Pollyanna Eleanor H. Porter (classic english novels txt) đ
- Author: Eleanor H. Porter
Book online «Pollyanna Eleanor H. Porter (classic english novels txt) đ». Author Eleanor H. Porter
A little later Pollyanna and the minister descended the hill, hand in hand. Pollyannaâs face was radiant. Pollyanna loved to talk, and she had been talking now for some time: there seemed to be so many, many things about the game, her father, and the old home life that the minister wanted to know.
At the foot of the hill their ways parted, and Pollyanna down one road, and the minister down another, walked on alone.
In the Rev. Paul Fordâs study that evening the minister sat thinking. Near him on the desk lay a few loose sheets of paperâ âhis sermon notes. Under the suspended pencil in his fingers lay other sheets of paper, blankâ âhis sermon to be. But the minister was not thinking either of what he had written, or of what he intended to write. In his imagination he was far away in a little Western town with a missionary minister who was poor, sick, worried, and almost alone in the worldâ âbut who was poring over the Bible to find how many times his Lord and Master had told him to ârejoice and be glad.â
After a time, with a long sigh, the Rev. Paul Ford roused himself, came back from the far Western town, and adjusted the sheets of paper under his hand.
âMatthew twenty-third; 13â â14 and 23,â he wrote; then, with a gesture of impatience, he dropped his pencil and pulled toward him a magazine left on the desk by his wife a few minutes before. Listlessly his tired eyes turned from paragraph to paragraph until these words arrested them:
âA father one day said to his son, Tom, who, he knew, had refused to fill his motherâs woodbox that morning: âTom, Iâm sure youâll be glad to go and bring in some wood for your mother.â And without a word Tom went. Why? Just because his father showed so plainly that he expected him to do the right thing. Suppose he had said: âTom, I overheard what you said to your mother this morning, and Iâm ashamed of you. Go at once and fill that woodbox!â Iâll warrant that woodbox, would be empty yet, so far as Tom was concerned!â
On and on read the ministerâ âa word here, a line there, a paragraph somewhere else:
âWhat men and women need is encouragement. Their natural resisting powers should be strengthened, not weakened.â ââ ⊠Instead of always harping on a manâs faults, tell him of his virtues. Try to pull him out of his rut of bad habits. Hold up to him his better self, his real self that can dare and do and win out!â ââ ⊠The influence of a beautiful, helpful, hopeful character is contagious, and may revolutionize a whole town.â ââ ⊠People radiate what is in their minds and in their hearts. If a man feels kindly and obliging, his neighbors will feel that way, too, before long. But if he scolds and scowls and criticizesâ âhis neighbors will return scowl for scowl, and add interest!â ââ ⊠When you look for the bad, expecting it, you will get it. When you know you will find the goodâ âyou will get that.â ââ ⊠Tell your son Tom you know heâll be glad to fill that woodboxâ âthen watch him start, alert and interested!â
The minister dropped the paper and lifted his chin. In a moment he was on his feet, tramping the narrow room back and forth, back and forth. Later, some time later, he drew a long breath, and dropped himself in the chair at his desk.
âGod helping me, Iâll do it!â he cried softly. âIâll tell all my Toms I know theyâll be glad to fill that woodbox! Iâll give them work to do, and Iâll make them so full of the very joy of doing it that they wonât have time to look at their neighborsâ woodboxes!â And he picked up his sermon notes, tore straight through the sheets, and cast them from him, so that on one side of his chair lay âBut woe unto you,â and on the other, âscribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!â while across the smooth white paper before him his pencil fairly flewâ âafter first drawing one black line through Matthew twenty-third; 13â â14 and 23.
Thus it happened that the Rev. Paul Fordâs sermon the next Sunday was a veritable bugle-call to the best that was in every man and woman and child that heard it; and its text was one of Pollyannaâs shining eight hundred:
âBe glad in the Lord and rejoice, ye righteous, and shout for joy all ye that are upright in heart.â
XXIII An AccidentAt Mrs. Snowâs request, Pollyanna went one day to Dr. Chiltonâs office to get the name of a medicine which Mrs. Snow had forgotten. As it chanced, Pollyanna had never before seen the inside of Dr. Chiltonâs office.
âIâve never been to your home before! This is your home, isnât it?â she said, looking interestedly about her.
The doctor smiled a little sadly.
âYesâ âsuch as âtis,â he answered, as he wrote something on the pad of paper in his hand; âbut itâs a pretty poor apology for a home, Pollyanna. Theyâre just rooms, thatâs allâ ânot a home.â
Pollyanna nodded her head wisely. Her eyes glowed with sympathetic understanding.
âI know. It takes a womanâs hand and heart, or a childâs presence to make a home,â she said.
âEh?â The doctor wheeled about abruptly.
âMr. Pendleton told me,â nodded Pollyanna, again; âabout the womanâs hand and heart, or the childâs presence, you know. Why donât you get a womanâs hand and heart, Dr. Chilton? Or maybe youâd take Jimmy Beanâ âif Mr. Pendleton doesnât want him.â
Dr. Chilton laughed a little constrainedly.
âSo Mr. Pendleton says it takes a womanâs hand and heart to make a home, does he?â he asked evasively.
âYes. He says his is just a house, too. Why donât you, Dr. Chilton?â
âWhy donât Iâ âwhat?â The doctor had turned back to his desk.
âGet a womanâs hand and heart. Ohâ âand I forgot.â Pollyannaâs face showed
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