Books: Pollyanna Grows Up
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Eleanor H. Porter >> Pollyanna Grows Up
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"Is she pretty?"
"Oh, ye young men!" shrugged John Pendleton, in mock despair. "Always
the first question--'Is she pretty?'!"
"Well, is she?" insisted the youth.
"I'll let you judge for yourself. If you--On second thoughts, though,
I believe I won't. You might be too disappointed. Pollyanna isn't
pretty, so far as regular features, curls, and dimples go. In fact, to
my certain knowledge the great cross in Pollyanna's life thus far is
that she is so sure she isn't pretty. Long ago she told me that black
curls were one of the things she was going to have when she got to
Heaven; and last year in Rome she said something else. It wasn't much,
perhaps, so far as words went, but I detected the longing beneath. She
said she did wish that sometime some one would write a novel with a
heroine who had straight hair and a freckle on her nose; but that she
supposed she ought to be glad girls in books didn't have to have
them."
"That sounds like the old Pollyanna."
"Oh, you'll still find her--Pollyanna," smiled the man, quizzically.
"Besides, _I_ think she's pretty. Her eyes are lovely. She is the
picture of health. She carries herself with all the joyous springiness
of youth, and her whole face lights up so wonderfully when she talks
that you quite forget whether her features are regular or not"
"Does she still--play the game?"
John Pendleton smiled fondly.
"I imagine she plays it, but she doesn't say much about it now, I
fancy. Anyhow, she didn't to me, the two or three times I saw her."
There was a short silence; then, a little slowly, young Pendleton
said:
"I think that was one of the things that was worrying me. That game
has been so much to so many people. It has meant so much everywhere,
all through the town! I couldn't bear to think of her giving it up and
NOT playing it. At the same time I couldn't fancy a grown-up Pollyanna
perpetually admonishing people to be glad for something. Someway,
I--well, as I said, I--I just didn't want Pollyanna to grow up,
anyhow."
"Well, I wouldn't worry," shrugged the elder man, with a peculiar
smile. "Always, with Pollyanna, you know, it was the 'clearing-up
shower,' both literally and figuratively; and I think you'll find she
lives up to the same principle now--though perhaps not quite in the
same way. Poor child, I fear she'll need some kind of game to make
existence endurable, for a while, at least."
"Do you mean because Mrs. Chilton has lost her money? Are they so very
poor, then?"
"I suspect they are. In fact, they are in rather bad shape, so far as
money matters go, as I happen to know. Mrs. Chilton's own fortune has
shrunk unbelievably, and poor Tom's estate is very small, and
hopelessly full of bad debts--professional services never paid for,
and that never will be paid for. Tom could never say no when his help
was needed, and all the dead beats in town knew it and imposed on him
accordingly. Expenses have been heavy with him lately. Besides, he
expected great things when he should have completed this special work
in Germany. Naturally he supposed his wife and Pollyanna were more
than amply provided for through the Harrington estate; so he had no
worry in that direction."
"Hm-m; I see, I see. Too bad, too bad!"
"But that isn't all. It was about two months after Tom's death that I
saw Mrs. Chilton and Pollyanna in Rome, and Mrs. Chilton then was in a
terrible state. In addition to her sorrow, she had just begun to get
an inkling of the trouble with her finances, and she was nearly
frantic. She refused to come home. She declared she never wanted to
see Beldingsville, or anybody in it, again. You see, she has always
been a peculiarly proud woman, and it was all affecting her in a
rather curious way. Pollyanna said that her aunt seemed possessed with
the idea that Beldingsville had not approved of her marrying Dr.
Chilton in the first place, at her age; and now that he was dead, she
felt that they were utterly out of sympathy in any grief that she
might show. She resented keenly, too, the fact that they must now know
that she was poor as well as widowed. In short, she had worked herself
Into an utterly morbid, wretched state, as unreasonable as it was
terrible. Poor little Pollyanna! It was a marvel to me how she stood
it. All is, if Mrs. Chilton kept it up, and continues to keep it up,
that child will be a wreck. That's why I said Pollyanna would need
some kind of a game if ever anybody did."
"The pity of it!--to think of that happening to Pollyanna!" exclaimed
the young man, in a voice that was not quite steady.
"Yes; and you can see all is not right by the way they are coming
to-day--so quietly, with not a word to anybody. That was Polly
Chilton's doings, I'll warrant. She didn't WANT to be met by anybody.
I understand she wrote to no one but her Old Tom's wife, Mrs. Durgin,
who had the keys."
"Yes, so Nancy told me--good old soul! She'd got the whole house open,
and had contrived somehow to make it look as if it wasn't a tomb of
dead hopes and lost pleasures. Of course the grounds looked fairly
well, for Old Tom has kept them up, after a fashion. But it made my
heart ache--the whole thing."
There was a long silence, then, curtly, John Pendleton suggested:
"They ought to be met."
"They will be met."
"Are YOU going to the station?"
"I am."
"Then you know what train they're coming on."
"Oh, no. Neither does Nancy."
"Then how will you manage?"
"I'm going to begin in the morning and go to every train till they
come," laughed the young man, a bit grimly. "Timothy's going, too,
with the family carriage. After all, there aren't many trains, anyway,
that they can come on, you know."
"Hm-m, I know," said John Pendleton. "Jim, I admire your nerve, but
not your judgment. I'm glad you're going to follow your nerve and not
your judgment, however--and I wish you good luck."
"Thank you, sir," smiled the young man dolefully. "I need 'em--your
good wishes--all right, all right, as Nancy says."
CHAPTER XVII
WHEN POLLYANNA CAME
As the train neared Beldingsville, Pollyanna watched her aunt
anxiously. All day Mrs. Chilton had been growing more and more
restless, more and more gloomy; and Pollyanna was fearful of the time
when the familiar home station should be reached.
As Pollyanna looked at her aunt, her heart ached. She was thinking
that she would not have believed it possible that any one could have
changed and aged so greatly in six short months. Mrs. Chilton's eyes
were lusterless, her cheeks pallid and shrunken, and her forehead
crossed and recrossed by fretful lines. Her mouth drooped at the
corners, and her hair was combed tightly back in the unbecoming
fashion that had been hers when Pollyanna first had seen her, years
before. All the softness and sweetness that seemed to have come to her
with her marriage had dropped from her like a cloak, leaving uppermost
the old hardness and sourness that had been hers when she was Miss
Polly Harrington, unloved, and unloving.
"Pollyanna!" Mrs. Chilton's voice was incisive.
Pollyanna started guiltily. She had an uncomfortable feeling that her
aunt might have read her thoughts.
"Yes, auntie."
"Where is that black bag--the little one?"
"Right here."
"Well, I wish you'd get out my black veil. We're nearly there."
"But it's so hot and thick, auntie!"
"Pollyanna, I asked for that black veil. If you'd please learn to do
what I ask without arguing about it, it would be a great deal easier
for me. I want that veil. Do you suppose I'm going to give all
Beldingsville a chance to see how I 'take it'?"
"Oh, auntie, they'd never be there in THAT spirit," protested
Pollyanna, hurriedly rummaging in the black bag for the much-wanted
veil. "Besides, there won't be anybody there, anyway, to meet us. We
didn't tell any one we were coming, you know."
"Yes, I know. We didn't TELL any one to meet us. But we instructed
Mrs. Durgin to have the rooms aired and the key under the mat for
to-day. Do you suppose Mary Durgin has kept that information to
herself? Not much! Half the town knows we're coming to-day, and a
dozen or more will 'happen around' the station about train time. I
know them! They want to see what Polly Harrington POOR looks like.
They--"
"Oh, auntie, auntie," begged Pollyanna, with tears in her eyes.
"If I wasn't so alone. If--the doctor were only here, and--" She
stopped speaking and turned away her head. Her mouth worked
convulsively. "Where is--that veil?" she choked huskily.
"Yes, dear. Here it is--right here," comforted Pollyanna, whose only
aim now, plainly, was to get the veil into her aunt's hands with all
haste. "And here we are now almost there. Oh, auntie, I do wish you'd
had Old Tom or Timothy meet us!"
"And ride home in state, as if we could AFFORD to keep such horses and
carriages? And when we know we shall have to sell them to-morrow? No,
I thank you, Pollyanna. I prefer to use the public carriage, under
those circumstances."
"I know, but--" The train came to a jolting, jarring stop, and only a
fluttering sigh finished Pollyanna's sentence.
As the two women stepped to the platform, Mrs. Chilton, in her black
veil, looked neither to the right nor the left. Pollyanna, however,
was nodding and smiling tearfully in half a dozen directions before
she had taken twice as many steps. Then, suddenly, she found herself
looking into a familiar, yet strangely unfamiliar face.
"Why, it isn't--it IS--Jimmy!" she beamed, reaching forth a cordial
hand. "That is, I suppose I should say 'MR. PENDLETON,'" she corrected
herself with a shy smile that said plainly: "Now that you've grown so
tall and fine!"
"I'd like to see you try it," challenged the youth, with a very
Jimmy-like tilt to his chin. He turned then to speak to Mrs. Chilton;
but that lady, with her head half averted, was hurrying on a little in
advance.
He turned back to Pollyanna, his eyes troubled and sympathetic.
"If you'd please come this way--both of you," he urged hurriedly.
"Timothy is here with the carriage."
"Oh, how good of him," cried Pollyanna, but with an anxious glance at
the somber veiled figure ahead. Timidly she touched her aunt's arm.
"Auntie, dear, Timothy's here. He's come with the carriage. He's over
this side. And--this is Jimmy Bean, auntie. You remember Jimmy Bean!"
In her nervousness and embarrassment Pollyanna did not notice that she
had given the young man the old name of his boyhood. Mrs. Chilton,
however, evidently did notice it. With palpable reluctance she turned
and inclined her head ever so slightly.
"Mr.--Pendleton is very kind, I am sure; but--I am sorry that he or
Timothy took quite so much trouble," she said frigidly.
"No trouble--no trouble at all, I assure you," laughed the young man,
trying to hide his embarrassment. "Now if you'll just let me have your
checks, so I can see to your baggage."
"Thank you," began Mrs. Chilton, "but I am very sure we can--"
But Pollyanna, with a relieved little "thank you!" had already passed
over the checks; and dignity demanded that Mrs. Chilton say no more.
The drive home was a silent one. Timothy, vaguely hurt at the
reception he had met with at the hands of his former mistress, sat up
in front stiff and straight, with tense lips. Mrs. Chilton, after a
weary "Well, well, child, just as you please; I suppose we shall have
to ride home in it now!" had subsided into stern gloom. Pollyanna,
however, was neither stern, nor tense, nor gloomy. With eager, though
tearful eyes she greeted each loved landmark as they came to it. Only
once did she speak, and that was to say:
"Isn't Jimmy fine? How he has improved! And hasn't he the nicest eyes
and smile?"
She waited hopefully, but as there was no reply to this, she contented
herself with a cheerful: "Well, I think he has, anyhow."
Timothy had been both too aggrieved and too afraid to tell Mrs.
Chilton what to expect at home; so the wide-flung doors and
flower-adorned rooms with Nancy courtesying on the porch were a
complete surprise to Mrs. Chilton and Pollyanna.
"Why, Nancy, how perfectly lovely!" cried Pollyanna, springing lightly
to the ground. "Auntie, here's Nancy to welcome us. And only see how
charming she's made everything look!"
Pollyanna's voice was determinedly cheerful, though it shook audibly.
This home-coming without the dear doctor whom she had loved so well
was not easy for her; and if hard for her, she knew something of what
it must be for her aunt. She knew, too, that the one thing her aunt
was dreading was a breakdown before Nancy, than which nothing could be
worse in her eyes. Behind the heavy black veil the eyes were brimming
and the lips were trembling, Pollyanna knew. She knew, too, that to
hide these facts her aunt would probably seize the first opportunity
for faultfinding, and make her anger a cloak to hide the fact that her
heart was breaking. Pollyanna was not surprised, therefore, to hear
her aunt's few cold words of greeting to Nancy followed by a sharp:
"Of course all this was very kind, Nancy; but, really, I would have
much preferred that you had not done it."
All the joy fled from, Nancy's face. She looked hurt and frightened.
"Oh, but Miss Polly--I mean, Mis' Chilton," she entreated; "it seemed
as if I couldn't let you--"
"There, there, never mind, Nancy," interrupted Mrs. Chilton. "I--I
don't want to talk about it." And, with her head proudly high, she
swept out of the room. A minute later they heard the door of her
bedroom shut up-stairs.
Nancy turned in dismay.
"Oh, Miss Pollyanna, what is it? What have I done? I thought she'd
LIKE it. I meant it all right!"
"Of course you did," wept Pollyanna, fumbling in her bag for her
handkerchief. "And 'twas lovely to have you do it, too,--just lovely."
"But SHE didn't like it."
"Yes, she did. But she didn't want to show she liked it. She was
afraid if she did she'd show--other things, and--Oh, Nancy, Nancy, I'm
so glad just to c-cry!" And Pollyanna was sobbing on Nancy's shoulder.
"There, there, dear; so she shall, so she shall," soothed Nancy,
patting the heaving shoulders with one hand, and trying, with the
other, to make the corner of her apron serve as a handkerchief to wipe
her own tears away.
"You see, I mustn't--cry--before--HER," faltered Pollyanna; "and it
WAS hard--coming here--the first time, you know, and all. And I KNEW
how she was feeling."
"Of course, of course, poor lamb," crooned Nancy. "And to think the
first thing _I_ should have done was somethin' ter vex her, and--"
"Oh, but she wasn't vexed at that," corrected Pollyanna, agitatedly.
"It's just her way, Nancy. You see, she doesn't like to show how badly
she feels about--about the doctor. And she's so afraid she WILL show
it that she--she just takes anything for an excuse to--to talk about.
She does it to me, too, just the same. So I know all about it. See?"
"Oh, yes, I see, I do, I do." Nancy's lips snapped together a little
severely, and her sympathetic pats, for the minute, were even more
loving, if possible. "Poor lamb! I'm glad I come, anyhow, for your
sake."
"Yes, so am I," breathed Pollyanna, gently drawing herself away and
wiping her eyes. "There, I feel better. And I do thank you ever so
much, Nancy, and I appreciate it. Now don't let us keep you when it's
time for you to go."
"Ho! I'm thinkin' I'll stay for a spell," sniffed Nancy.
"Stay! Why, Nancy, I thought you were married. Aren't you Timothy's
wife?"
"Sure! But he won't mind--for you. He'd WANT me to stay--for you."
"Oh, but, Nancy, we couldn't let you," demurred Pollyanna. "We can't
have anybody--now, you know. I'm going to do the work. Until we know
just how things are, we shall live very economically, Aunt Polly
says."
"Ho! as if I'd take money from--" began Nancy, in bridling wrath; but
at the expression on the other's face she stopped, and let her words
dwindle off in a mumbling protest, as she hurried from the room to
look after her creamed chicken on the stove.
Not until supper was over, and everything put in order, did Mrs.
Timothy Durgin consent to drive away with her husband; then she went
with evident reluctance, and with many pleadings to be allowed to come
"just ter help out a bit" at any time.
After Nancy had gone, Pollyanna came into the living-room where Mrs.
Chilton was sitting alone, her hand over her eyes.
"Well, dearie, shall I light up?" suggested Pollyanna, brightly.
"Oh, I suppose so."
"Wasn't Nancy a dear to fix us all up so nice?"
No answer.
"Where in the world she found all these flowers I can't imagine. She
has them in every room down here, and in both bedrooms, too."
Still no answer.
Pollyanna gave a half-stifled sigh and threw a wistful glance into her
aunt's averted face. After a moment she began again hopefully.
"I saw Old Tom in the garden. Poor man, his rheumatism is worse than
ever. He was bent nearly double. He inquired very particularly for
you, and--"
Mrs. Chilton turned with a sharp interruption.
"Pollyanna, what are we going to do?"
"Do? Why, the best we can, of course, dearie."
Mrs. Chilton gave an impatient gesture.
"Come, come, Pollyanna, do be serious for once. You'll find it is
serious, fast enough. WHAT are we going to DO? As you know, my income
has almost entirely stopped. Of course, some of the things are worth
something, I suppose; but Mr. Hart says very few of them will pay
anything at present. We have something in the bank, and a little
coming in, of course. And we have this house. But of what earthly use
is the house? We can't eat it, or wear it. It's too big for us, the
way we shall have to live; and we couldn't sell it for half what it's
really worth, unless we HAPPENED to find just the person that wanted
it."
"Sell it! Oh, auntie, you wouldn't--this beautiful house full of
lovely things!"
"I may have to, Pollyanna. We have to eat--unfortunately."
"I know it; and I'm always SO hungry," mourned Pollyanna, with a
rueful laugh. "Still, I suppose I ought to be glad my appetite is so
good."
"Very likely. You'd find something to be glad about, of course. But
what shall we do, child? I do wish you'd be serious for a minute."
A quick change came to Pollyanna's face.
"I am serious, Aunt Polly. I've been thinking. I--I wish I could earn
some money."
"Oh, child, child, to think of my ever living to hear you say that!"
moaned the woman; "--a daughter of the Harringtons having to earn her
bread!"
"Oh, but that isn't the way to look at it," laughed Pollyanna. "You
ought to be glad if a daughter of the Harringtons is SMART enough to
earn her bread! That isn't any disgrace, Aunt Polly."
"Perhaps not; but it isn't very pleasant to one's pride, after the
position we've always occupied in Beldingsville, Pollyanna."
Pollyanna did not seem to have heard. Her eyes were musingly fixed on
space.
"If only I had some talent! If only I could do something better than
anybody else in the world," she sighed at last. "I can sing a little,
play a little, embroider a little, and darn a little; but I can't do
any of them well--not well enough to be paid for it.
"I think I'd like best to cook," she resumed, after a minute's
silence, "and keep house. You know I loved that in Germany winters,
when Gretchen used to bother us so much by not coming when we wanted
her. But I don't exactly want to go into other people's kitchens to do
it."
"As if I'd let you! Pollyanna!" shuddered Mrs. Chilton again.
"And of course, to just work in our own kitchen here doesn't bring in
anything," bemoaned Pollyanna, "--not any money, I mean. And it's
money we need."
"It most emphatically is," sighed Aunt Polly.
There was a long silence, broken at last by Pollyanna.
"To think that after all you've done for me, auntie--to think that
now, if I only could, I'd have such a splendid chance to help! And
yet--I can't do it. Oh, why wasn't I born with something that's worth
money?"
"There, there, child, don't, don't! Of course, if the doctor--" The
words choked into silence.
Pollyanna looked up quickly, and sprang to her feet.
"Dear, dear, this will never do!" she exclaimed, with a complete
change of manner. "Don't you fret, auntie. What'll you wager that I
don't develop the most marvelous talent going, one of these days?
Besides, _I_ think it's real exciting--all this. There's so much
uncertainty in it. There's a lot of fun in wanting things--and then
watching for them to come. Just living along and KNOWING you're going
to have everything you want is so--so humdrum, you know," she
finished, with a gay little laugh.
Mrs. Chilton, however, did not laugh. She only sighed and said:
"Dear me, Pollyanna, what a child you are!"
CHAPTER XVIII
A MATTER OF ADJUSTMENT
The first few days at Beldingsville were not easy either for Mrs.
Chilton or for Pollyanna. They were days of adjustment; and days of
adjustment are seldom easy.
From travel and excitement it was not easy to put one's mind to the
consideration of the price of butter and the delinquencies of the
butcher. From having all one's time for one's own, it was not easy to
find always the next task clamoring to be done. Friends and neighbors
called, too, and although Pollyanna welcomed them with glad
cordiality, Mrs. Chilton, when possible, excused herself; and always
she said bitterly to Pollyanna:
"Curiosity, I suppose, to see how Polly Harrington likes being poor."
Of the doctor Mrs. Chilton seldom spoke, yet Pollyanna knew very well
that almost never was he absent from her thoughts; and that more than
half her taciturnity was but her usual cloak for a deeper emotion
which she did not care to show.
Jimmy Pendleton Pollyanna saw several times during that first month.
He came first with John Pendleton for a somewhat stiff and ceremonious
call--not that it was either stiff or ceremonious until after Aunt
Polly came into the room; then it was both. For some reason Aunt Polly
had not excused herself on this occasion. After that Jimmy had come by
himself, once with flowers, once with a book for Aunt Polly, twice
with no excuse at all. Pollyanna welcomed him with frank pleasure
always. Aunt Polly, after that first time, did not see him at all.
To the most of their friends and acquaintances Pollyanna said little
about the change in their circumstances. To Jimmy, however, she talked
freely, and always her constant cry was: "If only I could do something
to bring in some money!"
"I'm getting to be the most mercenary little creature you ever saw,"
she laughed dolefully. "I've got so I measure everything with a dollar
bill, and I actually think in quarters and dimes. You see, Aunt Polly
does feel so poor!"
"It's a shame!" stormed Jimmy.
"I know it. But, honestly, I think she feels a little poorer than she
needs to--she's brooded over it so. But I do wish I could help!"
Jimmy looked down at the wistful, eager face with its luminous eyes,
and his own eyes softened.
[Illustration: See Frontispiece: "Jimmy looked down at the wistful,
eager face"]
"What do you WANT to do--if you could do it?" he asked.
"Oh, I want to cook and keep house," smiled Pollyanna, with a pensive
sigh. "I just love to beat eggs and sugar, and hear the soda gurgle
its little tune in the cup of sour milk. I'm happy if I've got a day's
baking before me. But there isn't any money in that--except in
somebody else's kitchen, of course. And I--I don't exactly love it
well enough for that!"
"I should say not!" ejaculated the young fellow.
Once more he glanced down at the expressive face so near him. This
time a queer look came to the corners of his mouth. He pursed his
lips, then spoke, a slow red mounting to his forehead.
"Well, of course you might--marry. Have you thought of that--Miss
Pollyanna?"
Pollyanna gave a merry laugh. Voice and manner were unmistakably those
of a girl quite untouched by even the most far-reaching of Cupid's
darts.
"Oh, no, I shall never marry," she said blithely. "In the first place
I'm not pretty, you know; and in the second place, I'm going to live
with Aunt Polly and take care of her."
"Not pretty, eh?" smiled Pendleton, quizzically. "Did it
ever--er--occur to you that there might be a difference of opinion on
that, Pollyanna?"
Pollyanna shook her head.
"There couldn't be. I've got a mirror, you see," she objected, with a
merry glance.
It sounded like coquetry. In any other girl it would have been
coquetry, Pendleton decided. But, looking into the face before him
now, Pendleton knew that it was not coquetry. He knew, too, suddenly,
why Pollyanna had seemed so different from any girl he had ever known.
Something of her old literal way of looking at things still clung to
her.
"Why aren't you pretty?" he asked.
Even as he uttered the question, and sure as he was of his estimate of
Pollyanna's character, Pendleton quite held his breath at his
temerity. He could not help thinking of how quickly any other girl he
knew would have resented that implied acceptance of her claim to no
beauty. But Pollyanna's first words showed him that even this lurking
fear of his was quite groundless.
"Why, I just am not," she laughed, a little ruefully. "I wasn't made
that way. Maybe you don't remember, but long ago, when I was a little
girl, it always seemed to me that one of the nicest things Heaven was
going to give me when I got there was black curls."
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