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

her eyes luminous with sympathy for the sad-faced man lying back on the pillow before her. “I’d love to come!”

“Thank you,” said John Pendleton, gently.

After supper that evening, Pollyanna, sitting on the back porch, told Nancy all about Mr. John Pendleton’s wonderful carved box, and the still more wonderful things it contained.

“And ter think,” sighed Nancy, “that he showed ye all them things, and told ye about ’em like that⁠—him that’s so cross he never talks ter no one⁠—no one!”

“Oh, but he isn’t cross, Nancy, only outside,” demurred Pollyanna, with quick loyalty. “I don’t see why everybody thinks he’s so bad, either. They wouldn’t, if they knew him. But even Aunt Polly doesn’t like him very well. She wouldn’t send the jelly to him, you know, and she was so afraid he’d think she did send it!”

“Probably she didn’t call him no duty,” shrugged Nancy. “But what beats me is how he happened ter take ter you so, Miss Pollyanna⁠—meanin’ no offence ter you, of course⁠—but he ain’t the sort o’ man what gen’rally takes ter kids; he ain’t, he ain’t.”

Pollyanna smiled happily.

“But he did, Nancy,” she nodded, “only I reckon even he didn’t want to⁠—all the time. Why, only today he owned up that one time he just felt he never wanted to see me again, because I reminded him of something he wanted to forget. But afterwards⁠—”

“What’s that?” interrupted Nancy, excitedly. “He said you reminded him of something he wanted to forget?”

“Yes. But afterwards⁠—”

“What was it?” Nancy was eagerly insistent.

“He didn’t tell me. He just said it was something.”

“The mystery!” breathed Nancy, in an awestruck voice. “That’s why he took to you in the first place. Oh, Miss Pollyanna! Why, that’s just like a book⁠—I’ve read lots of ’em; ‘Lady Maud’s Secret,’ and ‘The Lost Heir,’ and ‘Hidden for Years’⁠—all of ’em had mysteries and things just like this. My stars and stockings! Just think of havin’ a book lived right under yer nose like this an’ me not knowin’ it all this time! Now tell me everythin’⁠—everythin’ he said, Miss Pollyanna, there’s a dear! No wonder he took ter you; no wonder⁠—no wonder!”

“But he didn’t,” cried Pollyanna, “not till I talked to him, first. And he didn’t even know who I was till I took the calf’s-foot jelly, and had to make him understand that Aunt Polly didn’t send it, and⁠—”

Nancy sprang to her feet and clasped her hands together suddenly.

“Oh, Miss Pollyanna, I know, I know⁠—I know I know!” she exulted rapturously. The next minute she was down at Pollyanna’s side again. “Tell me⁠—now think, and answer straight and true,” she urged excitedly. “It was after he found out you was Miss Polly’s niece that he said he didn’t ever want ter see ye again, wa’n’t it?”

“Oh, yes. I told him that the last time I saw him, and he told me this today.”

“I thought as much,” triumphed Nancy. “And Miss Polly wouldn’t send the jelly herself, would she?”

“No.”

“And you told him she didn’t send it?”

“Why, yes; I⁠—”

“And he began ter act queer and cry out sudden after he found out you was her niece. He did that, didn’t he?”

“Why, y-yes; he did act a little queer⁠—over that jelly,” admitted Pollyanna, with a thoughtful frown.

Nancy drew a long sigh.

“Then I’ve got it, sure! Now listen. Mr. John Pendleton was Miss Polly Harrington’s lover!” she announced impressively, but with a furtive glance over her shoulder.

“Why, Nancy, he couldn’t be! She doesn’t like him,” objected Pollyanna.

Nancy gave her a scornful glance.

“Of course she don’t! that’s the quarrel!”

Pollyanna still looked incredulous, and with another long breath Nancy happily settled herself to tell the story.

“It’s like this. Just before you come, Mr. Tom told me Miss Polly had had a lover once. I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t⁠—her and a lover! But Mr. Tom said she had, and that he was livin’ now right in this town. And now I know, of course. It’s John Pendleton. Hain’t he got a mystery in his life? Don’t he shut himself up in that grand house alone, and never speak ter no one? Didn’t he act queer when he found out you was Miss Polly’s niece? And now hain’t he owned up that you remind him of somethin’ he wants ter forget? Just as if anybody couldn’t see ’twas Miss Polly!⁠—an’ her sayin’ she wouldn’t send him no jelly, too. Why, Miss Pollyanna, it’s as plain as the nose on yer face; it is, it is!”

“Oh-h!” breathed Pollyanna, in wide-eyed amazement. “But, Nancy, I should think if they loved each other they’d make up some time. Both of ’em all alone, so, all these years. I should think they’d be glad to make up!”

Nancy sniffed disdainfully.

“I guess maybe you don’t know much about lovers, Miss Pollyanna. You ain’t big enough yet, anyhow. But if there is a set o’ folks in the world that wouldn’t have no use for that ’ere ‘glad game’ o’ your’n, it’d be a pair o’ quarrellin’ lovers; and that’s what they be. Ain’t he cross as sticks, most gen’rally?⁠—and ain’t she⁠—”

Nancy stopped abruptly, remembering just in time to whom, and about whom, she was speaking. Suddenly, however, she chuckled.

“I ain’t sayin’, though, Miss Pollyanna, but what it would be a pretty slick piece of business if you could get ’em ter playin’ it⁠—so they would be glad ter make up. But, my land! wouldn’t folks stare some⁠—Miss Polly and him! I guess, though, there ain’t much chance, much chance!”

Pollyanna said nothing; but when she went into the house a little later, her face was very thoughtful.

XVIII Prisms

As the warm August days passed, Pollyanna went very frequently to the great house on Pendleton Hill. She did not feel, however, that her visits were really a success. Not but that the man seemed to want her there⁠—he sent for her, indeed, frequently; but that when she was there, he seemed scarcely any the happier for her presence⁠—at least, so Pollyanna thought.

He talked to her, it was true, and