Pollyanna Grows Up Eleanor H. Porter (booksvooks .TXT) đ
- Author: Eleanor H. Porter
Book online «Pollyanna Grows Up Eleanor H. Porter (booksvooks .TXT) đ». Author Eleanor H. Porter
âYou just canât do nothinâ,â he resumed wearily, after a momentâs silence. âYou just have to sit and think; and times like that your think gets to be something awful. Mine did, anyhow. I wanted to go to school and learn thingsâ âmore things than just mumsey can teach me; and I thought of that. I wanted to run and play ball with the other boys; and I thought of that. I wanted to go out and sell papers with Jerry; and I thought of that. I didnât want to be taken care of all my life; and I thought of that.â
âI know, oh, I know,â breathed Pollyanna, with shining eyes. âDidnât I lose my legs for a while?â
âDid you? Then you do know, some. But youâve got yours again. I hainât, you know,â sighed the boy, the shadow in his eyes deepening.
âBut you havenât told me yet aboutâ âthe Jolly Book,â prompted Pollyanna, after a minute.
The boy stirred and laughed shamefacedly.
âWell, you see, it ainât much, after all, except to me. you wouldnât see much in it. I started it a year ago. I was feelinâ âspecially bad that day. Nothinâ was right. For a while I grumped it out, just thinkinâ; and then I picked up one of fatherâs books and tried to read. And the first thing I see was this: I learned it afterwards, so I can say it now.
âââPleasures lie thickest where no pleasures seem;
Thereâs not a leaf that falls upon the ground
But holds some joy, of silence or of sound.â1
âWell, I was mad. I wished I could put the guy that wrote that in my place, and see what kind of joy heâd find in my âleaves.â I was so mad I made up my mind Iâd prove he didnât know what he was talkinâ about, so I begun to hunt for âemâ âthe joys in my âleaves,â you know. I took a little old empty notebook that Jerry had given me, and I said to myself that Iâd write âem down. Everythinâ that had anythinâ about it that I liked Iâd put down in the book. Then Iâd just show how many âjoysâ I had.â
âYes, yes!â cried Pollyanna, absorbedly, as the boy paused for breath.
âWell, I didnât expect to get many, butâ âdo you know?â âI got a lot. There was somethinâ about âmost everythinâ that I liked a little, so in it had to go. The very first one was the book itselfâ âthat Iâd got it, you know, to write in. Then somebody give me a flower in a pot, and Jerry found a dandy book in the subway. After that it was really fun to hunt âem outâ âIâd find âem in such queer places, sometimes. Then one day Jerry got hold of the little notebook, and found out what âtwas. Then he give it its nameâ âthe Jolly Book. Andâ âand thatâs all.â
âAllâ âall!â cried Pollyanna, delight and amazement struggling for the mastery on her glowing little face. âWhy, thatâs the game! Youâre playing the glad game, and donât know itâ âonly youâre playing it ever and ever so much better than I ever could! Why, Iâ âI couldnât play it at all, Iâm afraid, if Iâ âI didnât have enough to eat, and couldnât ever walk, or anything,â she choked.
âThe game? What game? I donât know anything about any game,â frowned the boy.
Pollyanna clapped her hands.
âI know you donâtâ âI know you donât, and thatâs why itâs so perfectly lovely, and soâ âso wonderful! But listen. Iâll tell you what the game is.â
And she told him.
âGee!â breathed the boy appreciatively, when she had finished. âNow what do you think of that!â
âAnd here you are, playing my game better than anybody I ever saw, and I donât even know your name yet, nor anything!â exclaimed Pollyanna, in almost awestruck tones. âBut I want to;â âI want to know everything.â
âPooh! thereâs nothing to know,â rejoined the boy, with a shrug. âBesides, see, hereâs poor Sir Lancelot and all the rest, waiting for their dinner,â he finished.
âDear me, so they are,â sighed Pollyanna, glancing impatiently at the fluttering and chattering creatures all about them. Recklessly she turned her bag upside down and scattered her supplies to the four winds. âThere, now, thatâs done, and we can talk again,â she rejoiced. âAnd thereâs such a lot I want to know. First, please, what is your name? I only know it isnât âSir James.âââ
The boy smiled.
âNo, it isnât; but thatâs what Jerry âmost always calls me. Mumsey and the rest call me âJamie.âââ
âââJamie!ââ Pollyanna caught her breath and held it suspended. A wild hope had come to her eyes. It was followed almost instantly, however, by fearful doubt.
âDoes âmumseyâ meanâ âmother?â
âSure!â
Pollyanna relaxed visibly. Her face fell. If this Jamie had a mother, he could not, of course, be Mrs. Carewâs Jamie, whose mother had died long ago. Still, even as he was, he was wonderfully interesting.
âBut where do you live?â she catechized eagerly. âIs there anybody else in your family but your mother andâ âand Jerry? Do you always come here every day? Where is your Jolly Book? Maynât I see it? Donât the doctors say you can ever walk again? And where was it you said you got it?â âthis wheel chair, I mean.â
The boy chuckled.
âSay, how many of them questions do you expect me to answer all at once? Iâll begin at the last one, anyhow, and work backwards, maybe, if I donât forget what they be. I got this chair a year ago. Jerry knew one of them fellers what writes for papers, you know, and he put it in about meâ âhow I couldnât ever walk, and all
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