Pollyanna Grows Up Eleanor H. Porter (booksvooks .TXT) đ
- Author: Eleanor H. Porter
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The other voice was saying:
âNot on yer life! Itâs nix on the begginâ business. Do yer get me? I wants ter see the kid, Pollyanna. I got a message for her fromâ âfrom Sir James. Now beat it, will ye, and trot out the kid, if ye donât mind.â
With a glad little cry Pollyanna turned and fairly flew down the stairway.
âOh, Iâm here, Iâm here, Iâm right here!â she panted, stumbling forward. âWhat is it? Did Jamie send you?â
In her excitement she had almost flung herself with outstretched arms upon the boy when Mary intercepted a shocked, restraining hand.
âMiss Pollyanna, Miss Pollyanna, do you mean to say you know thisâ âthis beggar boy?â
The boy flushed angrily; but before he could speak Pollyanna interposed valiant championship.
âHe isnât a beggar boy. He belongs to one of my very best friends. Besides, heâs the one that found me and brought me home that time I was lost.â Then to the boy she turned with impetuous questioning. âWhat is it? Did Jamie send you?â
âSure he did. He hit the hay a month ago, and he hainât been up since.â
âHe hitâ âwhat?â puzzled Pollyanna.
âHit the hayâ âwent ter bed. Heâs sick, I mean, and he wants ter see ye. Will ye come?â
âSick? Oh, Iâm so sorry!â grieved Pollyanna. âOf course Iâll come. Iâll go get my hat and coat right away.â
âMiss Pollyanna!â gasped Mary in stern disapproval. âAs if Mrs. Carew would let you goâ âanywhere with a strange boy like this!â
âBut he isnât a strange boy,â objected Pollyanna. âIâve known him ever so long, and I must go. Iâ ââ
âWhat in the world is the meaning of this?â demanded Mrs. Carew icily from the drawing-room doorway. âPollyanna, who is this boy, and what is he doing here?â
Pollyanna turned with a quick cry.
âOh, Mrs. Carew, youâll let me go, wonât you?â
âGo where?â
âTo see my brother, maâam,â cut in the boy hurriedly, and with an obvious effort to be very polite. âHeâs sort of off his feed, ye know, and he wouldnât give me no peace till I come upâ âafter her,â with an awkward gesture toward Pollyanna. âHe thinks a sight anâ all of her.â
âI may go, maynât I?â pleaded Pollyanna.
Mrs. Carew frowned.
âGo with this boyâ âyou? Certainly not, Pollyanna! I wonder you are wild enough to think of it for a moment.â
âOh, but I want you to come, too,â began Pollyanna.
âI? Absurd, child! That is impossible. You may give this boy here a little money, if you like, butâ ââ
âThank ye, maâam, but I didnât come for money,â resented the boy, his eyes flashing. âI come forâ âher.â
âYes, and Mrs. Carew, itâs Jerryâ âJerry Murphy, the boy that found me when I was lost, and brought me home,â appealed Pollyanna. âNow wonât you let me go?â
Mrs. Carew shook her head.
âIt is out of the question, Pollyanna.â
âBut he says Jaâ âthe other boy is sick, and wants me!â
âI canât help that.â
âAnd I know him real well, Mrs. Carew. I do, truly. He reads booksâ âlovely books, all full of knights and lords and ladies, and he feeds the birds and squirrels and gives âem names, and everything. And he canât walk, and he doesnât have enough to eat, lots of days,â panted Pollyanna; âand heâs been playing my glad game for a year, and didnât know it. And he plays it ever and ever so much better than I do. And Iâve hunted and hunted for him, ever and ever so many days. Honest and truly, Mrs. Carew, Iâve just got to see him,â almost sobbed Pollyanna. âI canât lose him again!â
An angry color flamed into Mrs. Carewâs cheeks.
âPollyanna, this is sheer nonsense. I am surprised. I am amazed at you for insisting upon doing something you know I disapprove of. I can not allow you to go with this boy. Now please let me hear no more about it.â
A new expression came to Pollyannaâs face. With a look half-terrified, half-exalted, she lifted her chin and squarely faced Mrs. Carew. Tremulously, but determinedly, she spoke.
âThen Iâll have to tell you. I didnât mean toâ âtill I was sure. I wanted you to see him first. But now Iâve got to tell. I canât lose him again. I think, Mrs. Carew, heâsâ âJamie.â
âJamie! Notâ âmyâ âJamie!â Mrs. Carewâs face had grown very white.
âYes.â
âImpossible!â
âI know; but, please, his name is Jamie, and he doesnât know the other one. His father died when he was six years old, and he canât remember his mother. Heâs twelve years old, he thinks. These folks took him in when his father died, and his father was queer, and didnât tell folks his name, andâ ââ
But Mrs. Carew had stopped her with a gesture. Mrs. Carew was even whiter than before, but her eyes burned with a sudden fire.
âWeâll go at once,â she said. âMary, tell Perkins to have the car here as soon as possible. Pollyanna, get your hat and coat. Boy, wait here, please. Weâll be ready to go with you immediately.â The next minute she had hurried upstairs.
In the hall the boy drew a long breath.
âGee whiz!â he muttered softly. âIf we ainât goinâ ter go in a buzz-wagon! Some class ter that! Gorry! whatâll Sir James say?â
X In Murphyâs AlleyWith the opulent purr that seems to be peculiar to luxurious limousines, Mrs. Carewâs car rolled down Commonwealth Avenue and out upon Arlington Street to Charles. Inside sat a shining-eyed little girl and a white-faced, tense woman. Outside, to give directions to the plainly disapproving chauffeur, sat Jerry Murphy, inordinately proud and insufferably important.
When the limousine came to a stop before a shabby doorway in a narrow, dirty alley, the boy leaped to the ground, and, with a ridiculous imitation of the liveried pomposities he had so often watched, threw open the door of the car and stood waiting for the ladies to alight.
Pollyanna sprang out at once, her eyes widening with amazement and distress as she looked about her. Behind her came Mrs. Carew, visibly shuddering as her gaze swept the filth, the sordidness, and the ragged children that
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