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

the Aiders,” corrected Pollyanna, a little breathless from her efforts to steer between the Scylla of her father’s past commands in regard to speaking of church quarrels, and the Charybdis of her aunt’s present commands in regard to speaking of her father.

“Yes, yes; well, never mind,” interposed Aunt Polly, a trifle impatiently. “You do run on so, Pollyanna, and no matter what we’re talking about you always bring up at those Ladies’ Aiders!”

“Yes’m,” smiled Pollyanna, cheerfully, “I reckon I do, maybe. But you see they used to bring me up, and⁠—”

“That will do, Pollyanna,” interrupted a cold voice. “Now what is it about this jelly?”

“Nothing, Aunt Polly, truly, that you would mind, I’m sure. You let me take jelly to her, so I thought you would to him⁠—this once. You see, broken legs aren’t like⁠—like lifelong invalids, so his won’t last forever as Mrs. Snow’s does, and she can have all the rest of the things after just once or twice.”

“ ‘Him’? ‘He’? ‘Broken leg’? What are you talking about, Pollyanna?”

Pollyanna stared; then her face relaxed.

“Oh, I forgot. I reckon you didn’t know. You see, it happened while you were gone. It was the very day you went that I found him in the woods, you know; and I had to unlock his house and telephone for the men and the doctor, and hold his head, and everything. And of course then I came away and haven’t seen him since. But when Nancy made the jelly for Mrs. Snow this week I thought how nice it would be if I could take it to him instead of her, just this once. Aunt Polly, may I?”

“Yes, yes, I suppose so,” acquiesced Miss Polly, a little wearily. “Who did you say he was?”

“The Man. I mean, Mr. John Pendleton.”

Miss Polly almost sprang from her chair.

“John Pendleton!”

“Yes. Nancy told me his name. Maybe you know him.”

Miss Polly did not answer this. Instead she asked:

“Do you know him?”

Pollyanna nodded.

“Oh, yes. He always speaks and smiles⁠—now. He’s only cross outside, you know. I’ll go and get the jelly. Nancy had it ’most fixed when I came in,” finished Pollyanna, already halfway across the room.

“Pollyanna, wait! Miss Polly’s voice was suddenly very stern. I’ve changed my mind. I would prefer that Mrs. Snow had that jelly today⁠—as usual. That is all. You may go now.”

Pollyanna’s face fell.

“Oh, but Aunt Polly, hers will last. She can always be sick and have things, you know; but his is just a broken leg, and legs don’t last⁠—I mean, broken ones. He’s had it a whole week now.”

“Yes, I remember. I heard Mr. John Pendleton had met with an accident,” said Miss Polly, a little stiffly; “but⁠—I do not care to be sending jelly to John Pendleton, Pollyanna.”

“I know, he is cross⁠—outside,” admitted Pollyanna, sadly, “so I suppose you don’t like him. But I wouldn’t say ’twas you sent it. I’d say ’twas me. I like him. I’d be glad to send him jelly.”

Miss Polly began to shake her head again. Then, suddenly, she stopped, and asked in a curiously quiet voice:

“Does he know who you⁠—are, Pollyanna?”

The little girl sighed.

“I reckon not. I told him my name, once, but he never calls me it⁠—never.”

“Does he know where you⁠—live?”

“Oh, no. I never told him that.”

“Then he doesn’t know you’re my⁠—niece?”

“I don’t think so.”

For a moment there was silence. Miss Polly was looking at Pollyanna with eyes that did not seem to see her at all. The little girl, shifting impatiently from one small foot to the other, sighed audibly. Then Miss Polly roused herself with a start.

“Very well, Pollyanna,” she said at last, still in that queer voice, so unlike her own; “you may you may take the jelly to Mr. Pendleton as your own gift. But understand: I do not send it. Be very sure that he does not think I do!”

“Yes’m⁠—no’m⁠—thank you, Aunt Polly,” exulted Pollyanna, as she flew through the door.

XV Dr. Chilton

The great gray pile of masonry looked very different to Pollyanna when she made her second visit to the house of Mr. John Pendleton. Windows were open, an elderly woman was hanging out clothes in the back yard, and the doctor’s gig stood under the porte-cochère.

As before Pollyanna went to the side door. This time she rang the bell⁠—her fingers were not stiff today from a tight clutch on a bunch of keys.

A familiar-looking small dog bounded up the steps to greet her, but there was a slight delay before the woman who had been hanging out the clothes opened the door.

“If you please, I’ve brought some calf’s-foot jelly for Mr. Pendleton,” smiled Pollyanna.

“Thank you,” said the woman, reaching for the bowl in the little girl’s hand. “Who shall I say sent it? And it’s calf’s-foot jelly?”

The doctor, coming into the hall at that moment, heard the woman’s words and saw the disappointed look on Pollyanna’s face. He stepped quickly forward.

“Ah! Some calf’s-foot jelly?” he asked genially. “That will be fine! Maybe you’d like to see our patient, eh?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” beamed Pollyanna; and the woman, in obedience to a nod from the doctor, led the way down the hall at once, though plainly with vast surprise on her face.

Behind the doctor, a young man (a trained nurse from the nearest city) gave a disturbed exclamation.

“But, Doctor, didn’t Mr. Pendleton give orders not to admit⁠—any one?”

“Oh, yes,” nodded the doctor, imperturbably. “But I’m giving orders now. I’ll take the risk.” Then he added whimsically: “You don’t know, of course; but that little girl is better than a six-quart bottle of tonic any day. If anything or anybody can take the grouch out of Pendleton this afternoon, she can. That’s why I sent her in.”

“Who is she?”

For one brief moment the doctor hesitated.

“She’s the niece of one of our best known residents. Her name is Pollyanna Whittier. I⁠—I don’t happen to enjoy a very extensive personal acquaintance with the little lady as yet; but lots of my patients do⁠—I’m thankful to say!”

The nurse smiled.

“Indeed! And what are the special ingredients of this