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
âMaybe I havenât been careful, always, to hunt up the glad side of the things Aunt Polly says,â she thought with undefined guiltiness; âand maybe if I played the game better myself, Aunt Polly would play itâ âa little. Anyhow Iâm going to try. If I donât look out, all these other people will be playing my own game better than I am myself!â
XXVI John PendletonIt was just a week before Christmas that Pollyanna sent her story (now neatly typewritten) in for the contest. The prize-winners would not be announced until April, the magazine notice said, so Pollyanna settled herself for the long wait with characteristic, philosophical patience.
âI donât know, anyhow, but Iâm glad âtis so long,â she told herself, âfor all winter I can have the fun of thinking it may be the first one instead of one of the others, that Iâll get. I might just as well think Iâm going to get it, then if I do get it, I wonât have been unhappy any. While if I donât get itâ âI wonât have had all these weeks of unhappiness beforehand, anyway; and I can be glad for one of the smaller ones, then.â That she might not get any prize was not in Pollyannaâs calculations at all. The story, so beautifully typed by Milly Snow, looked almost as good as printed alreadyâ âto Pollyanna.
Christmas was not a happy time at the Harrington homestead that year, in spite of Pollyannaâs strenuous efforts to make it so. Aunt Polly refused absolutely to allow any sort of celebration of the day, and made her attitude so unmistakably plain that Pollyanna could not give even the simplest of presents.
Christmas evening John Pendleton called. Mrs. Chilton excused herself, but Pollyanna, utterly worn out from a long day with her aunt, welcomed him joyously. But even here she found a fly in the amber of her content; for John Pendleton had brought with him a letter from Jimmy, and the letter was full of nothing but the plans he and Mrs. Carew were making for a wonderful Christmas celebration at the Home for Working Girls: and Pollyanna, ashamed though she was to own it to herself, was not in a mood to hear about Christmas celebrations just thenâ âleast of all, Jimmyâs.
John Pendleton, however, was not ready to let the subject drop, even when the letter had been read.
âGreat doingsâ âthose!â he exclaimed, as he folded the letter.
âYes, indeed; fine!â murmured Pollyanna, trying to speak with due enthusiasm.
âAnd itâs tonight, too, isnât it? Iâd like to drop in on them about now.â
âYes,â murmured Pollyanna again, with still more careful enthusiasm.
âMrs. Carew knew what she was about when she got Jimmy to help her, I fancy,â chuckled the man. âBut Iâm wondering how Jimmy likes itâ âplaying Santa Claus to half a hundred young women at once!â
âWhy, he finds it delightful, of course!â Pollyanna lifted her chin ever so slightly.
âMaybe. Still, itâs a little different from learning to build bridges, you must confess.â
âOh, yes.â
âBut Iâll risk Jimmy, and Iâll risk wagering that those girls never had a better time than heâll give them tonight, too.â
âY-yes, of course,â stammered Pollyanna, trying to keep the hated tremulousness out of her voice, and trying very hard not to compare her own dreary evening in Beldingsville with nobody but John Pendleton to that of those fifty girls in Bostonâ âwith Jimmy.
There was a brief pause, during which John Pendleton gazed dreamily at the dancing fire on the hearth.
âSheâs a wonderful womanâ âMrs. Carew is,â he said at last.
âShe is, indeed!â This time the enthusiasm in Pollyannaâs voice was all pure gold.
âJimmyâs written me before something of what sheâs done for those girls,â went on the man, still gazing into the fire. âIn just the last letter before this he wrote a lot about it, and about her. He said he always admired her, but never so much as now, when he can see what she really is.â
âSheâs a dearâ âthatâs what Mrs. Carew is,â declared Pollyanna, warmly. âSheâs a dear in every way, and I love her.â
John Pendleton stirred suddenly. He turned to Pollyanna with an oddly whimsical look in his eyes.
âI know you do, my dear. For that matter, there may be others, tooâ âthat love her.â
Pollyannaâs heart skipped a beat. A sudden thought came to her with stunning, blinding force. Jimmy! Could John Pendleton be meaning that Jimmy cared that wayâ âfor Mrs. Carew?
âYou meanâ â?â she faltered. She could not finish.
With a nervous twitch peculiar to him, John Pendleton got to his feet.
âI meanâ âthe girls, of course,â he answered lightly, still with that whimsical smile. âDonât you suppose those fifty girlsâ âlove her âmost to death?â
Pollyanna said âyes, of course,â and murmured something else appropriate, in answer to John Pendletonâs next remark. But her thoughts were in a tumult, and she let the man do most of the talking for the rest of the evening.
Nor did John Pendleton seem averse to this. Restlessly he took a turn or two about the room, then sat down in his old place. And when he spoke, it was on his old subject, Mrs. Carew.
âQueerâ âabout that Jamie of hers, isnât it? I wonder if he is her nephew.â
As Pollyanna did not answer, the man went on, after a momentâs silence.
âHeâs a fine fellow, anyway. I like him. Thereâs something fine and genuine about him. Sheâs bound up in him. Thatâs plain to be seen, whether heâs really her kin or not.â
There wasâ âanother pause, then, in a slightly altered voice, John Pendleton said:
âStill itâs queer, too, when you come to think of it, that she neverâ âmarried again. She is certainly nowâ âa very beautiful woman. Donât you think so?â
âYesâ âyes, indeed she is,â plunged in Pollyanna, with precipitate haste; âaâ âa very beautiful woman.â
There was a little break at the last in Pollyannaâs voice. Pollyanna, just then, had caught sight of her own face
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