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
âWell, Iâm sureâ âI thought you liked folks,â commented the man.
âI do.â Pollyanna frowned again and pondered. âBut whatâs the use of such a lot of them if you donât know âem? And Mrs. Carew wouldnât let me. She didnât know âem herself. She said folks didnât, down there.â
There was a slight pause, then, with a sigh, Pollyanna resumed.
âI reckon maybe thatâs the part I donât like the mostâ âthat folks donât know each other. It would be such a lot nicer if they did! Why, just think, Mr. Pendleton, there are lots of folks that live on dirty, narrow streets, and donât even have beans and fish balls to eat, nor things even as good as missionary barrels to wear. Then there are other folksâ âMrs. Carew, and a whole lot like herâ âthat live in perfectly beautiful houses, and have more things to eat and wear than they know what to do with. Now if those folks only knew the other folksâ ââ But Mr. Pendleton interrupted with a laugh.
âMy dear child, did it ever occur to you that these people donât care to know each other?â he asked quizzically.
âOh, but some of them do,â maintained Pollyanna, in eager defense. âNow thereâs Sadie Deanâ âshe sells bows, lovely bows in a big storeâ âshe wants to know people; and I introduced her to Mrs. Carew, and we had her up to the house, and we had Jamie and lots of others there, too; and she was so glad to know them! And thatâs what made me think that if only a lot of Mrs. Carewâs kind could know the other kindâ âbut of course I couldnât do the introducing. I didnât know many of them myself, anyway. But if they could know each other, so that the rich people could give the poor people part of their moneyâ ââ
But again Mr. Pendleton interrupted with a laugh.
âOh, Pollyanna, Pollyanna,â he chuckled; âIâm afraid youâre getting into pretty deep water. Youâll be a rabid little socialist before you know it.â
âAâ âwhat?â questioned the little girl, dubiously. âIâ âI donât think I know what a socialist is. But I know what being sociable isâ âand I like folks that are that. If itâs anything like that, I donât mind being one, a mite. Iâd like to be one.â
âI donât doubt it, Pollyanna,â smiled the man. âBut when it comes to this scheme of yours for the wholesale distribution of wealthâ âyouâve got a problem on your hands that you might have difficulty with.â
Pollyanna drew a long sigh.
âI know,â she nodded. âThatâs the way Mrs. Carew talked. She says I donât understand; that âtwouldâ âerâ âpauperize her and be indiscriminate and pernicious, andâ âWell, it was something like that, anyway,â bridled the little girl, aggrievedly, as the man began to laugh. âAnd, anyway, I donât understand why some folks should have such a lot, and other folks shouldnât have anything; and I donât like it. And if I ever have a lot I shall just give some of it to folks who donât have any, even if it does make me pauperized and pernicious, andâ ââ But Mr. Pendleton was laughing so hard now that Pollyanna, after a momentâs struggle, surrendered and laughed with him.
âWell, anyway,â she reiterated, when she had caught her breath, âI donât understand it, all the same.â
âNo, dear, Iâm afraid you donât,â agreed the man, growing suddenly very grave and tender-eyed; ânor any of the rest of us, for that matter. But, tell me,â he added, after a minute, âwho is this Jamie youâve been talking so much about since you came?â
And Pollyanna told him.
In talking of Jamie, Pollyanna lost her worried, baffled look. Pollyanna loved to talk of Jamie. Here was something she understood. Here was no problem that had to deal with big, fearsome-sounding words. Besides, in this particular instanceâ âwould not Mr. Pendleton be especially interested in Mrs. Carewâs taking the boy into her home, for who better than himself could understand the need of a childâs presence?
For that matter, Pollyanna talked to everybody about Jamie. She assumed that everybody would be as interested as she herself was. On most occasions she was not disappointed in the interest shown; but one day she met with a surprise. It came through Jimmy Pendleton.
âSay, look a-here,â he demanded one afternoon, irritably. âWasnât there anybody else down to Boston but just that everlasting âJamieâ?â
âWhy, Jimmy Bean, what do you mean?â cried Pollyanna.
The boy lifted his chin a little.
âIâm not Jimmy Bean. Iâm Jimmy Pendleton. And I mean that I should think, from your talk, that there wasnât anybody down to Boston but just that loony boy who calls them birds and squirrels âLady Lancelot,â and all that tommyrot.â
âWhy, Jimmy Beâ âPendleton!â gasped Pollyanna. Then, with some spirit: âJamie isnât loony! He is a very nice boy. And he knows a lotâ âbooks and stories! Why, he can make stories right out of his own head! Besides, it isnât âLady Lancelot,ââ âitâs âSir Lancelot.â If you knew half as much as he does youâd know that, too!â she finished, with flashing eyes.
Jimmy Pendleton flushed miserably and looked utterly wretched. Growing more and more jealous moment by moment, still doggedly he held his ground.
âWell, anyhow,â he scoffed, âI donât think much of his name. âJamieâ! Humph!â âsounds sissy! And I know somebody else that said so, too.â
âWho was it?â
There was no answer.
âWho was it?â demanded Pollyanna, more peremptorily.
âDad.â The boyâs voice was sullen.
âYourâ âdad?â repeated Pollyanna, in amazement. âWhy, how could he know Jamie?â
âHe didnât. âTwasnât about that Jamie. âTwas about me.â The boy still spoke sullenly, with his eyes turned away. Yet there was a curious softness in his voice that was always noticeable whenever he spoke of his father.
âYou!â
âYes. âTwas just a little while before
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