Pollyanna Grows Up Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  SOME OLD FRIENDS

  In Beldingsville that August day, Mrs. Chilton waited until Pollyannahad gone to bed before she spoke to her husband about the letter thathad come in the morning mail. For that matter, she would have had towait, anyway, for crowded office hours, and the doctor's two longdrives over the hills had left no time for domestic conferences.

  It was about half-past nine, indeed, when the doctor entered hiswife's sitting-room. His tired face lighted at sight of her, but atonce a perplexed questioning came to his eyes.

  "Why, Polly, dear, what is it?" he asked concernedly.

  His wife gave a rueful laugh.

  "Well, it's a letter--though I didn't mean you should find out by justlooking at me."

  "Then you mustn't look so I can," he smiled. "But what is it?"

  Mrs. Chilton hesitated, pursed her lips, then picked up a letter nearher.

  "I'll read it to you," she said. "It's from a Miss Della Wetherby atDr. Ames' Sanatorium."

  "All right. Fire away," directed the man, throwing himself at fulllength on to the couch near his wife's chair.

  But his wife did not at once "fire away." She got up first and coveredher husband's recumbent figure with a gray worsted afghan. Mrs.Chilton's wedding day was but a year behind her. She was forty-twonow. It seemed sometimes as if into that one short year of wifehoodshe had tried to crowd all the loving service and "babying" that hadbeen accumulating through twenty years of lovelessness and loneliness.Nor did the doctor--who had been forty-five on his wedding day, andwho could remember nothing but loneliness and lovelessness--on hispart object in the least to this concentrated "tending." He acted,indeed, as if he quite enjoyed it--though he was careful not to showit too ardently: he had discovered that Mrs. Polly had for so longbeen Miss Polly that she was inclined to retreat in a panic and dubher ministrations "silly," if they were received with too much noticeand eagerness. So he contented himself now with a mere pat of her handas she gave the afghan a final smooth, and settled herself to read theletter aloud.

  "My dear Mrs. Chilton," Della Wetherby had written. "Just six times Ihave commenced a letter to you, and torn it up; so now I have decidednot to 'commence' at all, but just to tell you what I want at once. Iwant Pollyanna. May I have her?

  "I met you and your husband last March when you came on to takePollyanna home, but I presume you don't remember me. I am asking Dr.Ames (who does know me very well) to write your husband, so that youmay (I hope) not fear to trust your dear little niece to us.

  "I understand that you would go to Germany with your husband but forleaving Pollyanna; and so I am making so bold as to ask you to let ustake her. Indeed, I am begging you to let us have her, dear Mrs.Chilton. And now let me tell you why.

  "My sister, Mrs. Carew, is a lonely, broken-hearted, discontented,unhappy woman. She lives in a world of gloom, into which no sunshinepenetrates. Now I believe that if anything on earth can bring thesunshine into her life, it is your niece, Pollyanna. Won't you let hertry? I wish I could tell you what she has done for the Sanatoriumhere, but nobody could TELL. You would have to see it. I long agodiscovered that you can't TELL about Pollyanna. The minute you try to,she sounds priggish and preachy, and--impossible. Yet you and I knowshe is anything but that. You just have to bring Pollyanna on to thescene and let her speak for herself. And so I want to take her to mysister--and let her speak for herself. She would attend school, ofcourse, but meanwhile I truly believe she would be healing the woundin my sister's heart.

  "I don't know how to end this letter. I believe it's harder than itwas to begin it. I'm afraid I don't want to end it at all. I just wantto keep talking and talking, for fear, if I stop, it'll give you achance to say no. And so, if you ARE tempted to say that dreadfulword, won't you please consider that--that I'm still talking, andtelling you how much we want and need Pollyanna.

  "Hopefully yours,

  "DELLA WETHERBY."

  "There!" ejaculated Mrs. Chilton, as she laid the letter down. "Didyou ever read such a remarkable letter, or hear of a morepreposterous, absurd request?"

  "Well, I'm not so sure," smiled the doctor. "I don't think it's absurdto want Pollyanna."

  "But--but the way she puts it--healing the wound in her sister'sheart, and all that. One would think the child was some sort of--ofmedicine!"

  The doctor laughed outright, and raised his eyebrows.

  "Well, I'm not so sure but she is, Polly. I ALWAYS said I wished Icould prescribe her and buy her as I would a box of pills; and CharlieAmes says they always made it a point at the Sanatorium to give theirpatients a dose of Pollyanna as soon as possible after their arrival,during the whole year she was there."

  "'Dose,' indeed!" scorned Mrs. Chilton.

  "Then--you don't think you'll let her go?"

  "Go? Why, of course not! Do you think I'd let that child go to perfectstrangers like that?--and such strangers! Why, Thomas, I should expectthat that nurse would have her all bottled and labeled with fulldirections on the outside how to take her, by the time I'd got backfrom Germany."

  Again the doctor threw back his head and laughed heartily, but onlyfor a moment. His face changed perceptibly as he reached into hispocket for a letter.

  "I heard from Dr. Ames myself, this morning," he said, with an oddsomething in his voice that brought a puzzled frown to his wife'sbrow. "Suppose I read you my letter now."

  "Dear Tom," he began. "Miss Della Wetherby has asked me to give herand her sister a 'character,' which I am very glad to do. I have knownthe Wetherby girls from babyhood. They come from a fine old family,and are thoroughbred gentlewomen. You need not fear on that score.

  "There were three sisters, Doris, Ruth, and Della. Doris married a mannamed John Kent, much against the family's wishes. Kent came from goodstock, but was not much himself, I guess, and was certainly a veryeccentric, disagreeable man to deal with. He was bitterly angry at theWetherbys' attitude toward him, and there was little communicationbetween the families until the baby came. The Wetherbys worshiped thelittle boy, James--'Jamie,' as they called him. Doris, the mother,died when the boy was four years old, and the Wetherbys were makingevery effort to get the father to give the child entirely up to them,when suddenly Kent disappeared, taking the boy with him. He has neverbeen heard from since, though a world-wide search has been made.

  "The loss practically killed old Mr. and Mrs. Wetherby. They both diedsoon after. Ruth was already married and widowed. Her husband was aman named Carew, very wealthy, and much older than herself. He livedbut a year or so after marriage, and left her with a young son whoalso died within a year.

  "From the time little Jamie disappeared, Ruth and Della seemed to havebut one object in life, and that was to find him. They have spentmoney like water, and have all but moved heaven and earth; but withoutavail. In time Della took up nursing. She is doing splendid work, andhas become the cheerful, efficient, sane woman that she was meant tobe--though still never forgetting her lost nephew, and never leavingunfollowed any possible clew that might lead to his discovery.

  "But with Mrs. Carew it is quite different. After losing her own boy,she seemed to concentrate all her thwarted mother-love on her sister'sson. As you can imagine, she was frantic when he disappeared. That waseight years ago--for her, eight long years of misery, gloom, andbitterness. Everything that money can buy, of course, is at hercommand; but nothing pleases her, nothing interests her. Della feelsthat the time has come when she must be gotten out of herself, at allhazards; and Della believes that your wife's sunny little niece,Pollyanna, possesses the magic key that will unlock the door to a newexistence for her. Such being the case, I hope you will see your wayclear to granting her request. And may I add that I, too, personally,would appreciate the favor; for Ruth Carew and her sister are veryold, dear friends of my wife and myself; and what touches them touchesus. As ever yours, CHARLIE."

  The letter finished, there was a long silence, so long
a silence thatthe doctor uttered a quiet, "Well, Polly?"

  Still there was silence. The doctor, watching his wife's face closely,saw that the usually firm lips and chin were trembling. He waited thenquietly until his wife spoke.

  "How soon--do you think--they'll expect her?" she asked at last.

  In spite of himself Dr. Chilton gave a slight start.

  "You--mean--that you WILL let her go?" he cried.

  His wife turned indignantly.

  "Why, Thomas Chilton, what a question! Do you suppose, after a letterlike that, I could do anything BUT let her go? Besides, didn't Dr.Ames HIMSELF ask us to? Do you think, after what that man has done forPollyanna, that I'd refuse him ANYTHING--no matter what it was?"

  "Dear, dear! I hope, now, that the doctor won't take it into his headto ask for--for YOU, my love," murmured the husband-of-a-year, with awhimsical smile. But his wife only gave him a deservedly scornfulglance, and said:

  "You may write Dr. Ames that we'll send Pollyanna; and ask him to tellMiss Wetherby to give us full instructions. It must be sometime beforethe tenth of next month, of course, for you sail then; and I want tosee the child properly established myself before I leave, naturally."

  "When will you tell Pollyanna?"

  "To-morrow, probably."

  "What will you tell her?"

  "I don't know--exactly; but not any more than I can't help, certainly.Whatever happens, Thomas, we don't want to spoil Pollyanna; and nochild could help being spoiled if she once got it into her head thatshe was a sort of--of--"

  "Of medicine bottle with a label of full instructions for taking?"interpolated the doctor, with a smile.

  "Yes," sighed Mrs. Chilton. "It's her unconsciousness that saves thewhole thing. YOU know that, dear."

  "Yes, I know," nodded the man.

  "She knows, of course, that you and I, and half the town are playingthe game with her, and that we--we are wonderfully happier because weARE playing it." Mrs. Chilton's voice shook a little, then went onmore steadily. "But if, consciously, she should begin to be anythingbut her own natural, sunny, happy little self, playing the game thather father taught her, she would be--just what that nurse said shesounded like--'impossible.' So, whatever I tell her, I sha'n't tellher that she's going down to Mrs. Carew's to cheer her up," concludedMrs. Chilton, rising to her feet with decision, and putting away herwork.

  "Which is where I think you're wise," approved the doctor.

  Pollyanna was told the next day; and this was the manner of it.

  "My dear," began her aunt, when the two were alone together thatmorning, "how would you like to spend next winter in Boston?"

  "With you?"

  "No; I have decided to go with your uncle to Germany. But Mrs. Carew,a dear friend of Dr. Ames, has asked you to come and stay with her forthe winter, and I think I shall let you go."

  Pollyanna's face fell.

  "But in Boston I won't have Jimmy, or Mr. Pendleton, or Mrs. Snow, oranybody that I know, Aunt Polly."

  "No, dear; but you didn't have them when you came here--till you foundthem."

  Pollyanna gave a sudden smile.

  "Why, Aunt Polly, so I didn't! And that means that down to Bostonthere are some Jimmys and Mr. Pendletons and Mrs. Snows waiting for methat I don't know, doesn't it?"

  "Yes, dear."

  "Then I can be glad of that. I believe now, Aunt Polly, you know howto play the game better than I do. I never thought of the folks downthere waiting for me to know them. And there's such a lot of 'em, too!I saw some of them when I was there two years ago with Mrs. Gray. Wewere there two whole hours, you know, on my way here from out West.

  "There was a man in the station--a perfectly lovely man who told mewhere to get a drink of water. Do you suppose he's there now? I'd liketo know him. And there was a nice lady with a little girl. They livein Boston. They said they did. The little girl's name was Susie Smith.Perhaps I could get to know them. Do you suppose I could? And therewas a boy, and another lady with a baby--only they lived in Honolulu,so probably I couldn't find them there now. But there'd be Mrs. Carew,anyway. Who is Mrs. Carew, Aunt Polly? Is she a relation?"

  "Dear me, Pollyanna!" exclaimed Mrs. Chilton, half-laughingly,half-despairingly. "How do you expect anybody to keep up with yourtongue, much less your thoughts, when they skip to Honolulu and backagain in two seconds! No, Mrs. Carew isn't any relation to us. She'sMiss Della Wetherby's sister. Do you remember Miss Wetherby at theSanatorium?"

  Pollyanna clapped her hands.

  "HER sister? Miss Wetherby's sister? Oh, then she'll be lovely, Iknow. Miss Wetherby was. I loved Miss Wetherby. She had littlesmile-wrinkles all around her eyes and mouth, and she knew the NICESTstories. I only had her two months, though, because she only got therea little while before I came away. At first I was sorry that I hadn'thad her ALL the time, but afterwards I was glad; for you see if I HADhad her all the time, it would have been harder to say good-by than'twas when I'd only had her a little while. And now it'll seem as if Ihad her again, 'cause I'm going to have her sister."

  Mrs. Chilton drew in her breath and bit her lip.

  "But, Pollyanna, dear, you must not expect that they'll be quitealike," she ventured.

  "Why, they're SISTERS, Aunt Polly," argued the little girl, her eyeswidening; "and I thought sisters were always alike. We had two sets of'em in the Ladies' Aiders. One set was twins, and THEY were so alikeyou couldn't tell which was Mrs. Peck and which was Mrs. Jones, untila wart grew on Mrs. Jones's nose, then of course we could, because welooked for the wart the first thing. And that's what I told her oneday when she was complaining that people called her Mrs. Peck, and Isaid if they'd only look for the wart as I did, they'd know right off.But she acted real cross--I mean displeased, and I'm afraid she didn'tlike it--though I don't see why; for I should have thought she'd beenglad there was something they could be told apart by, 'specially asshe was the president, and didn't like it when folks didn't ACT as ifshe was the president--best seats and introductions and specialattentions at church suppers, you know. But she didn't, and afterwardsI heard Mrs. White tell Mrs. Rawson that Mrs. Jones had doneeverything she could think of to get rid of that wart, even to tryingto put salt on a bird's tail. But I don't see how THAT could do anygood. Aunt Polly, DOES putting salt on a bird's tail help the warts onpeople's noses?"

  "Of course not, child! How you do run on, Pollyanna, especially if youget started on those Ladies' Aiders!"

  "Do I, Aunt Polly?" asked the little girl, ruefully. "And does itplague you? I don't mean to plague you, honestly, Aunt Polly. And,anyway, if I do plague you about those Ladies' Aiders, you can be kindo' glad, for if I'm thinking of the Aiders, I'm sure to be thinkinghow glad I am that I don't belong to them any longer, but have got anaunt all my own. You can be glad of that, can't you, Aunt Polly?"

  "Yes, yes, dear, of course I can, of course I can," laughed Mrs.Chilton, rising to leave the room, and feeling suddenly very guiltythat she was conscious sometimes of a little of her old irritationagainst Pollyanna's perpetual gladness.

  During the next few days, while letters concerning Pollyanna's winterstay in Boston were flying back and forth, Pollyanna herself waspreparing for that stay by a series of farewell visits to herBeldingsville friends.

  Everybody in the little Vermont village knew Pollyanna now, and almosteverybody was playing the game with her. The few who were not, werenot refraining because of ignorance of what the glad game was. So toone house after another Pollyanna carried the news now that she wasgoing down to Boston to spend the winter; and loudly rose the clamorof regret and remonstrance, all the way from Nancy in Aunt Polly's ownkitchen to the great house on the hill where lived John Pendleton.

  Nancy did not hesitate to say--to every one except her mistress--thatSHE considered this Boston trip all foolishness, and that for her partshe would have been glad to take Miss Pollyanna home with her to theCorners, she would, she would; and then Mrs. Polly could have gone toGermany all she wanted to.

  On the hill John Pe
ndleton said practically the same thing, only hedid not hesitate to say it to Mrs. Chilton herself. As for Jimmy, thetwelve-year-old boy whom John Pendleton had taken into his homebecause Pollyanna wanted him to, and whom he had now adopted--becausehe wanted to himself--as for Jimmy, Jimmy was indignant, and he wasnot slow to show it.

  "But you've just come," he reproached Pollyanna, in the tone of voicea small boy is apt to use when he wants to hide the fact that he has aheart.

  "Why, I've been here ever since the last of March. Besides, it isn'tas if I was going to stay. It's only for this winter."

  "I don't care. You've just been away for a whole year, 'most, and ifI'd s'posed you was going away again right off, the first thing, Iwouldn't have helped one mite to meet you with flags and bands andthings, that day you come from the Sanatorium."

  "Why, Jimmy Bean!" ejaculated Pollyanna, in amazed disapproval. Then,with a touch of superiority born of hurt pride, she observed: "I'msure I didn't ASK you to meet me with bands and things--and you madetwo mistakes in that sentence. You shouldn't say 'you was'; and Ithink 'you come' is wrong. It doesn't sound right, anyway."

  "Well, who cares if I did?"

  Pollyanna's eyes grew still more disapproving.

  "You SAID you did--when you asked me this summer to tell you when yousaid things wrong, because Mr. Pendleton was trying to make you talkright."

  "Well, if you'd been brought up in a 'sylum without any folks thatcared, instead of by a whole lot of old women who didn't have anythingto do but tell you how to talk right, maybe you'd say 'you was,' and awhole lot more worse things, Pollyanna Whittier!"

  "Why, Jimmy Bean!" flared Pollyanna. "My Ladies' Aiders weren't oldwomen--that is, not many of them, so very old," she corrected hastily,her usual proclivity for truth and literalness superseding her anger;"and--"

  "Well, I'm not Jimmy Bean, either," interrupted the boy, uptilting hischin.

  "You're--not-- Why, Jimmy Be-- --What do you mean?" demanded the littlegirl.

  "I've been adopted, LEGALLY. He's been intending to do it, all along,he says, only he didn't get to it. Now he's done it. I'm to be called'Jimmy Pendleton' and I'm to call him Uncle John, only I ain't--arenot--I mean, I AM not used to it yet, so I hain't--haven't begun tocall him that, much."

  The boy still spoke crossly, aggrievedly, but every trace ofdispleasure had fled from the little girl's face at his words. Sheclapped her hands joyfully.

  "Oh, how splendid! Now you've really got FOLKS--folks that care, youknow. And you won't ever have to explain that he wasn't BORN yourfolks, 'cause your name's the same now. I'm so glad, GLAD, GLAD!"

  The boy got up suddenly from the stone wall where they had beensitting, and walked off. His cheeks felt hot, and his eyes smartedwith tears. It was to Pollyanna that he owed it all--this great goodthat had come to him; and he knew it. And it was to Pollyanna that hehad just now been saying--

  He kicked a small stone fiercely, then another, and another. Hethought those hot tears in his eyes were going to spill over and rolldown his cheeks in spite of himself. He kicked another stone, thenanother; then he picked up a third stone and threw it with all hismight. A minute later he strolled back to Pollyanna still sitting onthe stone wall.

  "I bet you I can hit that pine tree down there before you can," hechallenged airily.

  "Bet you can't," cried Pollyanna, scrambling down from her perch.

  The race was not run after all, for Pollyanna remembered just in timethat running fast was yet one of the forbidden luxuries for her. Butso far as Jimmy was concerned, it did not matter. His cheeks were nolonger hot, his eyes were not threatening to overflow with tears.Jimmy was himself again.