Pollyanna Grows Up Eleanor H. Porter (booksvooks .TXT) 📖

“But it wouldn’t be a common boarding house, dear. ’Twill be an uncommon one. Besides, they’re our friends. It would be like having our friends come to see us; only they’d be paying guests, so meanwhile we’d be earning money⁠—money that we need, auntie, money that we need,” she emphasized significantly.

A spasm of hurt pride crossed Polly Chilton’s face. With a low moan she fell back in her chair.

“But how could you do it?” she asked at last, faintly. “You couldn’t do the work part alone, child!”

“Oh, no, of course not,” chirped Pollyanna. (Pollyanna was on sure ground now. She knew her point was won.) “But I could do the cooking and the overseeing, and I’m sure I could get one of Nancy’s younger sisters to help about the rest. Mrs. Durgin would do the laundry part just as she does now.”

“But, Pollyanna, I’m not well at all⁠—you know I’m not. I couldn’t do much.”

“Of course not. There’s no reason why you should,” scorned Pollyanna, loftily. “Oh, auntie, won’t it be splendid? Why, it seems too good to be true⁠—money just dropped into my hands like that!”

“Dropped into your hands, indeed! You still have some things to learn in this world, Pollyanna, and one is that summer boarders don’t drop money into anybody’s hands without looking very sharply to it that they get ample return. By the time you fetch and carry and bake and brew until you are ready to sink, and by the time you nearly kill yourself trying to serve everything to order from fresh-laid eggs to the weather, you will believe what I tell you.”

“All right, I’ll remember,” laughed Pollyanna. “But I’m not doing any worrying now; and I’m going to hurry and write Miss Wetherby at once so I can give it to Jimmy Bean to mail when he comes out this afternoon.”

Mrs. Chilton stirred restlessly.

“Pollyanna, I do wish you’d call that young man by his proper name. That ‘Bean’ gives me the shivers. His name is ‘Pendleton’ now, as I understand it.”

“So it is,” agreed Pollyanna, “but I do forget it half the time. I even call him that to his face, sometimes, and of course that’s dreadful, when he really is adopted, and all. But you see I’m so excited,” she finished, as she danced from the room.

She had the letter all ready for Jimmy when he called at four o’clock. She was still quivering⁠—with excitement, and she lost no time in telling her visitor what it was all about.

“And I’m crazy to see them, besides,” she cried, when she had told him of her plans. “I’ve never seen either of them since that winter. You know I told you⁠—didn’t I tell you?⁠—about Jamie.”

“Oh, yes, you told me.” There was a touch of constraint in the young man’s voice.

“Well, isn’t it splendid, if they can come?”

“Why, I don’t know as I should call it exactly splendid,” he parried.

“Not splendid that I’ve got such a chance to help Aunt Polly out, for even this little while? Why, Jimmy, of course it’s splendid.”

“Well, it strikes me that it’s going to be rather hard⁠—for you,” bridled Jimmy, with more than a shade of irritation.

“Yes, of course, in some ways. But I shall be so glad for the money coming in that I’ll think of that all the time. You see,” she sighed, “how mercenary I am, Jimmy.”

For a long minute there was no reply; then, a little abruptly, the young man asked:

“Let’s see, how old is this Jamie now?”

Pollyanna glanced up with a merry smile.

“Oh, I remember⁠—you never did like his name, ‘Jamie,’ ” she twinkled. “Never mind; he’s adopted now, legally, I believe, and has taken the name of Carew. So you can call him that.”

“But that isn’t telling me how old he is,” reminded Jimmy, stiffly.

“Nobody knows, exactly, I suppose. You know he couldn’t tell; but I imagine he’s about your age. I wonder how he is now. I’ve asked all about it in this letter, anyway.”

“Oh, you have!” Pendleton looked down at the letter in his hand and flipped it a little spitefully. He was thinking that he would like to drop it, to tear it up, to give it to somebody, to throw it away, to do anything with it⁠—but mail it.

Jimmy knew perfectly well that he was jealous, that he always had been jealous of this youth with the name so like and yet so unlike his own. Not that he was in love with Pollyanna, he assured himself wrathfully. He was not that, of course. It was just that he did not care to have this strange youth with the sissy name come to Beldingsville and be always around to spoil all their good times. He almost said as much to Pollyanna, but something stayed the words on his lips; and after a time he took his leave, carrying the letter with him.

That Jimmy did not drop the letter, tear it up, give it to anybody, or throw it away was evidenced a few days later, for Pollyanna received a prompt and delighted reply from Miss Wetherby; and when Jimmy came next time he heard it read⁠—or rather he heard part of it, for Pollyanna prefaced the reading by saying:

“Of course the first part is just where she says how glad they are to come, and all that. I won’t read that. But the rest I thought you’d like to hear, because you’ve heard me talk so much about them. Besides, you’ll know them yourself pretty soon, of course. I’m depending a whole lot on you, Jimmy, to help me make it pleasant for them.”

“Oh, are you!”

“Now don’t be sarcastic, just because you don’t like Jamie’s name,” reproved Pollyanna, with mock severity. “You’ll like him, I’m sure, when you know him; and you’ll love Mrs. Carew.”

“Will I, indeed?” retorted Jimmy huffily. “Well, that is a serious prospect. Let us hope, if I do, the lady will be so gracious as to reciprocate.”

“Of course,” dimpled Pollyanna. “Now listen, and