Pollyanna by Eleanor H. Porter (books to read fiction .TXT) 📕

dirtier and more forlorn, perhaps, than was the kitten; and again Miss Polly, to her dumbfounded amazement, found herself figuring as a kind protector and an angel of mercy⁠—a role that Pollyanna so unhesitatingly thrust upon her as a matter of course, that the woman⁠—who abhorred dogs even more than she did cats, if possible⁠—found herself as before, powerless to remonstrate.

When, in less than a week, however, Pollyanna brought home a small, ragged boy, and confidently claimed the same protection for him, Miss Polly did have something to say. It happened after this wise.

On a pleasant Thursday morning Pollyanna had been taking calf’s-foot jelly again to Mrs. Snow. Mrs. Snow and Pollyanna were the best of friends now. Their friendship had started from the third visit Pollyanna had made, the one after she had told Mrs. Snow of the game. Mrs. Snow herself was playing the game now, with Pollyanna. To be sure, she was not playing it very well⁠—she had been sorry for everything for so long, that it was not easy to be glad for anything now. But under Pollyanna’s cheery instructions and merry laughter at her mistakes, she was learning fast. Today, even, to Pollyanna’s huge delight, she had said that she was glad Pollyanna brought calf’s-foot jelly, because that was just what she had been wanting⁠—she did not know that Milly, at the front door, had told Pollyanna that the minister’s wife had already that day sent over a great bowlful of that same kind of jelly.

Pollyanna was thinking of this now when suddenly she saw the boy.

The boy was sitting in a disconsolate little heap by the roadside, whittling half-heartedly at a small stick.

“Hullo,” smiled Pollyanna, engagingly.

The boy glanced up, but he looked away again, at once.

“Hullo yourself,” he mumbled.

Pollyanna laughed.

“Now you don’t look as if you’d be glad even for calf’s-foot jelly,” she chuckled, stopping before him.

The boy stirred restlessly, gave her a surprised look, and began to whittle again at his stick, with the dull, broken-bladed knife in his hand.

Pollyanna hesitated, then dropped herself comfortably down on the grass near him. In spite of Pollyanna’s brave assertion that she was “used to Ladies’ Aiders,” and “didn’t mind,” she had sighed at times for some companion of her own age. Hence her determination to make the most of this one.

“My name’s Pollyanna Whittier,” she began pleasantly. “What’s yours?”

Again the boy stirred restlessly. He even almost got to his feet. But he settled back.

“Jimmy Bean,” he grunted with ungracious indifference.

“Good! Now we’re introduced. I’m glad you did your part⁠—some folks don’t, you know. I live at Miss Polly Harrington’s house. Where do you live?”

“Nowhere.”

“Nowhere! Why, you can’t do that⁠—everybody lives somewhere,” asserted Pollyanna.

“Well, I don’t⁠—just now. I’m huntin’ up a new place.”

“Oh! Where is it?”

The boy regarded her with scornful eyes.

“Silly! As if I’d be a-huntin’ for it⁠—if I knew!”

Pollyanna tossed her head a little. This was not a nice boy, and she did not like to be called “silly.” Still, he was somebody besides⁠—old folks. “Where did you live⁠—before?” she queried.

“Well, if you ain’t the beat’em for askin’ questions!” sighed the boy impatiently.

“I have to be,” retorted Pollyanna calmly, “else I couldn’t find out a thing about you. If you’d talk more I wouldn’t talk so much.”

The boy gave a short laugh. It was a sheepish laugh, and not quite a willing one; but his face looked a little pleasanter when he spoke this time.

“All right then⁠—here goes! I’m Jimmy Bean, and I’m ten years old goin’ on eleven. I come last year ter live at the Orphans’ Home; but they’ve got so many kids there ain’t much room for me, an’ I wa’n’t never wanted, anyhow, I don’t believe. So I’ve quit. I’m goin’ ter live somewheres else⁠—but I hain’t found the place, yet. I’d like a home⁠—jest a common one, ye know, with a mother in it, instead of a Matron. If ye has a home, ye has folks; an’ I hain’t had folks since⁠—dad died. So I’m a-huntin’ now. I’ve tried four houses, but⁠—they didn’t want me⁠—though I said I expected ter work, ’course. There! Is that all you want ter know?” The boy’s voice had broken a little over the last two sentences.

“Why, what a shame!” sympathized Pollyanna. “And didn’t there anybody want you? O dear! I know just how you feel, because after⁠—after my father died, too, there wasn’t anybody but the Ladies’ Aid for me, until Aunt Polly said she’d take⁠—” Pollyanna stopped abruptly. The dawning of a wonderful idea began to show in her face.

“Oh, I know just the place for you,” she cried. “Aunt Polly’ll take you⁠—I know she will! Didn’t she take me? And didn’t she take Fluffy and Buffy, when they didn’t have any one to love them, or any place to go?⁠—and they’re only cats and dogs. Oh, come, I know Aunt Polly’ll take you! You don’t know how good and kind she is!”

Jimmy Bean’s thin little face brightened.

“Honest Injun? Would she, now? I’d work, ye know, an’ I’m real strong!” He bared a small, bony arm.

“Of course she would! Why, my Aunt Polly is the nicest lady in the world⁠—now that my mama has gone to be a Heaven angel. And there’s rooms⁠—heaps of ’em,” she continued, springing to her feet, and tugging at his arm. “It’s an awful big house. Maybe, though,” she added a little anxiously, as they hurried on, “maybe you’ll have to sleep in the attic room. I did, at first. But there’s screens there now, so ’twon’t be so hot, and the flies can’t get in, either, to bring in the germ-things on their feet. Did you know about that? It’s perfectly lovely! Maybe she’ll let you read the book if you’re good⁠—I mean, if you’re bad. And you’ve got freckles, too,”⁠—with a critical glance⁠—“so you’ll be glad there isn’t any looking-glass; and the outdoor picture is nicer than any wall-one could be, so you won’t mind sleeping in that room at all, I’m sure,” panted Pollyanna, finding suddenly that she