone
around the house to see if she could get in at the front. What she saw
closed her mouth, and straightened her back.
"WHY, YOU TWO OLD FOOLS!" she cried. "IF YE AIN'T DRAWED A BEAD ON
EACH OTHER!"
None of us saw her do it. We only knew after it was over what must
have happened. She had said she'd risk her life for mother.
She never stopped an instant when her chance came. She must have
turned, and thrown her big body against Mr. Pryor. He was tired, old,
and shaking with anger. They went down together, she gripping his
right wrist with both hands, and she was strong as most men. Father
set the gun beside the door, and bent over them. A minute more and he
handed the revolver to Leon, and helped Mrs. Freshett to her feet. Mr.
Pryor lay all twisted on the walk, his face was working, and what he
said was a stiff jabber no one could understand. He had broken into
the pieces we often feared he would.
Robert and Laddie came running to help father carry him in, and lay him
on the couch.
"I hope, Miss Stanton," said Mrs. Freshett, "that I wa'n't too rough
with him. He was so shaky-like, I was 'feered that thing would go off
without his really makin' it, and of course I couldn't see none of
yourn threatened with a deadly weepon, 'thout buttin' in and doin' the
best I could."
Mother put her arms around her as far as they would reach. She would
have had to take her a side at a time to really hug all of her, and she
said: "Mrs. Freshett, you are an instrument in the hands of the Lord
this day. Undoubtedly you have kept us from a fearful tragedy;
possibly you have saved my husband for me. None of us ever can thank
you enough."
"Loosen his collar and give him air," said Mrs. Freshett pushing mother
away. "I think likely he has bust a blood vessel."
Father sent Leon flying to bring Dr. Fenner. Laddie took the carriage
and he and Robert went after Mrs. Pryor, while father, mother, Mrs.
Freshett, the Princess, May, and I, every last one, worked over Mr.
Pryor. We poured hot stuff down his throat, put warm things around
him, and rubbed him until the sweat ran on us, trying to get his
knotted muscles straightened out. When Dr. Fenner came he said we were
doing all he could; MAYBE Mr. Pryor would come to and be all right, and
maybe his left side would be helpless forever; it was a stroke. Seemed
to me having Mrs. Freshett come against you like that, could be called
a good deal more than a stroke, but I couldn't think of the right word
then. And after all, perhaps stroke was enough. He couldn't have been
much worse off if the barn had fallen on him. I didn't think there was
quite so much of Mrs. Freshett; but then she was scared, and angry; and
he was about ready to burst, all by himself, if no one had touched him.
He had much better have stayed at home and listened to what was to be
said, reasonably, like father would; and then if he really had to
shoot, he would have been in some kind of condition to take aim.
After a long hard fight we got him limber, straightened out, and warm,
it didn't rip so when he breathed, then they put him in the parlour on
the big davenport. Leon said if the sparkin' bench didn't bring him
to, nothing would. Laddie sat beside him and mother kept peeping. She
wouldn't let Dr. Fenner go, because she said Mr. Pryor just must come
out of it right, and have a few years of peace and happiness.
Mrs. Pryor came back with Laddie and Robert. He carried her in, put
her in the big rocking chair again, and he sat beside her, stroking and
kissing her, while she held him with both hands. You could see NOW why
his mother couldn't sleep, walked the road, and held her hands over her
heart. She was a brave woman, and she had done well to keep alive and
going in any shape at all. You see we knew. There had been only the
few hours when it seemed possible that one of our boys had taken
father's money and was gone. I well remembered what happened to our
mother then. And if she had been disgraced before every one, dragged
from her home away across a big sea to live among strangers, and not
known where her boy was for years, I'm not a bit sure that she'd have
done better than Mrs. Pryor. Yes, she would too; come to think it
out--she'd have kept on believing the Lord had something to do with it,
and that He'd fix it some way; and I know she and father would have
held hands no matter what happened or where they went.
I guess the biggest thing the matter with Pryors was that they didn't
know how to go about loving each other right; maybe it was because they
didn't love God, so they couldn't know exactly what PROPER LOVE was;
because God is love, like father said.
Mrs. Pryor didn't want to see Mr. Pryor--I can't get used to calling
them Paget--and she didn't ask anything about him. I guess she was
pretty mad at him. She never had liked the Emmet cousin, and she'd had
nothing but trouble with him all the time he had been in her family,
and then that awful disgrace, that she always THOUGHT was all him, but
she couldn't prove it, and she had no money.
That's a very bad thing. A woman should always have some money. She
works as hard as any one, and usually she has more that worries her, so
it's only fair for her to have part of what the work and worry bring.
Mother always has money. Why, she has so much, she can help father out
when he is pushed with bills, as she did last fall, to start Shelley to
music school. It's no way to be forced to live with a man, just to get
a home, food, and clothing. I don't believe mother ever would do it in
all this world. But then mother has worked all her life, and so if
father doesn't do as she wants him to, she'd know exactly how to go
about taking care of herself.
After all Mrs. Pryor didn't need to sit back on her dignity and look so
abused. He couldn't knock her down, and drag her clear here. Why
didn't she say right out, in the beginning, that her son COULDN'T be a
thief, that she knew it, and she'd stay at home and wait for him to
come back? She could have put a piece in the paper saying she knew her
boy was all right, and for him to come back, so they could go to work
and PROVE it. I bet if she'd had one tenth of the ginger mother has,
she'd have stopped the whole fuss in the start. I looked at her almost
steadily, trying to figure out just what mother would have done in her
place. Maybe I'm mistaken about exactly how she would have set to
work, but this I KNOW: she'd have stuck to the Lord; she'd have loved
father, so dearly, he just COULDN'T have wanted her to do things that
hurt her until it gave her heart trouble; and she never, never would
have given up one of us, and sat holding her heart for months, refusing
to see or to speak to any one, while she waited for some one else to do
something. Mother never waits. She always thinks a minute, if she's
in doubt she asks father; if he can't decide, both of them ask God; and
then you ought to see things begin to fly.
The more I watched Mrs. Pryor, the more I began to think she was a
lady; and just about when I was sure that was what ailed her, I heard
father say: "Perhaps the lady would like a cup of tea." I had a big
notion to tell her to come on, and I would show her where the cannister
was, but I thought I better not. I wanted to, though. She'd have felt
much better if she had got up and worked like the rest of us. With all
the excitement, and everything happening at once, you'd have thought
mother would be flat on her back, but flat nothing! Everything was
picked up and slid back, fast as it was torn down; she found time to
flannel her nose and brush her hair, her collar was straight, and the
goldstone pin shone in the light, while her starched white apron
fluttered as she went through the doors. She said a few words to
Candace and Mrs. Freshett, May took out a linen cloth and began to set
places for all the grown people, so I knew there'd be strawberry
preserves and fried ham, but in all that, would you ever have thought
that she'd find a second to make biscuit, and tea cakes herself? Plain
as preaching I heard her say to Mrs. Freshett: "I do hope and pray
that Mr. Pryor will come out of it right, so we can take him home, and
teach him to behave himself; but if he's gone this minute, I intend to
have another decent meal for Shelley to offer her young man; and I
don't care if I show Mrs. Pryor that we're not hungry over here, if we
do lack servants to carry in food on silver platters."
"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."