Books: Pollyanna Grows Up
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Eleanor H. Porter >> Pollyanna Grows Up
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"And is that your chief desire now?"
"N-no, maybe not," hesitated Pollyanna. "But I still think I'd like
them. Besides, my eyelashes aren't long enough, and my nose isn't
Grecian, or Roman, or any of those delightfully desirable ones that
belong to a 'type.' It's just NOSE. And my face is too long, or too
short, I've forgotten which; but I measured it once with one of those
'correct-for-beauty' tests, and it wasn't right, anyhow. And they said
the width of the face should be equal to five eyes, and the width of
the eyes equal to--to something else. I've forgotten that, too--only
that mine wasn't."
"What a lugubrious picture!" laughed Pendleton. Then, with his gaze
admiringly regarding the girl's animated face and expressive eyes, he
asked:
"Did you ever look in the mirror when you were talking, Pollyanna?"
"Why, no, of course not!"
"Well, you'd better try it sometime."
"What a funny idea! Imagine my doing it," laughed the girl. "What
shall I say? Like this? 'Now, you, Pollyanna, what if your eyelashes
aren't long, and your nose is just a nose, be glad you've got SOME
eyelashes and SOME nose!'"
Pendleton joined in her laugh, but an odd expression came to his face.
"Then you still play--the game," he said, a little diffidently.
Pollyanna turned soft eyes of wonder full upon him.
"Why, of course! Why, Jimmy, I don't believe I could have lived--the
last six months--if it hadn't been for that blessed game." Her voice
shook a little.
"I haven't heard you say much about it," he commented.
She changed color.
"I know. I think I'm afraid--of saying too much--to outsiders, who
don't care, you know. It wouldn't sound quite the same from me now, at
twenty, as it did when I was ten. I realize that, of course. Folks
don't like to be preached at, you know," she finished with a whimsical
smile.
"I know," nodded the young fellow gravely. "But I wonder sometimes,
Pollyanna, if you really understand yourself what that game is, and
what it has done for those who are playing it."
"I know--what it has done for myself." Her voice was low, and her eyes
were turned away.
"You see, it really WORKS, if you play it," he mused aloud, after a
short silence. "Somebody said once that it would revolutionize the
world if everybody would really play it. And I believe it would."
"Yes; but some folks don't want to be revolutionized," smiled
Pollyanna. "I ran across a man in Germany last year. He had lost his
money, and was in hard luck generally. Dear, dear, but he was gloomy!
Somebody in my presence tried to cheer him up one day by saying,
'Come, come, things might be worse, you know!' Dear, dear, but you
should have heard that man then!
"'If there is anything on earth that makes me mad clear through,' he
snarled, 'it is to be told that things might be worse, and to be
thankful for what I've got left. These people who go around with an
everlasting grin on their faces caroling forth that they are thankful
that they can breathe, or eat, or walk, or lie down, I have no use
for. I don't WANT to breathe, or eat, or walk, or lie down--if things
are as they are now with me. And when I'm told that I ought to be
thankful for some such tommyrot as that, it makes me just want to go
out and shoot somebody!' Imagine what I'D have gotten if I'd have
introduced the glad game to that man!" laughed Pollyanna.
"I don't care. He needed it," answered Jimmy.
"Of course he did--but he wouldn't have thanked me for giving it to
him."
"I suppose not. But, listen! As he was, under his present philosophy
and scheme of living, he made himself and everybody else wretched,
didn't he? Well, just suppose he was playing the game. While he was
trying to hunt up something to be glad about in everything that had
happened to him, he COULDN'T be at the same time grumbling and
growling about how bad things were; so that much would be gained. He'd
be a whole lot easier to live with, both for himself and for his
friends. Meanwhile, just thinking of the doughnut instead of the hole
couldn't make things any worse for him, and it might make things
better; for it wouldn't give him such a gone feeling in the pit of his
stomach, and his digestion would be better. I tell you, troubles are
poor things to hug. They've got too many prickers."
Pollyanna smiled appreciatively.
"That makes me think of what I told a poor old lady once. She was one
of my Ladies' Aiders out West, and was one of the kind of people that
really ENJOYS being miserable and telling over her causes for
unhappiness. I was perhaps ten years old, and was trying to teach her
the game. I reckon I wasn't having very good success, and evidently I
at last dimly realized the reason, for I said to her triumphantly:
'Well, anyhow, you can be glad you've got such a lot of things to make
you miserable, for you love to be miserable so well!'"
"Well, if that wasn't a good one on her," chuckled Jimmy.
Pollyanna raised her eyebrows.
"I'm afraid she didn't enjoy it any more than the man in Germany would
have if I'd told him the same thing."
"But they ought to be told, and you ought to tell--" Pendleton stopped
short with so queer an expression on his face that Pollyanna looked at
him in surprise.
"Why, Jimmy, what is it?"
"Oh, nothing. I was only thinking," he answered, puckering his lips.
"Here I am urging you to do the very thing I was afraid you WOULD do
before I saw you, you know. That is, I was afraid before I saw you,
that--that--" He floundered into a helpless pause, looking very red
indeed.
"Well, Jimmy Pendleton," bridled the girl, "you needn't think you can
stop there, sir. Now just what do you mean by all that, please?"
"Oh, er--n-nothing, much."
"I'm waiting," murmured Pollyanna. Voice and manner were calm and
confident, though the eyes twinkled mischievously.
The young fellow hesitated, glanced at her smiling face, and
capitulated.
"Oh, well, have it your own way," he shrugged. "It's only that I was
worrying--a little--about that game, for fear you WOULD talk it just
as you used to, you know, and--" But a merry peal of laughter
interrupted him.
"There, what did I tell you? Even you were worried, it seems, lest I
should be at twenty just what I was at ten!"
"N-no, I didn't mean--Pollyanna, honestly, I thought--of course I
knew--" But Pollyanna only put her hands to her ears and went off into
another peal of laughter.
CHAPTER XIX
TWO LETTERS
It was toward the latter part of June that the letter came to
Pollyanna from Della Wetherby.
"I am writing to ask you a favor," Miss Wetherby wrote. "I am hoping
you can tell me of some quiet private family in Beldingsville that
will be willing to take my sister to board for the summer. There would
be three of them, Mrs. Carew, her secretary, and her adopted son,
Jamie. (You remember Jamie, don't you?) They do not like to go to an
ordinary hotel or boarding house. My sister is very tired, and the
doctor has advised her to go into the country for a complete rest and
change. He suggested Vermont or New Hampshire. We immediately thought
of Beldingsville and you; and we wondered if you couldn't recommend
just the right place to us. I told Ruth I would write you. They would
like to go right away, early in July, if possible. Would it be asking
too much to request you to let us know as soon as you conveniently can
if you do know of a place? Please address me here. My sister is with
us here at the Sanatorium for a few weeks' treatment.
"Hoping for a favorable reply, I am,
"Most cordially yours,
"DELLA WETHERBY."
For the first few minutes after the letter was finished, Pollyanna sat
with frowning brow, mentally searching the homes of Beldingsville for
a possible boarding house for her old friends. Then a sudden something
gave her thoughts a new turn, and with a joyous exclamation she
hurried to her aunt in the living-room.
"Auntie, auntie," she panted; "I've got just the loveliest idea. I
told you something would happen, and that I'd develop that wonderful
talent sometime. Well, I have. I have right now. Listen! I've had a
letter from Miss Wetherby, Mrs. Carew's sister--where I stayed that
winter in Boston, you know--and they want to come into the country to
board for the summer, and Miss Wetherby's written to see if I didn't
know a place for them. They don't want a hotel or an ordinary boarding
house, you see. And at first I didn't know of one; but now I do. I do,
Aunt Polly! Just guess where 'tis."
"Dear me, child," ejaculated Mrs. Chilton, "how you do run on! I
should think you were a dozen years old instead of a woman grown. Now
what are you talking about?"
"About a boarding place for Mrs. Carew and Jamie. I've found it,"
babbled Pollyanna.
"Indeed! Well, what of it? Of what possible interest can that be to
me, child?" murmured Mrs. Chilton, drearily.
"Because it's HERE. I'm going to have them here, auntie."
"Pollyanna!" Mrs. Chilton was sitting erect in horror.
"Now, auntie, please don't say no--please don't," begged Pollyanna,
eagerly. "Don't you see? This is my chance, the chance I've been
waiting for; and it's just dropped right into my hands. We can do it
lovely. We have plenty of room, and you know I CAN cook and keep
house. And now there'd be money in it, for they'd pay well, I know;
and they'd love to come, I'm sure. There'd be three of them--there's a
secretary with them."
"But, Pollyanna, I can't! Turn this house into a boarding house?--the
Harrington homestead a common boarding house? Oh, Pollyanna, I can't,
I can't!"
"But it wouldn't be a common boarding house, dear. 'Twill be an
uncommon one. Besides, they're our friends. It would be like having
our friends come to see us; only they'd be PAYING guests, so meanwhile
we'd be earning money--money that we NEED, auntie, money that we
need," she emphasized significantly.
A spasm of hurt pride crossed Polly Chilton's face. With a low moan
she fell back in her chair.
"But how could you do it?" she asked at last, faintly. "You couldn't
do the work part alone, child!"
"Oh, no, of course not," chirped Pollyanna. (Pollyanna was on sure
ground now. She knew her point was won.) "But I could do the cooking
and the overseeing, and I'm sure I could get one of Nancy's younger
sisters to help about the rest. Mrs. Durgin would do the laundry part
just as she does now."
"But, Pollyanna, I'm not well at all--you know I'm not. I couldn't do
much."
"Of course not. There's no reason why you should," scorned Pollyanna,
loftily. "Oh, auntie, won't it be splendid? Why, it seems too good to
be true--money just dropped into my hands like that!"
"Dropped into your hands, indeed! You still have some things to learn
in this world, Pollyanna, and one is that summer boarders don't drop
money into anybody's hands without looking very sharply to it that
they get ample return. By the time you fetch and carry and bake and
brew until you are ready to sink, and by the time you nearly kill
yourself trying to serve everything to order from fresh-laid eggs to
the weather, you will believe what I tell you."
"All right, I'll remember," laughed Pollyanna. "But I'm not doing any
worrying now; and I'm going to hurry and write Miss Wetherby at once
so I can give it to Jimmy Bean to mail when he comes out this
afternoon."
Mrs. Chilton stirred restlessly.
"Pollyanna, I do wish you'd call that young man by his proper name.
That 'Bean' gives me the shivers. His name is 'Pendleton' now, as I
understand it."
"So it is," agreed Pollyanna, "but I do forget it half the time. I
even call him that to his face, sometimes, and of course that's
dreadful, when he really is adopted, and all. But you see I'm so
excited," she finished, as she danced from the room.
She had the letter all ready for Jimmy when he called at four o'clock.
She was still quivering--with excitement, and she lost no time in
telling her visitor what it was all about.
"And I'm crazy to see them, besides," she cried, when she had told him
of her plans. "I've never seen either of them since that winter. You
know I told you--didn't I tell you?--about Jamie."
"Oh, yes, you told me." There was a touch of constraint in the young
man's voice.
"Well, isn't it splendid, if they can come?"
"Why, I don't know as I should call it exactly splendid," he parried.
"Not splendid that I've got such a chance to help Aunt Polly out, for
even this little while? Why, Jimmy, of course it's splendid."
"Well, it strikes me that it's going to be rather HARD--for you,"
bridled Jimmy, with more than a shade of irritation.
"Yes, of course, in some ways. But I shall be so glad for the money
coming in that I'll think of that all the time. You see," she sighed,
"how mercenary I am, Jimmy."
For a long minute there was no reply; then, a little abruptly, the
young man asked:
"Let's see, how old is this Jamie now?"
Pollyanna glanced up with a merry smile.
"Oh, I remember--you never did like his name, 'Jamie,'" she twinkled.
"Never mind; he's adopted now, legally, I believe, and has taken the
name of Carew. So you can call him that."
"But that isn't telling me how old he is," reminded Jimmy, stiffly.
"Nobody knows, exactly, I suppose. You know he couldn't tell; but I
imagine he's about your age. I wonder how he is now. I've asked all
about it in this letter, anyway."
"Oh, you have!" Pendleton looked down at the letter in his hand and
flipped it a little spitefully. He was thinking that he would like to
drop it, to tear it up, to give it to somebody, to throw it away, to
do anything with it--but mail it.
Jimmy knew perfectly well that he was jealous, that he always had been
jealous of this youth with the name so like and yet so unlike his own.
Not that he was in love with Pollyanna, he assured himself wrathfully.
He was not that, of course. It was just that he did not care to have
this strange youth with the sissy name come to Beldingsville and be
always around to spoil all their good times. He almost said as much to
Pollyanna, but something stayed the words on his lips; and after a
time he took his leave, carrying the letter with him.
That Jimmy did not drop the letter, tear it up, give it to anybody, or
throw it away was evidenced a few days later, for Pollyanna received a
prompt and delighted reply from Miss Wetherby; and when Jimmy came
next time he heard it read--or rather he heard part of it, for
Pollyanna prefaced the reading by saying:
"Of course the first part is just where she says how glad they are to
come, and all that. I won't read that. But the rest I thought you'd
like to hear, because you've heard me talk so much about them.
Besides, you'll know them yourself pretty soon, of course. I'm
depending a whole lot on you, Jimmy, to help me make it pleasant for
them."
"Oh, are you!"
"Now don't be sarcastic, just because you don't like Jamie's name,"
reproved Pollyanna, with mock severity. "You'll like HIM, I'm sure,
when you know him; and you'll LOVE Mrs. Carew."
"Will I, indeed?" retorted Jimmy huffily. "Well, that IS a serious
prospect. Let us hope, if I do, the lady will be so gracious as to
reciprocate."
"Of course," dimpled Pollyanna. "Now listen, and I'll read to you
about her. This letter is from her sister, Della--Miss Wetherby, you
know, at the Sanatorium."
"All right. Go ahead!" directed Jimmy, with a somewhat too evident
attempt at polite interest. And Pollyanna, still smiling
mischievously, began to read.
"You ask me to tell you everything about everybody. That is a large
commission, but I'll do the best I can. To begin with, I think you'll
find my sister quite changed. The new interests that have come into
her life during the last six years have done wonders for her. Just now
she is a bit thin and tired from overwork, but a good rest will soon
remedy that, and you'll see how young and blooming and happy she
looks. Please notice I said HAPPY. That won't mean so much to you as
it does to me, of course, for you were too young to realize quite how
unhappy she was when you first knew her that winter in Boston. Life
was such a dreary, hopeless thing to her then; and now it is so full
of interest and joy.
"First she has Jamie, and when you see them together you won't need to
be told what he is to her. To be sure, we are no nearer knowing
whether he is the REAL Jamie, or not, but my sister loves him like an
own son now, and has legally adopted him, as I presume you know.
"Then she has her girls. Do you remember Sadie Dean, the salesgirl?
Well, from getting interested in her, and trying to help her to a
happier living, my sister has broadened her efforts little by little,
until she has scores of girls now who regard her as their own best and
particular good angel. She has started a Home for Working Girls along
new lines. Half a dozen wealthy and influential men and women are
associated with her, of course, but she is head and shoulders of the
whole thing, and never hesitates to give HERSELF to each and every one
of the girls. You can imagine what that means in nerve strain. Her
chief support and right-hand man is her secretary, this same Sadie
Dean. You'll find HER changed, too, yet she is the same old Sadie.
"As for Jamie--poor Jamie! The great sorrow of his life is that he
knows now he can never walk. For a time we all had hopes. He was here
at the Sanatorium under Dr. Ames for a year, and he improved to such
an extent that he can go now with crutches. But the poor boy will
always be a cripple--so far as his feet are concerned, but never as
regards anything else. Someway, after you know Jamie, you seldom think
of him as a cripple, his SOUL is so free. I can't explain it, but
you'll know what I mean when you see him; and he has retained, to a
marvelous degree, his old boyish enthusiasm and joy of living. There
is just one thing--and only one, I believe--that would utterly quench
that bright spirit and cast him into utter despair; and that is to
find that he is not Jamie Kent, our nephew. So long has he brooded
over this, and so ardently has he wished it, that he has come actually
to believe that he IS the real Jamie; but if he isn't, I hope he will
never find it out."
"There, that's all she says about them," announced Pollyanna, folding
up the closely-written sheets in her hands. "But isn't that
interesting?"
"Indeed it is!" There was a ring of genuineness in Jimmy's voice now.
Jimmy was thinking suddenly of what his own good legs meant to him. He
even, for the moment, was willing that this poor crippled youth should
have a PART of Pollyanna's thoughts and attentions, if he were not so
presuming as to claim too much of them, of course! "By George! it is
tough for the poor chap, and no mistake."
"Tough! You don't know anything about it, Jimmy Bean," choked
Pollyanna; "but _I_ do. _I_ couldn't walk once. _I_ KNOW!"
"Yes, of course, of course," frowned the youth, moving restively in
his seat. Jimmy, looking into Pollyanna's sympathetic face and
brimming eyes was suddenly not so sure, after all, that he WAS willing
to have this Jamie come to town--if just to THINK of him made
Pollyanna look like that!
CHAPTER XX
THE PAYING GUESTS
The few intervening days before the expected arrival of "those
dreadful people," as Aunt Polly termed her niece's paying guests, were
busy ones indeed for Pollyanna--but they were happy ones, too, as
Pollyanna refused to be weary, or discouraged, or dismayed, no matter
how puzzling were the daily problems she had to meet.
Summoning Nancy, and Nancy's younger sister, Betty, to her aid,
Pollyanna systematically went through the house, room by room, and
arranged for the comfort and convenience of her expected boarders.
Mrs. Chilton could do but little to assist. In the first place she was
not well. In the second place her mental attitude toward the whole
idea was not conducive to aid or comfort, for at her side stalked
always the Harrington pride of name and race, and on her lips was the
constant moan:
"Oh, Pollyanna, Pollyanna, to think of the Harrington homestead ever
coming to this!"
"It isn't, dearie," Pollyanna at last soothed laughingly. "It's the
Carews that are COMING TO THE HARRINGTON HOMESTEAD!"
But Mrs. Chilton was not to be so lightly diverted, and responded only
with a scornful glance and a deeper sigh, so Pollyanna was forced to
leave her to travel alone her road of determined gloom.
Upon the appointed day, Pollyanna with Timothy (who owned the
Harrington horses now) went to the station to meet the afternoon
train. Up to this hour there had been nothing but confidence and
joyous anticipation in Pollyanna's heart. But with the whistle of the
engine there came to her a veritable panic of doubt, shyness, and
dismay. She realized suddenly what she, Pollyanna, almost alone and
unaided, was about to do. She remembered Mrs. Carew's wealth,
position, and fastidious tastes. She recollected, too, that this would
be a new, tall, young-man Jamie, quite unlike the boy she had known.
For one awful moment she thought only of getting away--somewhere,
anywhere.
"Timothy, I--I feel sick. I'm not well. I--tell 'em--er--not to come,"
she faltered, poising as if for flight.
"Ma'am!" exclaimed the startled Timothy.
One glance into Timothy's amazed face was enough. Pollyanna laughed
and threw back her shoulders alertly.
"Nothing. Never mind! I didn't mean it, of course, Timothy.
Quick--see! They're almost here," she panted. And Pollyanna hurried
forward, quite herself once more.
She knew them at once. Even had there been any doubt in her mind, the
crutches in the hands of the tall, brown-eyed young man would have
piloted her straight to her goal.
There were a brief few minutes of eager handclasps and incoherent
exclamations, then, somehow, she found herself in the carriage with
Mrs. Carew at her side, and Jamie and Sadie Dean in front. She had a
chance, then, for the first time, really to see her friends, and to
note the changes the six years had wrought.
In regard to Mrs. Carew, her first feeling was one of surprise. She
had forgotten that Mrs. Carew was so lovely. She had forgotten that
the eyelashes were so long, that the eyes they shaded were so
beautiful. She even caught herself thinking enviously of how exactly
that perfect face must tally, figure by figure, with that dread
beauty-test-table. But more than anything else she rejoiced in the
absence of the old fretful lines of gloom and bitterness.
Then she turned to Jamie. Here again she was surprised, and for much
the same reason. Jamie, too, had grown handsome. To herself Pollyanna
declared that he was really distinguished looking. His dark eyes,
rather pale face, and dark, waving hair she thought most attractive.
Then she caught a glimpse of the crutches at his side, and a spasm of
aching sympathy contracted her throat.
From Jamie Pollyanna turned to Sadie Dean.
Sadie, so far as features went, looked much as she had when Pollyanna
first saw her in the Public Garden; but Pollyanna did not need a
second glance to know that Sadie, so far as hair, dress, temper,
speech, and disposition were concerned, was a very different Sadie
indeed.
Then Jamie spoke.
"How good you were to let us come," he said to Pollyanna. "Do you know
what I thought of when you wrote that we could come?"
"Why, n-no, of course not," stammered Pollyanna. Pollyanna was still
seeing the crutches at Jamie's side, and her throat was still
tightened from that aching sympathy.
"Well, I thought of the little maid in the Public Garden with her bag
of peanuts for Sir Lancelot and Lady Guinevere, and I knew that you
were just putting us in their places, for if you had a bag of peanuts,
and we had none, you wouldn't be happy till you'd shared it with us."
"A bag of peanuts, indeed!" laughed Pollyanna.
"Oh, of course in this case, your bag of peanuts happened to be airy
country rooms, and cow's milk, and real eggs from a real hen's nest,"
returned Jamie whimsically; "but it amounts to the same thing. And
maybe I'd better warn you--you remember how greedy Sir Lancelot
was;--well--" He paused meaningly.
"All right, I'll take the risk," dimpled Pollyanna, thinking how glad
she was that Aunt Polly was not present to hear her worst predictions
so nearly fulfilled thus early. "Poor Sir Lancelot! I wonder if
anybody feeds him now, or if he's there at all."
"Well, if he's there, he's fed," interposed Mrs. Carew, merrily. "This
ridiculous boy still goes down there at least once a week with his
pockets bulging with peanuts and I don't know what all. He can be
traced any time by the trail of small grains he leaves behind him; and
half the time, when I order my cereal for breakfast it isn't
forthcoming, because, forsooth, 'Master Jamie has fed it to the
pigeons, ma'am!'"
"Yes, but let me tell you," plunged in Jamie, enthusiastically. And
the next minute Pollyanna found herself listening with all the old
fascination to a story of a couple of squirrels in a sunlit garden.
Later she saw what Della Wetherby had meant in her letter, for when
the house was reached, it came as a distinct shock to her to see Jamie
pick up his crutches and swing himself out of the carriage with their
aid. She knew then that already in ten short minutes he had made her
forget that he was lame.
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