Books: Pollyanna Grows Up
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Eleanor H. Porter >> Pollyanna Grows Up
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What she said she never could remember afterwards; but what the boy
said, she never forgot. After all, it was compassed in six short
words.
For what seemed a long, long minute his eyes had searched her face;
then to his own had come a transfiguring light, as he breathed:
"Oh, yes! Why, you--CARE, now!"
CHAPTER XIV
JIMMY AND THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER
This time Beldingsville did not literally welcome Pollyanna home with
brass bands and bunting--perhaps because the hour of her expected
arrival was known to but few of the townspeople. But there certainly
was no lack of joyful greetings on the part of everybody from the
moment she stepped from the railway train with her Aunt Polly and Dr.
Chilton. Nor did Pollyanna lose any time in starting on a round of
fly-away minute calls on all her old friends. Indeed, for the next few
days, according to Nancy, "There wasn't no putting of your finger on
her anywheres, for by the time you'd got your finger down she wa'n't
there."
And always, everywhere she went, Pollyanna met the question: "Well,
how did you like Boston?" Perhaps to no one did she answer this more
fully than she did to Mr. Pendleton. As was usually the case when this
question was put to her, she began her reply with a troubled frown.
"Oh, I liked it--I just loved it--some of it."
"But not all of it?" smiled Mr. Pendleton.
"No. There's parts of it--Oh, I was glad to be there," she explained
hastily. "I had a perfectly lovely time, and lots of things were so
queer and different, you know--like eating dinner at night instead of
noons, when you ought to eat it. But everybody was so good to me, and
I saw such a lot of wonderful things--Bunker Hill, and the Public
Garden, and the Seeing Boston autos, and miles of pictures and statues
and store-windows and streets that didn't have any end. And folks. I
never saw such a lot of folks."
"Well, I'm sure--I thought you liked folks," commented the man.
"I do." Pollyanna frowned again and pondered. "But what's the use of
such a lot of them if you don't know 'em? And Mrs. Carew wouldn't let
me. She didn't know 'em herself. She said folks didn't, down there."
There was a slight pause, then, with a sigh, Pollyanna resumed.
"I reckon maybe that's the part I don't like the most--that folks
don't know each other. It would be such a lot nicer if they did! Why,
just think, Mr. Pendleton, there are lots of folks that live on dirty,
narrow streets, and don't even have beans and fish balls to eat, nor
things even as good as missionary barrels to wear. Then there are
other folks--Mrs. Carew, and a whole lot like her--that live in
perfectly beautiful houses, and have more things to eat and wear than
they know what to do with. Now if THOSE folks only knew the other
folks--" But Mr. Pendleton interrupted with a laugh.
"My dear child, did it ever occur to you that these people don't CARE
to know each other?" he asked quizzically.
"Oh, but some of them do," maintained Pollyanna, in eager defense.
"Now there's Sadie Dean--she sells bows, lovely bows in a big
store--she WANTS to know people; and I introduced her to Mrs. Carew,
and we had her up to the house, and we had Jamie and lots of others
there, too; and she was SO glad to know them! And that's what made me
think that if only a lot of Mrs. Carew's kind could know the other
kind--but of course _I_ couldn't do the introducing. I didn't know
many of them myself, anyway. But if they COULD know each other, so
that the rich people could give the poor people part of their money--"
But again Mr. Pendleton interrupted with a laugh.
"Oh, Pollyanna, Pollyanna," he chuckled; "I'm afraid you're getting
into pretty deep water. You'll be a rabid little socialist before you
know it."
"A--what?" questioned the little girl, dubiously. "I--I don't think I
know what a socialist is. But I know what being SOCIABLE is--and I
like folks that are that. If it's anything like that, I don't mind
being one, a mite. I'd like to be one."
"I don't doubt it, Pollyanna," smiled the man. "But when it comes to
this scheme of yours for the wholesale distribution of wealth--you've
got a problem on your hands that you might have difficulty with."
Pollyanna drew a long sigh.
"I know," she nodded. "That's the way Mrs. Carew talked. She says I
don't understand; that 'twould--er--pauperize her and be
indiscriminate and pernicious, and--Well, it was SOMETHING like that,
anyway," bridled the little girl, aggrievedly, as the man began to
laugh. "And, anyway, I DON'T understand why some folks should have
such a lot, and other folks shouldn't have anything; and I DON'T like
it. And if I ever have a lot I shall just give some of it to folks who
don't have any, even if it does make me pauperized and pernicious,
and--" But Mr. Pendleton was laughing so hard now that Pollyanna,
after a moment's struggle, surrendered and laughed with him.
"Well, anyway," she reiterated, when she had caught her breath, "I
don't understand it, all the same."
"No, dear, I'm afraid you don't," agreed the man, growing suddenly
very grave and tender-eyed; "nor any of the rest of us, for that
matter. But, tell me," he added, after a minute, "who is this Jamie
you've been talking so much about since you came?"
And Pollyanna told him.
In talking of Jamie, Pollyanna lost her worried, baffled look.
Pollyanna loved to talk of Jamie. Here was something she understood.
Here was no problem that had to deal with big, fearsome-sounding
words. Besides, in this particular instance--would not Mr. Pendleton
be especially interested in Mrs. Carew's taking the boy into her home,
for who better than himself could understand the need of a child's
presence?
For that matter, Pollyanna talked to everybody about Jamie. She
assumed that everybody would be as interested as she herself was. On
most occasions she was not disappointed in the interest shown; but one
day she met with a surprise. It came through Jimmy Pendleton.
"Say, look a-here," he demanded one afternoon, irritably. "Wasn't
there ANYBODY else down to Boston but just that everlasting 'Jamie'?"
"Why, Jimmy Bean, what do you mean?" cried Pollyanna.
The boy lifted his chin a little.
"I'm not Jimmy Bean. I'm Jimmy Pendleton. And I mean that I should
think, from your talk, that there wasn't ANYBODY down to Boston but
just that loony boy who calls them birds and squirrels 'Lady
Lancelot,' and all that tommyrot."
"Why, Jimmy Be--Pendleton!" gasped Pollyanna. Then, with some spirit:
"Jamie isn't loony! He is a very nice boy. And he knows a lot--books
and stories! Why, he can MAKE stories right out of his own head!
Besides, it isn't 'Lady Lancelot,'--it's 'Sir Lancelot.' If you knew
half as much as he does you'd know that, too!" she finished, with
flashing eyes.
Jimmy Pendleton flushed miserably and looked utterly wretched. Growing
more and more jealous moment by moment, still doggedly he held his
ground.
"Well, anyhow," he scoffed, "I don't think much of his name. 'Jamie'!
Humph!--sounds sissy! And I know somebody else that said so, too."
"Who was it?"
There was no answer.
"WHO WAS IT?" demanded Pollyanna, more peremptorily.
"Dad." The boy's voice was sullen.
"Your--dad?" repeated Pollyanna, in amazement. "Why, how could he know
Jamie?"
"He didn't. 'Twasn't about that Jamie. 'Twas about me." The boy still
spoke sullenly, with his eyes turned away. Yet there was a curious
softness in his voice that was always noticeable whenever he spoke of
his father.
"YOU!"
"Yes. 'Twas just a little while before he died. We stopped 'most a
week with a farmer. Dad helped about the hayin'--and I did, too, some.
The farmer's wife was awful good to me, and pretty quick she was
callin' me 'Jamie.' I don't know why, but she just did. And one day
father heard her. He got awful mad--so mad that I remembered it
always--what he said. He said 'Jamie' wasn't no sort of a name for a
boy, and that no son of his should ever be called it. He said 'twas a
sissy name, and he hated it. 'Seems so I never saw him so mad as he
was that night. He wouldn't even stay to finish the work, but him and
me took to the road again that night. I was kind of sorry, 'cause I
liked her--the farmer's wife, I mean. She was good to me."
Pollyanna nodded, all sympathy and interest. It was not often that
Jimmy said much of that mysterious past life of his, before she had
known him.
"And what happened next?" she prompted. Pollyanna had, for the moment,
forgotten all about the original subject of the controversy--the name
"Jamie" that was dubbed "sissy."
The boy sighed.
"We just went on till we found another place. And 'twas there
dad--died. Then they put me in the 'sylum."
"And then you ran away and I found you that day, down by Mrs. Snow's,"
exulted Pollyanna, softly. "And I've known you ever since."
"Oh, yes--and you've known me ever since," repeated Jimmy--but in a
far different voice: Jimmy had suddenly come back to the present, and
to his grievance. "But, then, I ain't 'JAMIE,' you know," he finished
with scornful emphasis, as he turned loftily away, leaving a
distressed, bewildered Pollyanna behind him.
"Well, anyway, I can be glad he doesn't always act like this," sighed
the little girl, as she mournfully watched the sturdy, boyish figure
with its disagreeable, amazing swagger.
CHAPTER XV
AUNT POLLY TAKES ALARM
Pollyanna had been at home about a week when the letter from Della
Wetherby came to Mrs. Chilton.
"I wish I could make you see what your little niece has done for my
sister," wrote Miss Wetherby; "but I'm afraid I can't. You would have
to know what she was before. You did see her, to be sure, and perhaps
you saw something of the hush and gloom in which she has shrouded
herself for so many years. But you can have no conception of her
bitterness of heart, her lack of aim and interest, her insistence upon
eternal mourning.
"Then came Pollyanna. Probably I didn't tell you, but my sister
regretted her promise to take the child, almost the minute it was
given; and she made the stern stipulation that the moment Pollyanna
began to preach, back she should come to me. Well, she hasn't
preached--at least, my sister says she hasn't; and my sister ought to
know. And yet--well, just let me tell you what I found when I went to
see her yesterday. Perhaps nothing else could give you a better idea
of what that wonderful little Pollyanna of yours has accomplished.
"To begin with, as I approached the house, I saw that nearly all the
shades were up: they used to be down--'way down to the sill. The
minute I stepped into the hall I heard music--Parsifal. The
drawing-rooms were open, and the air was sweet with roses.
"'Mrs. Carew and Master Jamie are in the music-room,' said the maid.
And there I found them--my sister, and the youth she has taken into
her home, listening to one of those modern contrivances that can hold
an entire opera company, including the orchestra.
"The boy was in a wheel chair. He was pale, but plainly beatifically
happy. My sister looked ten years younger. Her usually colorless
cheeks showed a faint pink, and her eyes glowed and sparkled. A little
later, after I had talked a few minutes with the boy, my sister and I
went up-stairs to her own rooms; and there she talked to me--of Jamie.
Not of the old Jamie, as she used to, with tear-wet eyes and hopeless
sighs, but of the new Jamie--and there were no sighs nor tears now.
There was, instead, the eagerness of enthusiastic interest.
"'Della, he's wonderful,' she began. 'Everything that is best in
music, art, and literature seems to appeal to him in a perfectly
marvelous fashion, only, of course, he needs development and training.
That's what I'm going to see that he gets. A tutor is coming
to-morrow. Of course his language is something awful; at the same
time, he has read so many good books that his vocabulary is quite
amazing--and you should hear the stories he can reel off! Of course in
general education he is very deficient; but he's eager to learn, so
that will soon be remedied. He loves music, and I shall give him what
training in that he wishes. I have already put in a stock of carefully
selected records. I wish you could have seen his face when he first
heard that Holy Grail music. He knows all about King Arthur and his
Round Table, and he prattles of knights and lords and ladies as you
and I do of the members of our own family--only sometimes I don't know
whether his Sir Lancelot means the ancient knight or a squirrel in the
Public Garden. And, Della, I believe he can be made to walk. I'm going
to have Dr. Ames see him, anyway, and--'
"And so on and on she talked, while I sat amazed and tongue-tied, but,
oh, so happy! I tell you all this, dear Mrs. Chilton, so you can see
for yourself how interested she is, how eagerly she is going to watch
this boy's growth and development, and how, in spite of herself, it is
all going to change her attitude toward life. She CAN'T do what she is
doing for this boy, Jamie, and not do for herself at the same time.
Never again, I believe, will she be the soured, morose woman she was
before. And it's all because of Pollyanna.
"Pollyanna! Dear child--and the best part of it is, she is so
unconscious of the whole thing. I don't believe even my sister yet
quite realizes what is taking place within her own heart and life, and
certainly Pollyanna doesn't--least of all does she realize the part
she played in the change.
"And now, dear Mrs. Chilton, how can I thank you? I know I can't; so
I'm not even going to try. Yet in your heart I believe you know how
grateful I am to both you and Pollyanna.
"DELLA WETHERBY."
"Well, it seems to have worked a cure, all right," smiled Dr. Chilton,
when his wife had finished reading the letter to him.
To his surprise she lifted a quick, remonstrative hand.
"Thomas, don't, please!" she begged.
"Why, Polly, what's the matter? Aren't you glad that--that the
medicine worked?"
Mrs. Chilton dropped despairingly back in her chair.
"There you go again, Thomas," she sighed. "Of COURSE I'm glad that
this misguided woman has forsaken the error of her ways and found that
she can be of use to some one. And of course I'm glad that Pollyanna
did it. But I am not glad to have that child continually spoken of as
if she were a--a bottle of medicine, or a 'cure.' Don't you see?"
"Nonsense! After all, where's the harm? I've called Pollyanna a tonic
ever since I knew her."
"Harm! Thomas Chilton, that child is growing older every day. Do you
want to spoil her? Thus far she has been utterly unconscious of her
extraordinary power. And therein lies the secret of her success. The
minute she CONSCIOUSLY sets herself to reform somebody, you know as
well as I do that she will be simply impossible. Consequently, Heaven
forbid that she ever gets it into her head that she's anything like a
cure-all for poor, sick, suffering humanity."
"Nonsense! I wouldn't worry," laughed the doctor.
"But I do worry, Thomas."
"But, Polly, think of what she's done," argued the doctor. "Think of
Mrs. Snow and John Pendleton, and quantities of others--why, they're
not the same people at all that they used to be, any more than Mrs.
Carew is. And Pollyanna did do it--bless her heart!"
"I know she did," nodded Mrs. Polly Chilton, emphatically. "But I
don't want Pollyanna to know she did it! Oh, of course she knows it,
in a way. She knows she taught them to play the glad game with her,
and that they are lots happier in consequence. And that's all right.
It's a game--HER game, and they're playing it together. To you I will
admit that Pollyanna has preached to us one of the most powerful
sermons I ever heard; but the minute SHE knows it--well, I don't want
her to. That's all. And right now let me tell you that I've decided
that I will go to Germany with you this fall. At first I thought I
wouldn't. I didn't want to leave Pollyanna--and I'm not going to leave
her now. I'm going to take her with me."
"Take her with us? Good! Why not?"
"I've got to. That's all. Furthermore, I should be glad to plan to
stay a few years, just as you said you'd like to. I want to get
Pollyanna away, quite away from Beldingsville for a while. I'd like to
keep her sweet and unspoiled, if I can. And she shall not get silly
notions into her head if I can help myself. Why, Thomas Chilton, do we
want that child made an insufferable little prig?"
"We certainly don't," laughed the doctor. "But, for that matter, I
don't believe anything or anybody could make her so. However, this
Germany idea suits me to a T. You know I didn't want to come away when
I did--if it hadn't been for Pollyanna. So the sooner we get back
there the better I'm satisfied. And I'd like to stay--for a little
practice, as well as study."
"Then that's settled." And Aunt Polly gave a satisfied sigh.
CHAPTER XVI
WHEN POLLYANNA WAS EXPECTED
All Beldingsville was fairly aquiver with excitement. Not since
Pollyanna Whittier came home from the Sanatorium, WALKING, had there
been such a chatter of talk over back-yard fences and on every street
corner. To-day, too, the center of interest was Pollyanna. Once again
Pollyanna was coming home--but so different a Pollyanna, and so
different a homecoming!
Pollyanna was twenty now. For six years she had spent her winters in
Germany, her summers leisurely traveling with Dr. Chilton and his
wife. Only once during that time had she been in Beldingsville, and
then it was for but a short four weeks the summer she was sixteen. Now
she was coming home--to stay, report said; she and her Aunt Polly.
The doctor would not be with them. Six months before, the town had
been shocked and saddened by the news that the doctor had died
suddenly. Beldingsville had expected then that Mrs. Chilton and
Pollyanna would return at once to the old home. But they had not come.
Instead had come word that the widow and her niece would remain abroad
for a time. The report said that, in entirely new surroundings, Mrs.
Chilton was trying to seek distraction and relief from her great
sorrow.
Very soon, however, vague rumors, and rumors not so vague, began to
float through the town that, financially, all was not well with Mrs.
Polly Chilton. Certain railroad stocks, in which it was known that the
Harrington estate had been heavily interested, wavered uncertainly,
then tumbled into ruin and disaster. Other investments, according to
report, were in a most precarious condition. From the doctor's estate,
little could be expected. He had not been a rich man, and his expenses
had been heavy for the past six years. Beldingsville was not
surprised, therefore, when, not quite six months after the doctor's
death, word came that Mrs. Chilton and Pollyanna were coming home.
Once more the old Harrington homestead, so long closed and silent,
showed up-flung windows and wide-open doors. Once more Nancy--now Mrs.
Timothy Durgin--swept and scrubbed and dusted until the old place
shone in spotless order.
"No, I hain't had no instructions ter do it; I hain't, I hain't,"
Nancy explained to curious friends and neighbors who halted at the
gate, or came more boldly up to the doorways. "Mother Durgin's had the
key, 'course, and has come in regerler to air up and see that things
was all right; and Mis' Chilton just wrote and said she and Miss
Pollyanna was comin' this week Friday, and ter please see that the
rooms and sheets was aired, and ter leave the key under the side-door
mat on that day.
"Under the mat, indeed! Just as if I'd leave them two poor things ter
come into this house alone, and all forlorn like that--and me only a
mile away, a-sittin' in my own parlor like as if I was a fine lady an'
hadn't no heart at all, at all! Just as if the poor things hadn't
enough ter stand without that--a-comin' into this house an' the doctor
gone--bless his kind heart!--an' never comin' back. An' no money, too.
Did ye hear about that? An' ain't it a shame, a shame! Think of Miss
Polly--I mean, Mis' Chilton--bein' poor! My stars and stockings, I
can't sense it--I can't, I can't!"
Perhaps to no one did Nancy speak so interestedly as she did to a
tall, good-looking young fellow with peculiarly frank eyes and a
particularly winning smile, who cantered up to the side door on a
mettlesome thoroughbred at ten o'clock that Thursday morning. At the
same time, to no one did she talk with so much evident embarrassment,
so far as the manner of address was concerned; for her tongue stumbled
and blundered out a "Master Jimmy--er--Mr. Bean--I mean, Mr.
Pendleton, Master Jimmy!" with a nervous precipitation that sent the
young man himself into a merry peal of laughter.
"Never mind, Nancy! Let it go at whatever comes handiest," he
chuckled. "I've found out what I wanted to know: Mrs. Chilton and her
niece really are expected to-morrow."
"Yes, sir, they be, sir," courtesied Nancy, "--more's the pity! Not
but that I shall be glad enough ter see 'em, you understand, but it's
the WAY they're a-comin'."
"Yes, I know. I understand," nodded the youth, gravely, his eyes
sweeping the fine old house before him. "Well, I suppose that part
can't be helped. But I'm glad you're doing--just what you are doing.
That WILL help a whole lot," he finished with a bright smile, as he
wheeled about and rode rapidly down the driveway.
Back on the steps Nancy wagged her head wisely.
"I ain't surprised, Master Jimmy," she declared aloud, her admiring
eyes following the handsome figures of horse and man. "I ain't
surprised that you ain't lettin' no grass grow under your feet 'bout
inquirin' for Miss Pollyanna. I said long ago 'twould come sometime,
an' it's bound to--what with your growin' so handsome and tall. An' I
hope 'twill; I do, I do. It'll be just like a book, what with her
a-findin' you an' gettin' you into that grand home with Mr. Pendleton.
My, but who'd ever take you now for that little Jimmy Bean that used
to be! I never did see such a change in anybody--I didn't, I didn't!"
she answered, with one last look at the rapidly disappearing figures
far down the road.
Something of the same thought must have been in the mind of John
Pendleton some time later that same morning, for, from the veranda of
his big gray house on Pendleton Hill, John Pendleton was watching the
rapid approach of that same horse and rider; and in his eyes was an
expression very like the one that had been in Mrs. Nancy Durgin's. On
his lips, too, was an admiring "Jove! what a handsome pair!" as the
two dashed by on the way to the stable.
Five minutes later the youth came around the corner of the house and
slowly ascended the veranda steps.
"Well, my boy, is it true? Are they coming?" asked the man, with
visible eagerness.
"Yes."
"When?"
"To-morrow." The young fellow dropped himself into a chair.
At the crisp terseness of the answer, John Pendleton frowned. He threw
a quick look into the young man's face. For a moment he hesitated;
then, a little abruptly, he asked:
"Why, son, what's the matter?"
"Matter? Nothing, sir."
"Nonsense! I know better. You left here an hour ago so eager to be off
that wild horses could not have held you. Now you sit humped up in
that chair and look as if wild horses couldn't drag you out of it. If
I didn't know better I'd think you weren't glad that our friends are
coming."
He paused, evidently for a reply. But he did not get it.
"Why, Jim, AREN'T you glad they're coming?"
The young fellow laughed and stirred restlessly.
"Why, yes, of course."
"Humph! You act like it."
The youth laughed again. A boyish red flamed into his face.
"Well, it's only that I was thinking--of Pollyanna."
"Pollyanna! Why, man alive, you've done nothing but prattle of
Pollyanna ever since you came home from Boston and found she was
expected. I thought you were dying to see Pollyanna."
The other leaned forward with curious intentness.
"That's exactly it! See? You said it a minute ago. It's just as if
yesterday wild horses couldn't keep me from seeing Pollyanna; and now,
to-day, when I know she's coming--they couldn't drag me to see her."
"Why, JIM!"
At the shocked incredulity on John Pendleton's face, the younger man
fell back in his chair with an embarrassed laugh.
"Yes, I know. It sounds nutty, and I don't expect I can make you
understand. But, somehow, I don't think--I ever wanted Pollyanna to
grow up. She was such a dear, just as she was. I like to think of her
as I saw her last, her earnest, freckled little face, her yellow
pigtails, her tearful: 'Oh, yes, I'm glad I'm going; but I think I
shall be a little gladder when I come back.' That's the last time I
saw her. You know we were in Egypt that time she was here four years
ago."
"I know. I see exactly what you mean, too. I think I felt the same
way--till I saw her last winter in Rome."
The other turned eagerly.
"Sure enough, you have seen her! Tell me about her."
A shrewd twinkle came into John Pendleton's eyes.
"Oh, but I thought you didn't want to know Pollyanna--grown up."
With a grimace the young fellow tossed this aside.
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