Pollyanna Eleanor H. Porter (classic english novels txt) đ
- Author: Eleanor H. Porter
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The manâs jaw dropped.
âNancy told you I was saving money for theâ âWell, may I inquire who Nancy is?â
âOur Nancy. She works for Aunt Polly.â
âAunt Polly! Well, who is Aunt Polly?â
âSheâs Miss Polly Harrington. I live with her.â
The man made a sudden movement.
âMissâ âPollyâ âHarrington!â he breathed. âYou live withâ âher!â
âYes; Iâm her niece. Sheâs taken me to bring upâ âon account of my mother, you know,â faltered Pollyanna, in a low voice. âShe was her sister. And after fatherâ âwent to be with her and the rest of us in Heaven, there wasnât any one left for me down here but the Ladiesâ Aid; so she took me.â
The man did not answer. His face, as he lay back on the pillow now, was very whiteâ âso white that Pollyanna was frightened. She rose uncertainly to her feet.
âI reckon maybe Iâd better go now,â she proposed. âIâ âI hope youâll likeâ âthe jelly.â
The man turned his head suddenly, and opened his eyes. There was a curious longing in their dark depths which even Pollyanna saw, and at which she marvelled.
âAnd so you areâ âMiss Polly Harringtonâs niece,â he said gently.
âYes, sir.â
Still the manâs dark eyes lingered on her face, until Pollyanna, feeling vaguely restless, murmured:
âIâ âI suppose you knowâ âher.â
John Pendletonâs lips curved in an odd smile.
âOh, yes; I know her.â He hesitated, then went on, still with that curious smile. âButâ âyou donât meanâ âyou canât mean that it was Miss Polly Harrington who sent that jellyâ âto me?â he said slowly.
Pollyanna looked distressed.
âN-no, sir: she didnât. She said I must be very sure not to let you think she did send it. But Iâ ââ
âI thought as much,â vouchsafed the man, shortly, turning away his head. And Pollyanna, still more distressed, tiptoed from the room.
Under the porte-cochĂšre she found the doctor waiting in his gig. The nurse stood on the steps.
âWell, Miss Pollyanna, may I have the pleasure of seeing you home?â asked the doctor smilingly. âI started to drive on a few minutes ago; then it occurred to me that Iâd wait for you.â
âThank you, sir. Iâm glad you did. I just love to ride,â beamed Pollyanna, as he reached out his hand to help her in.
âDo you?â smiled the doctor, nodding his head in farewell to the young man on the steps. âWell, as near as I can judge, there are a good many things you âloveâ to doâ âeh?â he added, as they drove briskly away.
Pollyanna laughed.
âWhy, I donât know. I reckon perhaps there are,â she admitted. âI like to do âmost everything thatâs living. Of course I donât like the other things very wellâ âsewing, and reading out loud, and all that. But they arenât living.â
âNo? What are they, then?â
âAunt Polly says theyâre âlearning to live,âââ sighed Pollyanna, with a rueful smile.
The doctor smiled nowâ âa little queerly.
âDoes she? Well, I should think she might sayâ âjust that.â
âYes,â responded Pollyanna. âBut I donât see it that way at all. I donât think you have to learn how to live. I didnât, anyhow.â
The doctor drew a long sigh.
âAfter all, Iâm afraid some of usâ âdo have to, little girl,â he said. Then, for a time he was silent. Pollyanna, stealing a glance at his face, felt vaguely sorry for him. He looked so sad. She wished, uneasily, that she could âdo something.â It was this, perhaps, that caused her to say in a timid voice:
âDr. Chilton, I should think being a doctor would, be the very gladdest kind of a business there was.â
The doctor turned in surprise.
âââGladdestâ!â âwhen I see so much suffering always, everywhere I go?â he cried.
She nodded.
âI know; but youâre helping itâ âdonât you see?â âand of course youâre glad to help it! And so that makes you the gladdest of any of us, all the time.â
The doctorâs eyes filled with sudden hot tears. The doctorâs life was a singularly lonely one. He had no wife and no home save his two-room office in a boarding house. His profession was very dear to him. Looking now into Pollyannaâs shining eyes, he felt as if a loving hand had been suddenly laid on his head in blessing. He knew, too, that never again would a long dayâs work or a long nightâs weariness be quite without that newfound exaltation that had come to him through Pollyannaâs eyes.
âGod bless you, little girl,â he said unsteadily. Then, with the bright smile his patients knew and loved so well, he added: âAnd Iâm thinking, after all, that it was the doctor, quite as much as his patients, that needed a draft of that tonic!â All of which puzzled Pollyanna very muchâ âuntil a chipmunk, running across the road, drove the whole matter from her mind.
The doctor left Pollyanna at her own door, smiled at Nancy, who was sweeping off the front porch, then drove rapidly away.
âIâve had a perfectly beautiful ride with the doctor,â announced Pollyanna, bounding up the steps. âHeâs lovely, Nancy!â
âIs he?â
âYes. And I told him I should think his business would be the very gladdest one there was.â
âWhat!â âgoinâ ter see sick folksâ âanâ folks what ainât sick but thinks they is, which is worse?â Nancyâs face showed open skepticism.
Pollyanna laughed gleefully.
âYes. Thatâs âmost what he said, too; but there is a way to be glad, even then. Guess!â
Nancy frowned in meditation. Nancy was getting so she could play this game of âbeing gladâ quite successfully, she thought. She rather enjoyed studying out Pollyannaâs âposers,â too, as she called some of the little girlâs questions.
âOh, I know,â she chuckled. âItâs just the opposite from what you told Misâ Snow.â
âOpposite?â repeated Pollyanna, obviously puzzled.
âYes. You told her she could be glad because other folks wasnât like herâ âall sick, you know.â
âYes,â nodded Pollyanna.
âWell, the doctor can be glad because he isnât like other folksâ âthe sick ones, I mean, what he doctors,â finished Nancy in triumph.
It was Pollyannaâs turn to frown.
âWhy, y-yes,â she admitted. âOf course that is one way, but it isnât the way I said; andâ âsomeway, I donât seem to quite like the sound of it. It isnât exactly as if he said he was
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