Pollyanna
“Oh, she did! Well, I guess she has told it generally ter most folks.
But ye see, now she--she can't play it herself, an' it worries her.
She says she can't think of a thing--not a thing about this not walkin'
again, ter be glad about.”
“Well, why should she?” retorted the man, almost savagely.
Nancy shifted her feet uneasily.
“That's the way I felt, too--till I happened ter think--it WOULD be
easier if she could find somethin', ye know. So I tried to--to remind
her.”
“To remind her! Of what?” John Pendleton's voice was still angrily
impatient.
“Of--of how she told others ter play it Mis' Snow, and the rest, ye
know--and what she said for them ter do. But the poor little lamb just
cries, an' says it don't seem the same, somehow. She says it's easy ter
TELL lifelong invalids how ter be glad, but 'tain't the same thing when
you're the lifelong invalid yerself, an' have ter try ter do it. She
says she's told herself over an' over again how glad she is that other
folks ain't like her; but that all the time she's sayin' it, she ain't
really THINKIN' of anythin' only how she can't ever walk again.”
Nancy paused, but the man did not speak. He sat with his hand over his
eyes.
“Then I tried ter remind her how she used ter say the game was all the
nicer ter play when--when it was hard,” resumed Nancy, in a dull voice.
“But she says that, too, is diff'rent--when it really IS hard. An' I
must be goin', now, sir,” she broke off abruptly.
At the door she hesitated, turned, and asked timidly:
“I couldn't be tellin' Miss Pollyanna that--that you'd seen Jimmy Bean
again, I s'pose, sir, could I?”
“I don't see how you could--as I haven't seen him,” observed the man a
little shortly. “Why?”
“Nothin', sir, only--well, ye see, that's one of the things that she was
feelin' bad about, that she couldn't take him ter see you, now. She said
she'd taken him once, but she didn't think he showed off very well that
day, and that she was afraid you didn't think he would make a very nice
child's presence, after all. Maybe you know what she means by that; but
I didn't, sir.”
“Yes, I know--what she means.”
“All right, sir. It was only that she was wantin' ter take him again,
she said, so's ter show ye he really was a lovely child's presence. And
now she--can't--drat that autymobile! I begs yer pardon, sir. Good-by!”
And Nancy fled precipitately.
It did not take long for the entire town of Beldingsville to learn that
the great New York doctor had said Pollyanna Whittier would never
walk again; and certainly never before had the town been so stirred.
Everybody knew by sight now the piquant little freckled face that had
always a smile of greeting; and almost everybody knew of the “game” that
Pollyanna was playing. To think that now never again would that smiling
face be seen on their streets--never again would that cheery little
voice proclaim the gladness of some everyday experience! It seemed
unbelievable, impossible, cruel.
In kitchens and sitting rooms, and over back-yard fences women talked of
it, and wept openly. On street corners and in store lounging-places the
men talked, too, and wept--though not so openly. And neither the talking
nor the weeping grew less when fast on the heels of the news itself,
came Nancy's pitiful story that Pollyanna, face to face with what had
come to her, was bemoaning most of all the fact that she could not play
the game; that she could not now be glad over--anything.
It was then that the same thought must have, in some way, come to
Pollyanna's friends. At all events, almost at once, the mistress of the
Harrington homestead, greatly to her surprise, began to receive calls:
calls from people she knew, and people she did not know; calls from men,
women, and children--many of whom Miss Polly had not supposed that her
niece knew at all.
Some came in and sat down for a stiff five or ten minutes. Some stood
awkwardly on the porch steps, fumbling with hats or hand-bags, according
to their sex. Some brought a book, a bunch of flowers, or a dainty to
tempt the palate. Some cried frankly. Some turned their backs and blew
their noses furiously. But all inquired very anxiously for the little
injured girl; and all sent to her some message--and it was these
messages which, after a time, stirred Miss Polly to action.
First came Mr. John Pendleton. He came without his crutches to-day.
“I don't need to tell you how shocked I am,” he began almost harshly.
“But can--nothing be done?”
Miss Polly gave a gesture of despair.
“Oh, we're 'doing,' of course, all the time. Dr. Mead prescribed certain
treatments and medicines that might help, and Dr. Warren is carrying
them out to the letter, of course. But--Dr. Mead held out almost no
hope.”
John Pendleton rose abruptly--though he had but just come. His face was
white, and his mouth was set into stern lines. Miss Polly, looking at
him, knew very well why he felt that he could not stay longer in her
presence. At the door he turned.
“I have a message for Pollyanna,” he said. “Will you tell her, please,
that I have seen Jimmy Bean and--that he's going to be my boy hereafter.
Tell her I thought she would be--GLAD to know. I shall adopt him,
probably.”
For a brief moment Miss Polly lost her usual well-bred self-control.
“You will adopt Jimmy Bean!” she gasped.
The man lifted his chin a little.
“Yes. I think Pollyanna will understand. You will tell her I thought she
would be--GLAD!”
“Why, of--of course,” faltered Miss Polly.
“Thank you,” bowed John Pendleton, as he turned to go.
In the middle of the floor Miss Polly stood, silent and amazed, still
looking after the man who had just left her. Even yet she could scarcely
believe what her ears had heard. John Pendleton ADOPT Jimmy Bean? John
Pendleton, wealthy, independent, morose, reputed to be miserly and
supremely selfish, to adopt a little boy--and such a little boy?
With a somewhat dazed face Miss Polly went up-stairs to Pollyanna's
room.
“Pollyanna, I have a message for you from Mr. John Pendleton. He has
just been here. He says to tell you he has taken Jimmy Bean for his
little boy. He said he thought you'd be glad to know it.”
Pollyanna's wistful little face flamed into sudden joy.
“Glad? GLAD? Well, I reckon I am glad! Oh, Aunt Polly, I've so wanted to
find a place for Jimmy--and that's such a lovely place! Besides, I'm
so glad for Mr. Pendleton, too. You see, now he'll have the child's
presence.”
“The--what?”
Pollyanna colored painfully. She had forgotten that she had never told
her aunt of Mr. Pendleton's desire to adopt her--and certainly she
would not wish to tell her now that she had ever thought for a minute of
leaving her--this dear Aunt Polly!
“The child's presence,” stammered Pollyanna, hastily. “Mr. Pendleton
told me once, you see, that only a woman's hand and heart or a child's
presence could make a--a home. And now he's got it--the child's
presence.”
“Oh, I--see,” said Miss Polly very gently; and she did see--more than
Pollyanna realized. She saw something of the pressure that was probably
brought to bear on Pollyanna herself at the time John Pendleton was
asking HER to be the “child's presence,” which was to transform his
great pile of gray stone into a home. “I see,” she finished, her eyes
stinging with sudden tears.
Pollyanna, fearful that her aunt might ask further embarrassing
questions, hastened to lead the conversation away from the Pendleton
house and its master.
“Dr. Chilton says so, too--that it takes a woman's hand and heart, or a
child's presence, to make a home, you know,” she remarked.
Miss Polly turned with a start.
“DR. CHILTON! How do you know--that?”
“He told me so. 'Twas when he said he lived in just rooms, you know--not
a home.”
Miss Polly did not answer. Her eyes were out the window.
“So I asked him why he didn't get 'em--a woman's hand and heart, and
have a home.”
“Pollyanna!” Miss Polly had turned sharply. Her cheeks showed a sudden
color.
“Well, I did. He looked so--so sorrowful.”
“What did he--say?” Miss Polly asked the question as if in spite of some
force within her that was urging her not to ask it.
“He didn't say anything for a minute; then he said very low that you
couldn't always get 'em for the asking.”
There was a brief silence. Miss Polly's eyes had turned again to the
window. Her cheeks were still unnaturally pink.
Pollyanna sighed.
“He wants one, anyhow, I know, and I wish he could have one.”
“Why, Pollyanna, HOW do you know?”
“Because, afterwards, on another day, he said something else. He said
that low, too, but I heard him. He said that he'd give all the world
if he did have one woman's hand and heart. Why, Aunt Polly, what's the
matter?” Aunt Polly had risen hurriedly and gone to the window.
“Nothing, dear. I was changing the position of this prism,” said Aunt
Polly, whose whole face now was aflame.
CHAPTER XXVIII. THE GAME AND ITS PLAYERS
It was not long after John Pendleton's second visit that Milly Snow
called one afternoon. Milly Snow had never before been to the Harrington
homestead. She blushed and looked very embarrassed when Miss Polly
entered the room.
“I--I came to inquire for the little girl,” she stammered.
“You are very kind. She is about the same. How is your mother?” rejoined
Miss Polly, wearily.
“That is what I came to tell you--that is, to ask you to tell Miss
Pollyanna,” hurried on the girl, breathlessly and incoherently. “We
think it's--so awful--so perfectly awful that the little thing can't
ever walk again; and after all she's done for us, too--for mother, you
know, teaching her to play the game, and all that. And when we heard how
now she couldn't play it herself--poor little dear! I'm sure I don't see
how she CAN, either, in her condition!--but when we remembered all the
things she'd said to us, we thought if she could only know what she HAD
done for us, that it would HELP, you know, in her own case, about the
game, because she could be glad--that is, a little glad--” Milly stopped
helplessly, and seemed to be waiting for Miss Polly to speak.
Miss Polly had sat politely listening, but with a puzzled questioning in
her eyes. Only about half of what had been said, had she understood. She
was thinking now that she always had known that Milly Snow was “queer,”
but she had not supposed she was crazy. In no other way, however, could
she account for this incoherent, illogical, unmeaning rush of words.
When the pause came she filled it with a quiet:
“I don't think I quite understand, Milly. Just what is it that you want
me to tell my niece?”
“Yes, that's it; I want you to tell her,” answered the girl, feverishly.
“Make her see what she's done for us. Of course she's SEEN some things,
because she's been there, and she's known mother is different; but I
want her to know HOW different she is--and me, too. I'm different. I've
been trying to play it--the game--a little.”
Miss Polly frowned. She would have asked what Milly meant by this
“game,” but there was no opportunity. Milly was rushing on again with
nervous volubility.
“You know nothing was ever right before--for mother. She was always
wanting 'em different. And, really, I don't know as one could blame her
much--under the circumstances. But now she lets me keep the shades up,
and she takes interest in things--how she looks, and her nightdress, and
all that. And she's actually begun to knit little things--reins and baby
blankets for fairs and hospitals. And she's so interested, and so GLAD
to think she can do it!--and that was all Miss Pollyanna's doings, you
know, 'cause she told mother she could be glad she'd got her hands and
arms, anyway; and that made mother wonder right away why she didn't DO