Pollyanna Grows Up - Eleanor H. Porter (read an ebook week .TXT) 📗

that, and⁠—and the Jolly Book, you see. The first thing I knew, a whole lot of men and women come one day toting this chair, and said ’twas for me. That they’d read all about me, and they wanted me to have it to remember them by.”

“My! how glad you must have been!”

“I was. It took a whole page of my Jolly Book to tell about that chair.”

“But can’t you ever walk again?” Pollyanna’s eyes were blurred with tears.

“It don’t look like it. They said I couldn’t.”

“Oh, but that’s what they said about me, and then they sent me to Dr. Ames, and I stayed ’most a year; and he made me walk. Maybe he could you!”

The boy shook his head.

“He couldn’t⁠—you see; I couldn’t go to him, anyway. ’Twould cost too much. We’ll just have to call it that I can’t ever⁠—walk again. But never mind.” The boy threw back his head impatiently. “I’m trying not to think of that. You know what it is when⁠—when your think gets to going.”

“Yes, yes, of course⁠—and here I am talking about it!” cried Pollyanna, penitently. “I said you knew how to play the game better than I did, now. But go on. You haven’t told me half, yet. Where do you live? And is Jerry all the brothers and sisters you’ve got?”

A swift change came to the boy’s face. His eyes glowed.

“Yes⁠—and he ain’t mine, really. He ain’t any relation, nor mumsey ain’t, neither. And only think how good they’ve been to me!”

“What’s that?” questioned Pollyanna, instantly on the alert. “Isn’t that⁠—that ‘mumsey’ your mother at all?”

“No; and that’s what makes⁠—”

“And haven’t you got any mother?” interrupted Pollyanna, in growing excitement.

“No; I never remember any mother, and father died six years ago.”

“How old were you?”

“I don’t know. I was little. Mumsey says she guesses maybe I was about six. That’s when they took me, you see.”

“And your name is Jamie?” Pollyanna was holding her breath.

“Why, yes, I told you that.”

“And what’s the other name?” Longingly, but fearfully, Pollyanna asked this question.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know!”

“I don’t remember. I was too little, I suppose. Even the Murphys don’t know. They never knew me as anything but Jamie.”

A great disappointment came to Pollyanna’s face, but almost immediately a flash of thought drove the shadow away.

“Well, anyhow, if you don’t know what your name is, you can’t know it isn’t ‘Kent’!” she exclaimed.

“ ‘Kent’?” puzzled the boy.

“Yes,” began Pollyanna, all excitement. “You see, there was a little boy named Jamie Kent that⁠—” She stopped abruptly and bit her lip. It had occurred to Pollyanna that it would be kinder not to let this boy know yet of her hope that he might be the lost Jamie. It would be better that she make sure of it before raising any expectations, otherwise she might be bringing him sorrow rather than joy. She had not forgotten how disappointed Jimmy Bean had been when she had been obliged to tell him that the Ladies’ Aid did not want him, and again when at first Mr. Pendleton had not wanted him, either. She was determined that she would not make the same mistake a third time; so very promptly now she assumed an air of elaborate indifference on this most dangerous subject, as she said:

“But never mind about Jamie Kent. Tell me about yourself. I’m so interested!”

“There isn’t anything to tell. I don’t know anything nice,” hesitated the boy. “They said father was⁠—was queer, and never talked. They didn’t even know his name. Everybody called him ‘The Professor.’ Mumsey says he and I lived in a little back room on the top floor of the house in Lowell where they used to live. They were poor then, but they wasn’t near so poor as they are now. Jerry’s father was alive them days, and had a job.”

“Yes, yes, go on,” prompted Pollyanna.

“Well, mumsey says my father was sick a lot, and he got queerer and queerer, so that they had me downstairs with them a good deal. I could walk then, a little, but my legs wasn’t right. I played with Jerry, and the little girl that died. Well, when father died there wasn’t anybody to take me, and some men were goin’ to put me in an orphan asylum; but mumsey says I took on so, and Jerry took on so, that they said they’d keep me. And they did. The little girl had just died, and they said I might take her place. And they’ve had me ever since. And I fell and got worse, and they’re awful poor now, too, besides Jerry’s father dyin’. But they’ve kept me. Now ain’t that what you call bein’ pretty good to a feller?”

“Yes, oh, yes,” cried Pollyanna. “But they’ll get their reward⁠—I know they’ll get their reward!” Pollyanna was quivering with delight now. The last doubt had fled. She had found the lost Jamie. She was sure of it. But not yet must she speak. First Mrs. Carew must see him. Then⁠—then⁠—! Even Pollyanna’s imagination failed when it came to picturing the bliss in store for Mrs. Carew and Jamie at that glad reunion.

She sprang lightly to her feet in utter disregard of Sir Lancelot who had come back and was nosing in her lap for more nuts.

“I’ve got to go now, but I’ll come again tomorrow. Maybe I’ll have a lady with me that you’ll like to know. You’ll be here tomorrow, won’t you?” she finished anxiously.

“Sure, if it’s pleasant. Jerry totes me up here ’most every mornin’. They fixed it so he could, you know; and I bring my dinner and stay till four o’clock. Jerry’s good to me⁠—he is!”

“I know, I know,” nodded Pollyanna. “And maybe you’ll find somebody else to be good to you, too,” she caroled. With which cryptic statement and a beaming smile, she was gone.

IX Plans and Plottings

On the way home Pollyanna made joyous plans. Tomorrow, in some way or other, Mrs. Carew must be persuaded to go with her for