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
âBut it wasâ âBean?â
âYes, it was Bean.â
âOh!â said Mrs. Carew, this time with a long sigh.
Mrs. Carew saw a good deal of Sadie Dean during the days that followed the New Yearâs Eve party. She saw a good deal of Jamie, too. In one way and another Pollyanna contrived to have them frequently at the house; and this, Mrs. Carew, much to her surprise and vexation, could not seem to prevent. Her consent and even her delight were taken by Pollyanna as so much a matter of course that she found herself helpless to convince the child that neither approval nor satisfaction entered into the matter at all, as far as she was concerned.
But Mrs. Carew, whether she herself realized it or not, was learning many thingsâ âthings she never could have learned in the old days, shut up in her rooms, with orders to Mary to admit no one. She was learning something of what it means to be a lonely young girl in a big city, with oneâs living to earn, and with no one to careâ âexcept one who cares too much, and too little.
âBut what did you mean?â she nervously asked Sadie Dean one evening; âwhat did you mean that first day in the storeâ âwhat you saidâ âabout helping the girls?â
Sadie Dean colored distressfully.
âIâm afraid I was rude,â she apologized.
âNever mind that. Tell me what you meant. Iâve thought of it so many times since.â
For a moment the girl was silent; then, a little bitterly she said:
âââTwas because I knew a girl once, and I was thinkinâ of her. She came from my town, and she was pretty and good, but she waânât over strong. For a year we pulled together, sharinâ the same room, boiling our eggs over the same gas-jet, and eatinâ our hash and fish balls for supper at the same cheap restaurant. There was never anything to do eveninâs but to walk in the Common, or go to the movies, if we had the dime to blow in, or just stay in our room. Well, our room wasnât very pleasant. It was hot in summer, and cold in winter, and the gas-jet was so measly and so flickery that we couldnât sew or read, even if we hadnât been too fagged out to do eitherâ âwhich we âmost generally was. Besides, over our heads was a squeaky board that someone was always rockinâ on, and under us was a feller that was learninâ to play the cornet. Did you ever hear anyone learn to play the cornet?â
âN-no, I donât think so,â murmured Mrs. Carew.
âWell, youâve missed a lot,â said the girl, dryly. Then, after a moment, she resumed her story.
âSometimes, âspecially at Christmas and holidays, we used to walk up here on the Avenue, and other streets, huntinâ for windows where the curtains were up, and we could look in. You see, we were pretty lonesome, them days âspecially, and we said it did us good to see homes with folks, and lamps on the center-tables, and children playinâ games; but we both of us knew that really it only made us feel worse than ever, because we were so hopelessly out of it all. âTwas even harder to see the automobiles, and the gay young folks in them, laughing and chatting. You see, we were young, and I suspect we wanted to laugh and chatter. We wanted a good time, too; and, by and byâ âmy chum began to have itâ âthis good time.
âWell, to make a long story short, we broke partnership one day, and she went her way, and I mine. I didnât like the company she was keepinâ, and I said so. She wouldnât give âem up, so we quit. I didnât see her again for âmost two years, then I got a note from her, and I went. This was just last month. She was in one of them rescue homes. It was a lovely place; soft rugs, fine pictures, plants, flowers, and books, a piano, a beautiful room, and everything possible done for her. Rich women came in their automobiles and carriages to take her driving, and she was taken to concerts and matinees. She was learninâ stenography, and they were going to help her to a position just as soon as she could take it. Everybody was wonderfully good to her, she said, and showed they wanted to help her in every way. But she said something else, too. She said:
âââSadie, if theyâd taken one half the pains to show me they cared and wanted to help long ago when I was an honest, self-respectinâ, hard-workinâ homesick girlâ âI wouldnât have been here for them to help now.â Andâ âwell, I never forgot it. Thatâs all. It ainât that Iâm objectinâ to the rescue workâ âitâs a fine thing, and they ought to do it. Only Iâm thinkinâ there wouldnât be quite so much of it for them to doâ âif theyâd just show a little of their interest earlier in the game.â
âBut I thoughtâ âthere were working-girlsâ homes, andâ âand settlement-houses thatâ âthat did that sort of thing,â faltered Mrs. Carew in a voice that few of her friends would have recognized.
âThere are. Did you ever see the inside of one of them?â
âWhy, n-no; though Iâ âI have given money to them.â This time Mrs. Carewâs voice was almost apologetically pleading in tone.
Sadie Dean smiled curiously.
âYes, I know. There are lots of good women that have given money to themâ âand have never seen the inside of one of them. Please donât understand that Iâm sayinâ anythinâ against the homes. Iâm not. Theyâre good things. Theyâre almost the only thing thatâs doing anything to help; but theyâre only a drop in the bucket to what is really needed. I tried one once; but there was an air about itâ âsomehow I feltâ âBut there, whatâs the use? Probably they arenât all like that one, and maybe the fault was with me. If I should try to tell you, you
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