Pollyanna Grows Up Eleanor H. Porter (booksvooks .TXT) đ
![](/uploads/posts/books/2/8/6/9/7/kniga-pollyanna-grows-up.jpg)
- Author: Eleanor H. Porter
Book online «Pollyanna Grows Up Eleanor H. Porter (booksvooks .TXT) đ». Author Eleanor H. Porter
By Eleanor H. Porter.
This ebook is the product of many hours of hard work by volunteers for Standard Ebooks, and builds on the hard work of other literature lovers made possible by the public domain.
This particular ebook is based on a transcription produced for Project Gutenberg and on digital scans available at the Internet Archive.
The writing and artwork within are believed to be in the U.S. public domain, and Standard Ebooks releases this ebook edition under the terms in the CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication. For full license information, see the Uncopyright at the end of this ebook.
Standard Ebooks is a volunteer-driven project that produces ebook editions of public domain literature using modern typography, technology, and editorial standards, and distributes them free of cost. You can download this and other ebooks carefully produced for true book lovers at standardebooks.org.
To
My Cousin Walter
Della Wetherby tripped up the somewhat imposing steps of her sisterâs Commonwealth Avenue home and pressed an energetic finger against the electric-bell button. From the tip of her wing-trimmed hat to the toe of her low-heeled shoe she radiated health, capability, and alert decision. Even her voice, as she greeted the maid that opened the door, vibrated with the joy of living.
âGood morning, Mary. Is my sister in?â
âY-yes, maâam, Mrs. Carew is in,â hesitated the girl; âbutâ âshe gave orders sheâd see no one.â
âDid she? Well, Iâm no one,â smiled Miss Wetherby, âso sheâll see me. Donât worryâ âIâll take the blame,â she nodded, in answer to the frightened remonstrance in the girlâs eyes. âWhere is sheâ âin her sitting-room?â
âY-yes, maâam; butâ âthat is, she saidâ ââ Miss Wetherby, however, was already halfway up the broad stairway; and, with a despairing backward glance, the maid turned away.
In the hall above Della Wetherby unhesitatingly walked toward a half-open door, and knocked.
âWell, Mary,â answered a âdear-me-what-nowâ voice. âHavenât Iâ âOh, Della!â The voice grew suddenly warm with love and surprise. âYou dear girl, where did you come from?â
âYes, itâs Della,â smiled that young woman, blithely, already halfway across the room. âIâve come from an over-Sunday at the beach with two of the other nurses, and Iâm on my way back to the Sanatorium now. That is, Iâm here now, but I shanât be long. I stepped in forâ âthis,â she finished, giving the owner of the âdear-me-what-nowâ voice a hearty kiss.
Mrs. Carew frowned and drew back a little coldly. The slight touch of joy and animation that had come into her face fled, leaving only a dispirited fretfulness that was plainly very much at home there.
âOh, of course! I might have known,â she said. âYou never stayâ âhere.â
âHere!â Della Wetherby laughed merrily, and threw up her hands; then, abruptly, her voice and manner changed. She regarded her sister with grave, tender eyes. âRuth, dear, I couldnâtâ âI just couldnât live in this house. You know I couldnât,â she finished gently.
Mrs. Carew stirred irritably.
âIâm sure I donât see why not,â she fenced.
Della Wetherby shook her head.
âYes, you do, dear. You know Iâm entirely out of sympathy with it all: the gloom, the lack of aim, the insistence on misery and bitterness.â
âBut I am miserable and bitter.â
âYou ought not to be.â
âWhy not? What have I to make me otherwise?â
Della Wetherby gave an impatient gesture.
âRuth, look here,â she challenged. âYouâre thirty-three years old. You have good healthâ âor would have, if you treated yourself properlyâ âand you certainly have an abundance of time and a superabundance of money. Surely anybody would say you ought to find something to do this glorious morning besides sitting moped up in this tomb-like house with instructions to the maid that youâll see no one.â
âBut I donât want to see anybody.â
âThen Iâd make myself want to.â
Mrs. Carew sighed wearily and turned away her head.
âOh, Della, why wonât you ever understand? Iâm not like you. I canâtâ âforget.â
A swift pain crossed the younger womanâs face.
âYou meanâ âJamie, I suppose. I donât forgetâ âthat, dear. I couldnât, of course. But moping wonât help usâ âfind him.â
âAs if I hadnât tried to find him, for eight long yearsâ âand by something besides moping,â flashed Mrs. Carew, indignantly, with a sob in her voice.
âOf course you have, dear,â soothed the other, quickly; âand we shall keep on hunting, both of us, till we do find himâ âor die. But this sort of thing doesnât help.â
âBut I donât want to doâ âanything else,â murmured Ruth Carew, drearily.
For a moment there was silence. The younger woman sat regarding her sister with troubled, disapproving eyes.
âRuth,â she said, at last, with a touch of exasperation, âforgive me, butâ âare you always going to be like this? Youâre widowed, Iâll admit; but your married life lasted only a year, and your husband was much older
Comments (0)