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
Pollyanna always thought of Jimmy when she went to the Snowsâ, for it was at the side of the road near their cottage that she had first seen him as a forlorn little runaway lad from the Orphansâ Home years before. She thought of him again today, with a little catch of her breath. Then, with the proud lifting of her head that always came now with the second thought of Jimmy, she hurried up the Snowsâ doorsteps and rang the bell.
As was usually the case, the Snows had nothing but the warmest of welcomes for Pollyanna; and also as usual it was not long before they were talking of the game: in no home in Beldingsville was the glad game more ardently played than in the Snowsâ.
âWell, and how are you getting along?â asked Pollyanna, when she had finished the business part of her call.
âSplendidly!â beamed Milly Snow. âThis is the third job Iâve got this week. Oh, Miss Pollyanna, Iâm so glad you had me take up typewriting, for you see I can do that right at home! And itâs all owing to you.â
âNonsense!â disclaimed Pollyanna, merrily.
âBut it is. In the first place, I couldnât have done it anyway if it hadnât been for the gameâ âmaking mother so much better, you know, that I had some time to myself. And then, at the very first, you suggested typewriting, and helped me to buy a machine. I should like to know if that doesnât come pretty near owing it all to you!â
But once again Pollyanna objected. This time she was interrupted by Mrs. Snow from her wheel chair by the window. And so earnestly and gravely did Mrs. Snow speak, that Pollyanna, in spite of herself, could but hear what she had to say.
âListen, child, I donât think you know quite what youâve done. But I wish you could! Thereâs a little look in your eyes, my dear, today, that I donât like to see there. You are plagued and worried over something, I know. I can see it. And I donât wonder: your uncleâs death, your auntâs condition, everythingâ âI wonât say more about that. But thereâs something I do want to say, my dear, and you must let me say it, for I canât bear to see that shadow in your eyes without trying to drive it away by telling you what youâve done for me, for this whole town, and for countless other people everywhere.â
âMrs. Snow!â protested Pollyanna, in genuine distress.
âOh, I mean it, and I know what Iâm talking about,â nodded the invalid, triumphantly. âTo begin with, look at me. Didnât you find me a fretful, whining creature who never by any chance wanted what she had until she found what she didnât have? And didnât you open my eyes by bringing me three kinds of things so Iâd have to have what I wanted, for once?â
âOh, Mrs. Snow, was I really ever quite soâ âimpertinent as that?â murmured Pollyanna, with a painful blush.
âIt wasnât impertinent,â objected Mrs. Snow, stoutly. âYou didnât mean it as impertinenceâ âand that made all the difference in the world. You didnât preach, either, my dear. If you had, youâd never have got me to playing the game, nor anybody else, I fancy. But you did get me to playing itâ âand see what itâs done for me, and for Milly! Here I am so much better that I can sit in a wheel chair and go anywhere on this floor in it. That means a whole lot when it comes to waiting on yourself, and giving those around you a chance to breatheâ âmeaning Milly, in this case. And the doctor says itâs all owing to the game. Then thereâs others, quantities of others, right in this town, that Iâm hearing of all the time. Nellie Mahoney broke her wrist and was so glad it wasnât her leg that she didnât mind the wrist at all. Old Mrs. Tibbits has lost her hearing, but sheâs so glad âtisnât her eyesight that sheâs actually happy. Do you remember cross-eyed Joe that they used to call Cross Joe, be cause of his temper? Nothing went to suit him either, any more than it did me. Well, somebodyâs taught him the game, they say, and made a different man of him. And listen, dear. Itâs not only this town, but other places. I had a letter yesterday from my cousin in Massachusetts, and she told me all about Mrs. Tom Payson that used to live here. Do you remember them? They lived on the way up Pendleton Hill.â
âYes, oh, yes, I remember them,â cried Pollyanna.
âWell, they left here that winter you were in the Sanatorium and went to Massachusetts where my sister lives. She knows them well. She says Mrs. Payson told her all about you, and how your glad game actually saved them from a divorce. And now not only do they play it themselves, but theyâve got quite a lot of others playing it down there, and theyâre getting still others. So you see, dear, thereâs no telling where that glad game of yours is going to stop. I wanted you to know. I thought it might helpâ âeven you to play the game sometimes; for donât think I donât understand, dearie, that it is hard for you to play your own gameâ âsometimes.â
Pollyanna rose to her feet. She smiled, but her eyes glistened with tears, as she held out her hand in goodbye.
âThank you, Mrs. Snow,â she said unsteadily. âIt is hardâ âsometimes; and maybe I did need a little help about my own game. But, anyhow, nowâ ââ her eyes flashed with their old merrimentâ ââif any time I think I canât play the game myself I can remember that I can still always be glad there are some folks playing it!â
Pollyanna walked home a little soberly that afternoon. Touched as she was by what Mrs. Snow had said, there was yet an
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