Pollyanna Grows Up Eleanor H. Porter (booksvooks .TXT) 📖

day. Well, today I’m going to laugh and joke.”

Pollyanna smiled and nodded her approval.

“I’m glad you feel that way. I do, too. It’s a lot more fun⁠—to be happy, isn’t it? Besides, the Bible tells us to;⁠—rejoice and be glad, I mean. It tells us to eight hundred times. Probably you know about ’em, though⁠—the rejoicing texts.”

The pretty girl shook her head. A queer look came to her face.

“Well, no,” she said dryly. “I can’t say I was thinkin’⁠—of the Bible.”

“Weren’t you? Well, maybe not; but, you see, my father was a minister, and he⁠—”

“A minister?”

“Yes. Why, was yours, too?” cried Pollyanna, answering something she saw in the other’s face.

“Y-yes.” A faint color crept up to the girl’s forehead.

“Oh, and has he gone like mine to be with God and the angels?”

The girl turned away her head.

“No. He’s still living⁠—back home,” she answered, half under her breath.

“Oh, how glad you must be,” sighed Pollyanna, enviously. “Sometimes I get to thinking, if only I could just see father once⁠—but you do see your father, don’t you?”

“Not often. You see, I’m down⁠—here.”

“But you can see him⁠—and I can’t, mine. He’s gone to be with mother and the rest of us up in Heaven, and⁠—Have you got a mother, too⁠—an earth mother?”

“Y-yes.” The girl stirred restlessly, and half moved as if to go.

“Oh, then you can see both of them,” breathed Pollyanna, unutterable longing in her face. “Oh, how glad you must be! For there just isn’t anybody, is there, that really cares and notices quite so much as fathers and mothers. You see I know, for I had a father until I was eleven years old; but, for a mother, I had Ladies’ Aiders for ever so long, till Aunt Polly took me. Ladies’ Aiders are lovely, but of course they aren’t like mothers, or even Aunt Pollys; and⁠—”

On and on Pollyanna talked. Pollyanna was in her element now. Pollyanna loved to talk. That there was anything strange or unwise or even unconventional in this intimate telling of her thoughts and her history to a total stranger on a Boston park bench did not once occur to Pollyanna. To Pollyanna all men, women, and children were friends, either known or unknown; and thus far she had found the unknown quite as delightful as the known, for with them there was always the excitement of mystery and adventure⁠—while they were changing from the unknown to the known.

To this young girl at her side, therefore, Pollyanna talked unreservedly of her father, her Aunt Polly, her Western home, and her journey East to Vermont. She told of new friends and old friends, and of course she told of the game. Pollyanna almost always told everybody of the game, either sooner or later. It was, indeed, so much a part of her very self that she could hardly have helped telling of it.

As for the girl⁠—she said little. She was not now sitting in her old listless attitude, however, and to her whole self had come a marked change. The flushed cheeks, frowning brow, troubled eyes, and nervously working fingers were plainly the signs of some inward struggle. From time to time she glanced apprehensively down the path beyond Pollyanna, and it was after such a glance that she clutched the little girl’s arm.

“See here, kiddie, for just a minute don’t you leave me. Do you hear? Stay right where you are? There’s a man I know comin’; but no matter what he says, don’t you pay no attention, and don’t you go. I’m goin’ to stay with you. See?”

Before Pollyanna could more than gasp her wonderment and surprise, she found herself looking up into the face of a very handsome young gentleman, who had stopped before them.

“Oh, here you are,” he smiled pleasantly, lifting his hat to Pollyanna’s companion. “I’m afraid I’ll have to begin with an apology⁠—I’m a little late.”

“It don’t matter, sir,” said the young girl, speaking hurriedly. “I⁠—I’ve decided not to go.”

The young man gave a light laugh.

“Oh, come, my clear, don’t be hard on a chap because he’s a little late!”

“It isn’t that, really,” defended the girl, a swift red flaming into her cheeks. “I mean⁠—I’m not going.”

“Nonsense!” The man stopped smiling. He spoke sharply. “You said yesterday you’d go.”

“I know; but I’ve changed my mind. I told my little friend here⁠—I’d stay with her.”

“Oh, but if you’d rather go with this nice young gentleman,” began Pollyanna, anxiously; but she fell back silenced at the look the girl gave her.

“I tell you I had not rather go. I’m not going.”

“And, pray, why this sudden right-about face?” demanded the young man with an expression that made him suddenly look, to Pollyanna, not quite so handsome. “Yesterday you said⁠—”

“I know I did,” interrupted the girl, feverishly. “But I knew then that I hadn’t ought to. Let’s call it⁠—that I know it even better now. That’s all.” And she turned away resolutely.

It was not all. The man spoke again, twice. He coaxed, then he sneered with a hateful look in his eyes. At last he said something very low and angry, which Pollyanna did not understand. The next moment he wheeled about and strode away.

The girl watched him tensely till he passed quite out of sight, then, relaxing, she laid a shaking hand on Pollyanna’s arm.

“Thanks, kiddie. I reckon I owe you⁠—more than you know. Goodbye.”

“But you aren’t going away now!” bemoaned Pollyanna.

The girl sighed wearily.

“I got to. He might come back, and next time I might not be able to⁠—” She clipped the words short and rose to her feet. For a moment she hesitated, then she choked bitterly: “You see, he’s the kind that⁠—notices too much, and that hadn’t ought to notice⁠—me⁠—at all!” With that she was gone.

“Why, what a funny lady,” murmured Pollyanna, looking wistfully after the vanishing figure. “She was nice, but she was sort of different, too,” she commented, rising to her feet and moving idly down the path.

VI Jerry to the Rescue

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