“Marta, I have come to the conclusion that what Lionel needs is a companion... a chum... a pal. All boys should have one. The Ingleside boys are all too far away... and really, after what Jem told Lionel about toad spit... But you know they say a child with no one but grown-ups around him will have an inferiority complex. Or do I mean a superiority complex?”
“I think you don’t know what you mean yourself,” said Marta. “Have a talk with Mrs. Blythe. She is in town, I hear.”
“Mrs. Blythe is a B.A., but I have never heard that she was an authority on child psychology...”
“Her children are the best behaved I’ve ever seen,” said Marta.
“Well, anyhow I have decided that Lionel needs a companion.”
“You don’t mean that you are going to adopt another boy!” said Marta in a tone of consternation.
“Not adopt exactly... oh, dear me no, not adopt, Marta. But I simply mean to get one for the summer... till school opens. Mrs. Elwood was talking about one yesterday... I think his name is Theodore Wells...”
“Jim Wells’ nephew! Why, Penelope Craig! Wasn’t his mother an actress or something?”
“Yes... Sandra Valdez. Jim Wells’ brother married her ten years ago in New York or London or somewhere. They soon parted and Sidney came home with his boy. He died at Jim’s farm. Jim has looked after the boy but you know he died last month and his wife says she has enough to do to look after her own.”
“He was never very welcome there, from all I’ve heard,” muttered Marta.
“She wants to find a home for him until she can get in touch with Sandra Valdez... and I feel it is Providential, Marta...”
“I feel the old Scratch has had more to do with it,” said Marta.
“Marta... Marta... you really mustn’t. Mrs. Elwood says he is a dear little chap... looks just like an angel...”
“Mrs. Elwood would say anything. She is a sister of Mrs. Jim Wells. Penelope, you don’t know what that child is like... or what he may teach Lionel...”
“Mrs. Elwood says the Wells children are all well behaved and well brought up...”
“Oh, she said that, did she? Well, they’re her own nephews and nieces. She ought to know...”
“Suppose he is a little mischievous...”
“Oh, she admitted that, did she? Well, children should be mischievous. I may be an old maid but I know that. They say those Blythe youngsters you’re so fond of quoting...”
“I very seldom mention them, Marta! But Dr. Galbraith... well, that is one thing that worried me about Lionel. He isn’t half mischievous enough. In fact, he is not mischievous at all. It isn’t normal. When Theodore comes...”
“Theodore! That is even worse than Lionel.”
“Now, Marta, be nice,” said Penelope pleadingly. “You know I’m right.”
“If you had a husband, Penelope, I wouldn’t care how many children you adopted. But for two old maids to start bringing up boys...”
“That will do, Marta. A woman who has made a study of child psychology as I have knows more about bringing up children than many a mother. My mind is made up.”
“Oh, how I wish Dr. Roger was home!” groaned Marta to herself. “Not that I suppose he would have the slightest influence either.”
Theodore looked as Lionel should have looked. He was slender and had delicate features, with red-gold hair and astonishingly lustrous grey eyes.
“So this is Theodore,” said Penelope graciously.
“Yes’m,” said Theodore with a charming smile. There was evidently nothing of Lionel’s gruffness about him.
“And this is Lionel,” smiled Penelope.
“I’ve heard about him,” said Theodore. “Hello, Bumps!”
“Hello, Red,” condescended Lionel.
“Suppose you go out into the garden and get acquainted before dinner,” suggested Penelope, still smiling. Things were going much better than she had dared hope.
Marta sniffed. She knew something about the said Theodore Wells.
A few minutes later bloodcurdling howls came from the backyard. Penelope and Marta both rushed out in dismay to find the two boys in a furious clinch on the gravelled walk, kicking, clawing and yelling. Penelope and Marta dragged them apart with difficulty. Their faces were covered with dirt. Theodore had a cut lip and another of Lionel’s teeth was missing. George was up on a maple tree, apparently wondering if her tail really belonged to her.
“Oh, darlings, darlings,” cried Penelope distractedly. “This is dreadful... you mustn’t fight... you mustn’t...”
It was evident that for the moment, at least, Penelope had forgotten the rules of child psychology.
“He pulled George’s tail,” snarled Lionel. “Nobody ain’t going to pull my cat’s tail.”
“How did I know it was your cat?” demanded Red. “You hit first. Look at my lip, Miss Craig.”
“It’s bleeding,” said Penelope with a shudder. She could never endure the sight of blood. It turned her sick.
“It’s only a scratch,” said Marta. “I’ll put some vaseline on it.”
“Kiss the place and make it well,” jeered Theodore. Lionel said nothing. He was busy hunting for his lost tooth.
“At least he isn’t a crybaby,” Penelope comforted herself. “Neither of them is a crybaby.”
Marta took Lionel to the kitchen. He went willingly because he had found his tooth. Penelope took Theodore to the bathroom, where she washed his face, much against his will, and discovered that his neck and body were in deplorable need of attention also. A bath was indicated.
“Gee, I’d hate to be as clean as you all the time,” said Theodore, looking himself over afterwards. “Do you wash yourself over every day?”
“Of course, dear.”
“All over?”
“Of course.”
“If I wash my face at the pump once a week... thorrerly... won’t that be enough?” demanded Theodore. “And can I call you momma? You smell nice.”
“I think... Aunty would be better,” faltered Penelope.
“I’ve got all the aunts I want,” objected Theodore. “But I ain’t got no momma. Just as you say, though. Say, that tooth of Bumps was ready to come out anyhow. What are cats’ tails for if they ain’t to be pulled?”
“But you don’t want to hurt poor little animals, do you? If you were a kitten and had a tail, would you like to have it pulled?”
“If I was a kitten and had a tail,” sang Theodore. He really sang it... in a delightfully clear, true, sweet voice. Lionel could sing, too, it appeared. The two sat on the steps after dinner and sang all kinds of songs together. Some of the songs Penelope thought rather terrible for small boys but it was such a comfort to find Lionel taking an interest in something at last. She had been right. All Lionel really needed was a companion.
“Did you hear how they ended up that bee-i-ee-iee song?” demanded Marta. “They didn’t end it with ‘way down yonder in the field.’ What if Mrs. Raynor had heard them?”
Mrs. Raynor had not heard them. But a certain Mrs. Embree, who was passing at that moment, had. It was all over the neighbourhood by next day. Someone telephoned it to Penelope. Did she really think Theodore Wells a fit companion for her nephew?
By now Penelope, who had screwed the truth out of Marta, was wondering herself. Marta had found the two boys at the pump before lunch.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Marta, looking at Lionel’s face.
“Nothing,” said Lionel.
Penelope came running out.
“What is the matter?”
“Red was chewing beet root and he spit on me,” growled Lionel.
“Oh, Theodore! Theodore!”
“Well, you told me I mustn’t fight,” yelled Theodore, who seemed to be in a towering rage. “There wasn’t nothing I could do but spit.”
“But why... why spit?” said Penelope weakly.
“He said he bet his father could swear worse’n my father could if they were alive. I ain’t going t
o let anybody run down my relations. I’ve got more guts than that. If I can’t fight I’m going to spit... spit hard. But I forgot about the beet root,” he added frankly.
“There’s just one of two things you can do, Penelope,” said Marta, after Lionel’s face had been purified. “You can send this Theodore young one back to his aunt...”
“I can’t do that, Marta. It would look so... so... it would be a confession of defeat. And think how Roger would laugh at me.”
“So Roger’s opinion is beginning to have some weight with you,” thought Marta with satisfaction.
“And really Lionel is a changed boy even in so short a time,” protested Penelope... “I mean he’s taking an interest in things...”
“Then you can let them fight it out when they want to fight,” said Marta. “It don’t hurt boys to fight. They get a lot of divilment out of their systems in that way. Look at them two now... out behind the garage, digging for worms, as good friends as if they’d never fought or spit. No, don’t quote the Ingleside gang to me... they’ve got a different lot of parents altogether... and a different bringing-up. It makes all the difference in the world.”
“And of course, frustration is about the worst thing possible for a child,” murmured poor Penelope, still holding a few illusions about her like tattered rags.
There was no more frustration with Lionel and Theodore, as far as fighting was concerned. They had another set-to that day but they also had a trout-fishing excursion up the brook and came home triumphantly with a string of very decent little trout which Marta fried for their dinners. But Penelope confessed to herself in dire humiliation that she would be letting them fight more because she felt powerless to stop them than because she felt really convinced about the frustration problem. And she wondered what Mrs. Elwood’s conception of a well-trained boy was. It was not of course possible that Mrs. Elwood was...
Still, amid all her distraction of mind in the ensuing weeks there was the faint comfort that another problem regarding Lionel had ceased to be. He was amused. From early morn to dewy eve he and Theodore were “up to something,” as Marta put it. They fought frequently and Penelope was sure the whole countryside must hear their wild howls and think they were being shamefully whipped or something of the sort. But Lionel condescended to explain to Penelope that “it had been awful lonesome before Red came with no one to fight with.”
Theodore had an explosive temper which vanished as soon as it had exploded. Between times, even Marta admitted his charm. After all, Penelope tried to convince herself, their mischief was really no more than normal. Likely if one only knew, the Ingleside boys did precisely the same things.
That snake on the laundry floor... of course poor Marta had got a nasty fright.
“He’s a good snake,” Theodore had protested. “He wouldn’t hurt you.”
It really was a harmless garter snake... but still a snake was a snake.
And how charmingly he had assured Mrs. Peabody that her hat would come all right if she steamed it. Theodore hadn’t meant to sit on it... Penelope wished she felt quite sure of that, but she knew how both boys hated Mrs. Peabody... and really Mrs. Peabody had been rather disagreeable. Why had she left her hat on the garden seat anyhow? She had declared it was a Paris hat but Penelope had seen Mrs. Dr. Blythe wearing a much smarter one at a Charlottetown tea a few days before and she had bought it from a Charlottetown milliner.
Of course Lionel shouldn’t have turned the hose on the baker’s boy and the living room was a terrible sight after their pillow fight. Unfortunately one of the pillows had burst and of course Mrs. Raynor had to bring the Bishop and his family to call at that very moment. They had all been very nice about it and the Bishop had told of some much worse things he had done when a boy... to be sure, his wife had reminded him that his father had given him some terrible whippings for his kididoes. But the Bishop had replied that times were changed and children were treated very differently now. Mrs. Raynor looked as if the whole thing had been planned as an insult to her.
But Penelope really couldn’t see why everyone blamed the boys so much the night she and Marta thought they were lost. It was all her own fault that she hadn’t looked in the sleeping porch. They had simply gone to bed after supper without saying a word to anyone and were sleeping soundly and sweetly, with George purring between them, when the summer colony was searching for them and there was talk of calling over the Charlottetown police. Penelope for the first time in her life was on the verge of hysterics because someone was sure she had seen them in an automobile with a very suspicious-looking man just at dark. Finally someone had suggested looking in the sleeping porch and then people had said, so Penelope was informed, “Just what you would expect of those two young demons,” when the poor tired little creatures had simply gone to bed. Even Marta was indignant. She said Jem Blythe out at Ingleside had done almost exactly the same thing one night and nobody ever thought of punishing him. Susan Baker had told her all about it and just seemed thankful no worse had happened to him.
But Theodore really had to be punished when he cut his initials on the new dining room table the afternoon Penelope was over in town at a meeting of the Child Welfare Committee. Marta spanked him before Penelope got home and Theodore had said scornfully when it was over, “That didn’t hurt. You don’t know anything about spanking. If you’d take some lessons from Aunt Ella now!”
“There are times,” thought Marta bitterly, “when a man would be comforting.”
Penelope, looking at her once beautiful table, almost agreed with her.
And she never forgot the afternoon she called on Mrs. Freeman. She was informed that Theodore had set Mrs. Freeman’s dog and Mrs. Anstey’s dog fighting, with the result that Mrs. Anstey, who was neurotic, had to be taken to the hospital because of it... her darling dog had had a piece of his ear chewed off. Moreover Theodore and Lionel had taken off poor little Bobby Green’s clothes entirely and made him go home stark naked without them.
“Stark naked,” said Mrs. Freeman in tones of horror.
“Well, children wear so little in summer nowadays,” faltered poor Penelope.
“They don’t go entirely naked,” said Mrs. Freeman, “except perhaps up the back cove at evening where nobody sees them. And when I scolded Theodore both he and Lionel made snoots at me.”
Penelope had no earthly idea what snoots were and dared not ask.
“If I can just keep from crying till I get home,” she thought.
But when she got home, Mrs. Banks, who lived by the church, was just calling her up on the telephone to say that Theodore and Lionel had taken the white marble lamb off the top of little David Archbold’s tomb to play with. The cement had been loose for years, of course, but nobody had ever touched it before.
Penelope despatched Marta to bring the boys home and replace the lamb but unluckily they had dropped it in the river and Penelope had to get old Tom Martin to fish for it. It took him three days to find it... and even then one of the ears was broken off and was never recovered. During all this time Mrs. Archbold was in bed with two doctors in attendance... though it was said to be forty years since little David’s death.
That was only the first of many telephone calls. Penelope was soon driven almost mad with telephone calls. People had discovered that Miss Craig was inclined to be a little on her dignity when anything was said to her about those two young Satans she had adopted and it was easier to say it on the telephone and hang up when you had finished.
“Will you be good enough to look after your boys, Miss Craig? They have been playing at harpooning elephants and have harpooned our cow...”
“Miss Craig, I think your boys are digging out a skunk in Mr. Dowling’s wood lot...”
“Miss Craig, one of your boys has been most impertinent to me... he called me an old owl when I warned him off my flowerbeds...”
“Miss Craig, I’m sorry but I really cannot allow my children to play with those boys of yours any longer. They use such dreadful langu
age. One of them threatened to kick Robina on the bottom...”
“She said I was a brat you’d picked out of the gutter, Aunt Penelope,” explained Theodore that night, “and I didn’t kick her bum... I only said I’d do it if she didn’t shut up.”
“Miss Craig, perhaps you don’t know that your boys are gorging themselves with green apples in that old deserted orchard of the Carsons...”
Penelope knew it that night for she had to be up till the grey dawn with them. She would not send for Roger, as Marta wished.
“I wonder what it would be like to sleep... really sleep... again,” she said.
Then she shuddered. Was her voice actually getting querulous?
But gone forever were the peace and quiet she loved. The only times she ever felt at ease about the boys were when they were asleep or singing together out in the twilight orchard. They really did sound like young angels then. And why were people so hard on them? Marta had told her that the Ingleside boys had tied another boy to the stake and set him on fire! Yet everyone seemed to think the Ingleside family a model one.
“I suppose they expect more of mine because I have always been known as an expert on child psychology,” she thought wearily. “Of course they expect them to be perfect on that account.”
Once Lionel smiled at her... suddenly... spontaneously... a dear little smile with two teeth missing. It transfigured his whole face. Penelope found herself smiling back at him.
“It’s only two weeks till school opens,” she told Marta. “Things will be better then.”
“Or worse,” said Marta dourly. “It’ll be a woman teacher. What they need is a man.”
“The Blythe family have a father but the stories one hears...”
“I’ve heard you say yourself it doesn’t do to believe half you hear,” retorted Marta. “Besides, people expect more of your boys. You’ve been talking for years about how to bring up children... Mrs. Blythe just minds her own business...”
“Don’t quote Mrs. Blythe to me again,” said Penelope, with sudden passion. “I don’t believe her children are a bit better than other people’s children.”
The Complete Works of L M Montgomery Page 584