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
One by one the short winter days came and wentâ âbut they were not short to Pollyanna. They were long, and sometimes full of pain. Very resolutely, these days, however, Pollyanna was turning a cheerful face toward whatever came. Was she not specially bound to play the game, now that Aunt Polly was playing it, too? And Aunt Polly found so many things to be glad about! It was Aunt Polly, too, who discovered the story one day about the two poor little waifs in a snowstorm who found a blown-down door to crawl under, and who wondered what poor folks did that didnât have any door! And it was Aunt Polly who brought home the other story that she had heard about the poor old lady who had only two teeth, but who was so glad that those two teeth âhitâ!
Pollyanna now, like Mrs. Snow, was knitting wonderful things out of bright colored worsteds that trailed their cheery lengths across the white spread, and made Pollyannaâ âagain like Mrs. Snowâ âso glad she had her hands and arms, anyway.
Pollyanna saw people now, occasionally, and always there were the loving messages from those she could not see; and always they brought her something new to think aboutâ âand Pollyanna needed new things to think about.
Once she had seen John Pendleton, and twice she had seen Jimmy Bean. John Pendleton had told her what a fine boy Jimmy was getting to be, and how well he was doing. Jimmy had told her what a first-rate home he had, and what bang-up âfolksâ Mr. Pendleton made; and both had said that it was all owing to her.
âWhich makes me all the gladder, you know, that I have had my legs,â Pollyanna confided to her aunt afterwards.
The winter passed, and spring came. The anxious watchers over Pollyannaâs condition could see little change wrought by the prescribed treatment. There seemed every reason to believe, indeed, that Dr. Meadâs worst fears would be realizedâ âthat Pollyanna would never walk again.
Beldingsville, of course, kept itself informed concerning Pollyanna; and of Beldingsville, one man in particular fumed and fretted himself into a fever of anxiety over the daily bulletins which he managed in some way to procure from the bed of suffering. As the days passed, however, and the news came to be no better, but rather worse, something besides anxiety began to show in the manâs face: despair, and a very dogged determination, each fighting for the mastery. In the end, the dogged determination won; and it was then that Mr. John Pendleton, somewhat to his surprise, received one Saturday morning a call from Dr. Thomas Chilton.
âPendleton,â began the doctor, abruptly, âIâve come to you because you, better than any one else in town, know something of my relations with Miss Polly Harrington.â
John Pendleton was conscious that he must have started visiblyâ âhe did know something of the affair between Polly Harrington and Thomas Chilton, but the matter had not been mentioned between them for fifteen years, or more.
âYes,â he said, trying to make his voice sound concerned enough for sympathy, and not eager enough for curiosity. In a moment he saw that he need not have worried, however: the doctor was quite too intent on his errand to notice how that errand was received.
âPendleton, I want to see that child. I want to make an examination. I must make an examination.â
âWellâ âcanât you?â
âCanât I! Pendleton, you know very well I havenât been inside that door for more than fifteen years. You donât knowâ âbut I will tell youâ âthat the mistress of that house told me that the next time she asked me to enter it, I might take it that she was begging my pardon, and that all would be as beforeâ âwhich meant that sheâd marry me. Perhaps you see her summoning me nowâ âbut I donât!â
âBut couldnât you goâ âwithout a summons?â
The doctor frowned.
âWell, hardly. I have some pride, you know.â
âBut if youâre so anxiousâ âcouldnât you swallow your pride and forget the quarrelâ ââ
âForget the quarrel!â interrupted the doctor, savagely. âIâm not talking of that kind of pride. So far as that is concerned, Iâd go from here there on my kneesâ âor on my headâ âif that would do any good. Itâs professional pride Iâm talking about. Itâs a case of sickness, and Iâm a doctor. I canât butt in and say, âHere, take me!â can I?â
âChilton, what was the quarrel?â demanded Pendleton.
The doctor made an impatient gesture, and got to his feet.
âWhat was it? Whatâs any loversâ quarrel after itâs over?â he snarled, pacing the room angrily. âA silly wrangle over the size of the moon or the depth of a river, maybeâ âit might as well be, so far as its having any real significance compared to the years of misery that follow them! Never mind the quarrel! So far as I am concerned, I am willing to say there was no quarrel. Pendleton, I must see that child. It may mean life or death. It will meanâ âI honestly believeâ ânine chances out of ten that Pollyanna Whittier will walk again!â
The words were spoken clearly, impressively; and they were spoken just as the one who uttered them had almost reached the open window near John Pendletonâs chair. Thus it happened that very distinctly they reached the ears of a small boy kneeling beneath the window on the ground outside.
Jimmy Bean, at his Saturday morning task of pulling up the first little green weeds of the flowerbeds, sat up with ears and eyes wide open.
âWalk! Pollyanna!â John Pendleton was saying. âWhat do you mean?â
âI mean that from what I can hear and learnâ âa mile from her bedsideâ âthat her case is very much like one that a college friend of mine has just helped. For years heâs been making this sort of thing a special study. Iâve
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