Pollyanna by Eleanor Hodgman Porter (most motivational books .TXT) 📕

“You would?”

“Yes; and I’d tell it better this time,” hurried on Pollyanna, quick to see the signs of relenting in the boy’s face. “And there’d be some of ‘em, I know, that would be glad to give you a home.”

“I’d work—don’t forget ter say that,” cautioned the boy.

“Of course not,” promised Pollyanna, happily, sure now that her point was gained. “Then I’ll let you know to-morrow.”

“Where?”

“By the road—where I found you to-day; near Mrs. Snow’s house.”

“All right. I’ll be there.” The boy paused before he went on slowly: “Maybe I’d better go back, then, for ter-night, ter the Home. You see I hain’t no other place ter stay; and—and I didn’t leave till this mornin’. I slipped out. I didn’t tell ‘em I wasn’t comin’ back, else they’d pretend I couldn’t come—though I’m thinkin’ they won’t do no worryin’ when I don’t show up sometime. They ain’t like FOLKS, ye know. They don’t CARE!”

“I know,” nodded Pollyanna, with understanding eyes. “But I’m sure, when I see you to-morrow, I’ll have just a common home and folks that do care all ready for you. Good-by!” she called brightly, as she turned back toward the house.

In the sitting-room window at that moment, Miss Polly, who had been watching the two children, followed with sombre eyes the boy until a bend of the road hid him from sight. Then she sighed, turned, and walked listlesly up-stairs—and Miss Polly did not usually move listlessly. In her ears still was the boy’s scornful “you was so good and kind.” In her heart was a curious sense of desolation—as of something lost.

CHAPTER XII. BEFORE THE LADIES’ AID

Dinner, which came at noon in the Harrington homestead, was a silent meal on the day of the Ladies’ Aid meeting. Pollyanna, it is true, tried to talk; but she did not make a success of it, chiefly because four times she was obliged to break off a “glad” in the middle of it, much to her blushing discomfort. The fifth time it happened, Miss Polly moved her head wearily.

“There, there, child, say it, if you want to,” she sighed. “I’m sure I’d rather you did than not if it’s going to make all this fuss.”

Pollyanna’s puckered little face cleared.

“Oh, thank you. I’m afraid it would be pretty hard—not to say it. You see I’ve played it so long.”

“You’ve—what?” demanded Aunt Polly.

“Played it—the game, you know, that father—” Pollyanna stopped with a painful blush at finding herself so soon again on forbidden ground.

Aunt Polly frowned and said nothing. The rest of the meal was a silent one.

Pollyanna was not sorry to hear Aunt Polly tell the minister’s wife over the telephone, a little later, that she would not be at the Ladies’ Aid meeting that afternoon, owing to a headache. When Aunt Polly went up-stairs to her room and closed the door, Pollyanna tried to be sorry for the headache; but she could not help feeling glad that her aunt was not to be present that afternoon when she laid the case of Jimmy Bean before the Ladies’ Aid. She could not forget that Aunt Polly had called Jimmy Bean a little beggar; and she did not want Aunt Polly to call him that—before the Ladies’ Aid.

Pollyanna knew that the Ladies’ Aid met at two o’clock in the chapel next the church, not quite half a mile from home. She planned her going, therefore, so that she should get there a little before three.

“I want them all to be there,” she said to herself; “else the very one that wasn’t there might be the one who would be wanting to give Jimmy Bean a home; and, of course, two o’clock always means three, really—to Ladies’ Aiders.”

Quietly, but with confident courage, Pollyanna ascended the chapel steps, pushed open the door and entered the vestibule. A soft babel of feminine chatter and laughter came from the main room. Hesitating only a brief moment Pollyanna pushed open one of the inner doors.

The chatter dropped to a surprised hush. Pollyanna advanced a little timidly. Now that the time had come, she felt unwontedly shy. After all, these half-strange, half-familiar faces about her were not her own dear Ladies’ Aid.

“How do you do, Ladies’ Aiders?” she faltered politely. “I’m Pollyanna Whittier. I—I reckon some of you know me, maybe; anyway, I do YOU—only I don’t know you all together this way.”

The silence could almost be felt now. Some of the ladies did know this rather extraordinary niece of their fellow-member, and nearly all had heard of her; but not one of them could think of anything to say, just then.

“I—I’ve come to—to lay the case before you,” stammered Pollyanna, after a moment, unconsciously falling into her father’s familiar phraseology.

There was a slight rustle.

“Did—did your aunt send you, my dear? asked Mrs. Ford, the minister’s wife.

Pollyanna colored a little.

“Oh, no. I came all by myself. You see, I’m used to Ladies’ Aiders. It was Ladies’ Aiders that brought me up—with father.”

Somebody tittered hysterically, and the minister’s wife frowned.

“Yes, dear. What is it?”

“Well, it—it’s Jimmy Bean,” sighed Pollyanna. “He hasn’t any home except the Orphan one, and they’re full, and don’t want him, anyhow, he thinks; so he wants another. He wants one of the common kind, that has a mother instead of a Matron in it—folks, you know, that’ll care. He’s ten years old going on eleven. I thought some of you might like him—to live with you, you know.”

“Well, did you ever!” murmured a voice, breaking the dazed pause that followed Pollyanna’s words.

With anxious eyes Pollyanna swept the circle of faces about her.

“Oh, I forgot to say; he will work,” she supplemented eagerly.

Still there was silence; then, coldly, one or two women began to question her. After a time they all had the story and began to talk among themselves, animatedly, not quite pleasantly.

Pollyanna listened with growing anxiety. Some of what was said she could not understand. She did gather, after a time, however, that there was no woman there who had a home to give him, though every woman seemed to think that some of the others might take him, as there were several who had no little boys of their own already in their homes. But there was no one who agreed herself to take him. Then she heard the minister’s wife suggest timidly that they, as a society, might perhaps assume his support and education instead of sending quite so much money this year to the little boys in far-away India.

A great many ladies talked then, and several of them talked all at once, and even more loudly and more unpleasantly than before. It seemed that their society was famous for its offering to Hindu missions, and several said they should die of mortification if it should be less this year. Some of what was said at this time Pollyanna again thought she could not have understood, too, for it sounded almost as if they did not care at all what the money DID, so long as the sum opposite the name of their society in a certain “report” “headed the list”—and of course that could not be what they meant at all! But it was all very confusing, and not quite pleasant, so that Pollyanna was glad, indeed, when at last she found herself outside in the hushed, sweet air—only she was very sorry, too: for she knew it was not going to be easy, or anything but sad, to tell Jimmy Bean to-morrow that the Ladies’ Aid had decided that they would rather send all their money to bring up the little India boys than to save out enough to bring up one little boy in their own town, for which they would not get “a bit of credit in the report,” according to the tall lady who wore spectacles.

“Not but that it’s good, of course, to send money to the heathen, and I shouldn’t want ‘em not to send SOME there,” sighed Pollyanna to herself, as she trudged sorrowfully along. “But they acted as if little boys HERE weren’t any account—only little boys ‘way off. I should THINK, though, they’d rather see Jimmy Bean grow—than just a report!

CHAPTER XIII. IN PENDLETON WOODS

Pollyanna had not turned her steps toward home, when she left the chapel. She had turned them, instead, toward Pendleton Hill. It had been a hard day, for all it had been a “vacation one” (as she termed the infrequent days when there was no sewing or cooking lesson), and Pollyanna was sure that nothing would do her quite so much good as a walk through the green quiet of Pendleton Woods. Up Pendleton Hill, therefore, she climbed steadily, in spite of the warm sun on her back.

“I don’t have to get home till half-past five, anyway,” she was telling herself; “and it’ll be so much nicer to go around by the way of the woods, even if I do have to climb to get there.”

It was very beautiful in the Pendleton Woods, as Pollyanna knew by experience. But to-day it seemed even more delightful than ever, notwithstanding her disappointment over what she must tell Jimmy Bean to-morrow.

“I wish they were up here—all those ladies who talked so loud,” sighed Pollyanna to herself, raising her eyes to the patches of vivid blue between the sunlit green of the tree-tops. “Anyhow, if they were up here, I just reckon they’d change and take Jimmy Bean for their little boy, all right,” she finished, secure in her conviction, but unable to give a reason for it, even to herself.

Suddenly Pollyanna lifted her head and listened. A dog had barked some distance ahead. A moment later he came dashing toward her, still barking.

“Hullo, doggie—hullo!” Pollyanna snapped her fingers at the dog and looked expectantly down the path. She had seen the dog once before, she was sure. He had been then with the Man, Mr. John Pendleton. She was looking now, hoping to see him. For some minutes she watched eagerly, but he did not appear. Then she turned her attention toward the dog.

The dog, as even Pollyanna could see, was acting strangely. He was still barking—giving little short, sharp yelps, as if of alarm. He was running back and forth, too, in the path ahead. Soon they reached a side path, and down this the little dog fairly flew, only to come back at once, whining and barking.

“Ho! That isn’t the way home,” laughed Pollyanna, still keeping to the main path.

The little dog seemed frantic now. Back and forth, back and forth, between Pollyanna and the side path he vibrated, barking and whining pitifully. Every quiver of his little brown body, and every glance from his beseeching brown eyes were eloquent with appeal—so eloquent that at last Pollyanna understood, turned, and followed him.

Straight ahead, now, the little dog dashed madly; and it was not long before Pollyanna came upon the reason for it all: a man lying motionless at the foot of a steep, overhanging mass of rock a few yards from the side path.

A twig cracked sharply under Pollyanna’s foot, and the man turned his head. With a cry of dismay Pollyanna ran to his side.

“Mr. Pendleton! Oh, are you hurt?”

“Hurt? Oh, no! I’m just taking a siesta in the sunshine,” snapped the man irritably. “See here, how much do you know? What can you do? Have you got any sense?”

Pollyanna caught her breath with a little gasp, but—as was her habit—she answered the questions literally, one by one.

“Why, Mr. Pendleton, I—I don’t know so very much, and I