Pollyanna
“Hain't ye?” asked the old man, with an odd look on his face. “Well, I
guess ye won't then from me.”
“Oh, Mr. Tom, come on, now,” wheedled the girl. “Ye see, there ain't
many folks here that I CAN ask.”
“Maybe not. But there's one, anyhow, that ain't answerin',” grinned
Old Tom. Then, abruptly, the light died from his eyes. “How is she,
ter-day--the little gal?”
Nancy shook her head. Her face, too, had sobered.
“Just the same, Mr. Tom. There ain't no special diff'rence, as I can
see--or anybody, I guess. She jest lays there an' sleeps an' talks some,
an' tries ter smile an' be 'glad' 'cause the sun sets or the moon rises,
or some other such thing, till it's enough ter make yer heart break with
achin'.”
“I know; it's the 'game'--bless her sweet heart!” nodded Old Tom,
blinking a little.
“She told YOU, then, too, about that 'ere--game?”
“Oh, yes. She told me long ago.” The old man hesitated, then went on,
his lips twitching a little. “I was growlin' one day 'cause I was so
bent up and crooked; an' what do ye s'pose the little thing said?”
“I couldn't guess. I wouldn't think she could find ANYTHIN' about THAT
ter be glad about!”
“She did. She said I could be glad, anyhow, that I didn't have ter STOOP
SO FAR TER DO MY WEEDIN' 'cause I was already bent part way over.”
Nancy gave a wistful laugh.
“Well, I ain't surprised, after all. You might know she'd find
somethin'. We've been playin' it--that game--since almost the first,
'cause there wa'n't no one else she could play it with--though she did
speak of--her aunt.”
“MISS POLLY!”
Nancy chuckled.
“I guess you hain't got such an awful diff'rent opinion o' the mistress
than I have,” she bridled.
Old Tom stiffened.
“I was only thinkin' 'twould be--some of a surprise--to her,” he
explained with dignity.
“Well, yes, I guess 'twould be--THEN,” retorted Nancy. “I ain't sayin'
what 'twould be NOW. I'd believe anythin' o' the mistress now--even that
she'd take ter playin' it herself!”
“But hain't the little gal told her--ever? She's told ev'ry one else,
I guess. I'm hearin' of it ev'rywhere, now, since she was hurted,” said
Tom.
“Well, she didn't tell Miss Polly,” rejoined Nancy. “Miss Pollyanna told
me long ago that she couldn't tell her, 'cause her aunt didn't like ter
have her talk about her father; an' 'twas her father's game, an' she'd
have ter talk about him if she did tell it. So she never told her.”
“Oh, I see, I see.” The old man nodded his head slowly. “They was always
bitter against the minister chap--all of 'em, 'cause he took Miss Jennie
away from 'em. An' Miss Polly--young as she was--couldn't never forgive
him; she was that fond of Miss Jennie--in them days. I see, I see. 'Twas
a bad mess,” he sighed, as he turned away.
“Yes, 'twas--all 'round, all 'round,” sighed Nancy in her turn, as she
went back to her kitchen.
For no one were those days of waiting easy. The nurse tried to look
cheerful, but her eyes were troubled. The doctor was openly nervous and
impatient. Miss Polly said little; but even the softening waves of hair
about her face, and the becoming laces at her throat, could not hide
the fact that she was growing thin and pale. As to Pollyanna--Pollyanna
petted the dog, smoothed the cat's sleek head, admired the flowers
and ate the fruits and jellies that were sent in to her; and returned
innumerable cheery answers to the many messages of love and inquiry that
were brought to her bedside. But she, too, grew pale and thin; and the
nervous activity of the poor little hands and arms only emphasized the
pitiful motionlessness of the once active little feet and legs now lying
so woefully quiet under the blankets.
As to the game--Pollyanna told Nancy these days how glad she was going
to be when she could go to school again, go to see Mrs. Snow, go to call
on Mr. Pendleton, and go to ride with Dr. Chilton nor did she seem to
realize that all this “gladness” was in the future, not the present.
Nancy, however, did realize it--and cry about it, when she was alone.
CHAPTER XXVI. A DOOR AJAR
Just a week from the time Dr. Mead, the specialist, was first expected,
he came. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with kind gray eyes, and a
cheerful smile. Pollyanna liked him at once, and told him so.
“You look quite a lot like MY doctor, you see,” she added engagingly.
“YOUR doctor?” Dr. Mead glanced in evident surprise at Dr. Warren,
talking with the nurse a few feet away. Dr. Warren was a small,
brown-eyed man with a pointed brown beard.
“Oh, THAT isn't my doctor,” smiled Pollyanna, divining his thought. “Dr.
Warren is Aunt Polly's doctor. My doctor is Dr. Chilton.”
“Oh-h!” said Dr. Mead, a little oddly, his eyes resting on Miss Polly,
who, with a vivid blush, had turned hastily away.
“Yes.” Pollyanna hesitated, then continued with her usual truthfulness.
“You see, _I_ wanted Dr. Chilton all the time, but Aunt Polly wanted
you. She said you knew more than Dr. Chilton, anyway about--about broken
legs like mine. And of course if you do, I can be glad for that. Do
you?”
A swift something crossed the doctor's face that Pollyanna could not
quite translate.
“Only time can tell that, little girl,” he said gently; then he turned a
grave face toward Dr. Warren, who had just come to the bedside.
Every one said afterward that it was the cat that did it. Certainly,
if Fluffy had not poked an insistent paw and nose against Pollyanna's
unlatched door, the door would not have swung noiselessly open on its
hinges until it stood perhaps a foot ajar; and if the door had not been
open, Pollyanna would not have heard her aunt's words.
In the hall the two doctors, the nurse, and Miss Polly stood talking. In
Pollyanna's room Fluffy had just jumped to the bed with a little purring
“meow” of joy when through the open door sounded clearly and sharply
Aunt Polly's agonized exclamation.
“Not that! Doctor, not that! You don't mean--the child--will NEVER WALK
again!”
It was all confusion then. First, from the bedroom came Pollyanna's
terrified “Aunt Polly Aunt Polly!” Then Miss Polly, seeing the open
door and realizing that her words had been heard, gave a low little moan
and--for the first time in her life--fainted dead away.
The nurse, with a choking “She heard!” stumbled toward the open door.
The two doctors stayed with Miss Polly. Dr. Mead had to stay--he had
caught Miss Polly as she fell. Dr. Warren stood by, helplessly. It was
not until Pollyanna cried out again sharply and the nurse closed the
door, that the two men, with a despairing glance into each other's eyes,
awoke to the immediate duty of bringing the woman in Dr. Mead's arms
back to unhappy consciousness.
In Pollyanna's room, the nurse had found a purring gray cat on the
bed vainly trying to attract the attention of a white-faced, wild-eyed
little girl.
“Miss Hunt, please, I want Aunt Polly. I want her right away, quick,
please!”
The nurse closed the door and came forward hurriedly. Her face was very
pale.
“She--she can't come just this minute, dear. She will--a little later.
What is it? Can't I--get it?”
Pollyanna shook her head.
“But I want to know what she said--just now. Did you hear her? I
want Aunt Polly--she said something. I want her to tell me 'tisn't
true--'tisn't true!”
The nurse tried to speak, but no words came. Something in her face sent
an added terror to Pollyanna's eyes.
“Miss Hunt, you DID hear her! It is true! Oh, it isn't true! You don't
mean I can't ever--walk again?”
“There, there, dear--don't, don't!” choked the nurse. “Perhaps he didn't
know. Perhaps he was mistaken. There's lots of things that could happen,
you know.”
“But Aunt Polly said he did know! She said he knew more than anybody
else about--about broken legs like mine!”
“Yes, yes, I know, dear; but all doctors make mistakes sometimes.
Just--just don't think any more about it now--please don't, dear.”
Pollyanna flung out her arms wildly. “But I can't help thinking about
it,” she sobbed. “It's all there is now to think about. Why, Miss Hunt,
how am I going to school, or to see Mr. Pendleton, or Mrs. Snow, or--or
anybody?” She caught her breath and sobbed wildly for a moment. Suddenly
she stopped and looked up, a new terror in her eyes. “Why, Miss Hunt, if
I can't walk, how am I ever going to be glad for--ANYTHING?”
Miss Hunt did not know “the game;” but she did know that her patient
must be quieted, and that at once. In spite of her own perturbation and
heartache, her hands had not been idle, and she stood now at the bedside
with the quieting powder ready.
“There, there, dear, just take this,” she soothed; “and by and by we'll
be more rested, and we'll see what can be done then. Things aren't half
as bad as they seem, dear, lots of times, you know.”
Obediently Pollyanna took the medicine, and sipped the water from the
glass in Miss Hunt's hand.
“I know; that sounds like things father used to say,” faltered
Pollyanna, blinking off the tears. “He said there was always something
about everything that might be worse; but I reckon he'd never just heard
he couldn't ever walk again. I don't see how there CAN be anything about
that, that could be worse--do you?”
Miss Hunt did not reply. She could not trust herself to speak just then.
CHAPTER XXVII. TWO VISITS
It was Nancy who was sent to tell Mr. John Pendleton of Dr. Mead's
verdict. Miss Polly had remembered her promise to let him have direct
information from the house. To go herself, or to write a letter, she
felt to be almost equally out of the question. It occurred to her then
to send Nancy.
There had been a time when Nancy would have rejoiced greatly at this
extraordinary opportunity to see something of the House of Mystery and
its master. But to-day her heart was too heavy to, rejoice at anything.
She scarcely even looked about her at all, indeed, during the few
minutes, she waited for Mr. John Pendleton to appear.
“I'm Nancy, sir,” she said respectfully, in response to the surprised
questioning of his eyes, when he came into the room. “Miss Harrington
sent me to tell you about--Miss Pollyanna.”
“Well?”
In spite of the curt terseness of the word, Nancy quite understood the
anxiety that lay behind that short “well?”
“It ain't well, Mr. Pendleton,” she choked.
“You don't mean--” He paused, and she bowed her head miserably.
“Yes, sir. He says--she can't walk again--never.”
For a moment there was absolute silence in the room; then the man spoke,
in a voice shaken with emotion.
“Poor--little--girl! Poor--little--girl!”
Nancy glanced at him, but dropped her eyes at once. She had not supposed
that sour, cross, stern John Pendleton could look like that. In a moment
he spoke again, still in the low, unsteady voice.
“It seems cruel--never to dance in the sunshine again! My little prism
girl!”
There was another silence; then, abruptly, the man asked:
“She herself doesn't know yet--of course--does she?”
“But she does, sir.” sobbed Nancy, “an' that's what makes it all the
harder. She found out--drat that cat! I begs yer pardon,” apologized the
girl, hurriedly. “It's only that the cat pushed open the door an' Miss
Pollyanna overheard 'em talkin'. She found out--that way.”
“Poor--little--girl!” sighed the man again.
“Yes, sir. You'd say so, sir, if you could see her,” choked Nancy. “I
hain't seen her but twice since she knew about it, an' it done me up
both times. Ye see it's all so fresh an' new to her, an' she keeps
thinkin' all the time of new things she can't do--NOW. It worries her,
too, 'cause she can't seem ter be glad--maybe you don't know about her
game, though,” broke off Nancy, apologetically.
“The 'glad game'?” asked the man. “Oh, yes; she told me of that.”