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It seemed, yes it seemed that if Roy were to start jollying Pee-wee then and there, that smile would broaden. It was the picture of Blythey, their friend. It seemed to say, "Let's start the camp-fire." The handwriting of the letter was small and shaky. The missive read: Dear Unknown Friend: The letter you sent me came to me. It was brought to me by the postmaster.
Huddling in a posture of abject terror he clutched the object which he held tighter against his breast, his head bowed and shaking, his whole form in convulsion. "Do you know where you are, Blythey?" Warde asked. "In the lower field where they're making hay," Blythe answered. They tried no more at questioning him. "We want you to come with us, Blythey," Roy said.
"Whose picture Blythey?" "My mother's, you know. You know how I went up and got it. You're my friends and I'm yours " "Yes, you are," Roy said, his eyes glistening. The invalid closed his eyes and lay as if asleep. The two scouts waited, but the eyes did not reopen. So they arose quietly and left the ward. They had been told they could not stay long. They were deeply affected and bewildered.
Warde's gaze was fixed directly on Blythe, who seemed calm, content, and happy to be among them. He at least showed no constraint. "I dare say that robin will be in Canada by morning," Warde said. "They go as far north as Montreal before they turn south. Hey, Roy?" "Some of them do," Roy said. "There's a place I'd like to go to Montreal," said Warde. "Ever been there Blythey?"
"Tell us about your brother; we're all friends." "Friends and comrades," Blythe said faintly. "That's it, you said it," Roy assured him. "He tried to kill me," Blythe said. "Why did he try to do that Blythey?" Roy asked. "We're your friends; tell us all about it. You remember better than you used to?" "I thought I told you," the invalid said simply. "They're going to take me to Canada next week.
"All right," Roy answered; "my foot is caught under the flooring." "Blythe all right? How about you, Blythey?" Blythe did not answer. He seemed immovable, like a figure of stone. His bare arms gave the impression of a taut rope. A heavy timber which they lifted from across his back, where it had lain like a seesaw, must have all but broken his spine.
Then the big winged fan revolved silently above them in the dark night. "Blythey," cried Roy gently; "look up. It's just Warde and me. What's the matter? Tell us, can't you? What's the trouble?" "I've got her I can see her she called me " was all Blythe could say. "Did you hear her call loud? I knew I came no no!" he fairly screamed, as Warde tried to lift his head and discover what he held.
"Look out up there," Roy called from below. "Get off there Blythey they quick!" another shouted. "Climb down here," another suggested. Perhaps Blythe did not think as quickly as others think. Perhaps he did not value his poor life as others value their lives. Who shall say? In any case he did not descend by one of the slanting strips.
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