Pollyanna Eleanor H. Porter (classic english novels txt) 📖

there were several who had no little boys of their own already in their homes. But there was no one who agreed herself to take him. Then she heard the minister’s wife suggest timidly that they, as a society, might perhaps assume his support and education instead of sending quite so much money this year to the little boys in faraway India.

A great many ladies talked then, and several of them talked all at once, and even more loudly and more unpleasantly than before. It seemed that their society was famous for its offering to Hindu missions, and several said they should die of mortification if it should be less this year. Some of what was said at this time Pollyanna again thought she could not have understood, too, for it sounded almost as if they did not care at all what the money did, so long as the sum opposite the name of their society in a certain “report” “headed the list”⁠—and of course that could not be what they meant at all! But it was all very confusing, and not quite pleasant, so that Pollyanna was glad, indeed, when at last she found herself outside in the hushed, sweet air⁠—only she was very sorry, too: for she knew it was not going to be easy, or anything but sad, to tell Jimmy Bean tomorrow that the Ladies’ Aid had decided that they would rather send all their money to bring up the little India boys than to save out enough to bring up one little boy in their own town, for which they would not get “a bit of credit in the report,” according to the tall lady who wore spectacles.

“Not but that it’s good, of course, to send money to the heathen, and I shouldn’t want ’em not to send some there,” sighed Pollyanna to herself, as she trudged sorrowfully along. “But they acted as if little boys here weren’t any account⁠—only little boys ’way off. I should think, though, they’d rather see Jimmy Bean grow⁠—than just a report!”

XIII In Pendleton Woods

Pollyanna had not turned her steps toward home, when she left the chapel. She had turned them, instead, toward Pendleton Hill. It had been a hard day, for all it had been a “vacation one” (as she termed the infrequent days when there was no sewing or cooking lesson), and Pollyanna was sure that nothing would do her quite so much good as a walk through the green quiet of Pendleton Woods. Up Pendleton Hill, therefore, she climbed steadily, in spite of the warm sun on her back.

“I don’t have to get home till half-past five, anyway,” she was telling herself; “and it’ll be so much nicer to go around by the way of the woods, even if I do have to climb to get there.”

It was very beautiful in the Pendleton Woods, as Pollyanna knew by experience. But today it seemed even more delightful than ever, notwithstanding her disappointment over what she must tell Jimmy Bean tomorrow.

“I wish they were up here⁠—all those ladies who talked so loud,” sighed Pollyanna to herself, raising her eyes to the patches of vivid blue between the sunlit green of the treetops. “Anyhow, if they were up here, I just reckon they’d change and take Jimmy Bean for their little boy, all right,” she finished, secure in her conviction, but unable to give a reason for it, even to herself.

Suddenly Pollyanna lifted her head and listened. A dog had barked some distance ahead. A moment later he came dashing toward her, still barking.

“Hullo, doggie⁠—hullo!” Pollyanna snapped her fingers at the dog and looked expectantly down the path. She had seen the dog once before, she was sure. He had been then with the Man, Mr. John Pendleton. She was looking now, hoping to see him. For some minutes she watched eagerly, but he did not appear. Then she turned her attention toward the dog.

The dog, as even Pollyanna could see, was acting strangely. He was still barking⁠—giving little short, sharp yelps, as if of alarm. He was running back and forth, too, in the path ahead. Soon they reached a side path, and down this the little dog fairly flew, only to come back at once, whining and barking.

“Ho! That isn’t the way home,” laughed Pollyanna, still keeping to the main path.

The little dog seemed frantic now. Back and forth, back and forth, between Pollyanna and the side path he vibrated, barking and whining pitifully. Every quiver of his little brown body, and every glance from his beseeching brown eyes were eloquent with appeal⁠—so eloquent that at last Pollyanna understood, turned, and followed him.

Straight ahead, now, the little dog dashed madly; and it was not long before Pollyanna came upon the reason for it all: a man lying motionless at the foot of a steep, overhanging mass of rock a few yards from the side path.

A twig cracked sharply under Pollyanna’s foot, and the man turned his head. With a cry of dismay Pollyanna ran to his side.

“Mr. Pendleton! Oh, are you hurt?”

“Hurt? Oh, no! I’m just taking a siesta in the sunshine,” snapped the man irritably. “See here, how much do you know? What can you do? Have you got any sense?”

Pollyanna caught her breath with a little gasp, but⁠—as was her habit⁠—she answered the questions literally, one by one.

“Why, Mr. Pendleton, I⁠—I don’t know so very much, and I can’t do a great many things; but most of the Ladies’ Aiders, except Mrs. Rawson, said I had real good sense. I heard ’em say so one day⁠—they didn’t know I heard, though.”

The man smiled grimly.

“There, there, child, I beg your pardon, I’m sure; it’s only this confounded leg of mine. Now listen.” He paused, and with some difficulty reached his hand into his trousers pocket and brought out a bunch of keys, singling out one between his thumb and forefinger. “Straight through the path there, about five minutes’ walk, is my house. This key will