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

morose woman she was before. And it’s all because of Pollyanna.

“Pollyanna! Dear child⁠—and the best part of it is, she is so unconscious of the whole thing. I don’t believe even my sister yet quite realizes what is taking place within her own heart and life, and certainly Pollyanna doesn’t⁠—least of all does she realize the part she played in the change.

“And now, dear Mrs. Chilton, how can I thank you? I know I can’t; so I’m not even going to try. Yet in your heart I believe you know how grateful I am to both you and Pollyanna.

“Della Wetherby.”

“Well, it seems to have worked a cure, all right,” smiled Dr. Chilton, when his wife had finished reading the letter to him.

To his surprise she lifted a quick, remonstrative hand.

“Thomas, don’t, please!” she begged.

“Why, Polly, what’s the matter? Aren’t you glad that⁠—that the medicine worked?”

Mrs. Chilton dropped despairingly back in her chair.

“There you go again, Thomas,” she sighed. “Of course I’m glad that this misguided woman has forsaken the error of her ways and found that she can be of use to someone. And of course I’m glad that Pollyanna did it. But I am not glad to have that child continually spoken of as if she were a⁠—a bottle of medicine, or a ‘cure.’ Don’t you see?”

“Nonsense! After all, where’s the harm? I’ve called Pollyanna a tonic ever since I knew her.”

“Harm! Thomas Chilton, that child is growing older every day. Do you want to spoil her? Thus far she has been utterly unconscious of her extraordinary power. And therein lies the secret of her success. The minute she consciously sets herself to reform somebody, you know as well as I do that she will be simply impossible. Consequently, Heaven forbid that she ever gets it into her head that she’s anything like a cure-all for poor, sick, suffering humanity.”

“Nonsense! I wouldn’t worry,” laughed the doctor.

“But I do worry, Thomas.”

“But, Polly, think of what she’s done,” argued the doctor. “Think of Mrs. Snow and John Pendleton, and quantities of others⁠—why, they’re not the same people at all that they used to be, any more than Mrs. Carew is. And Pollyanna did do it⁠—bless her heart!”

“I know she did,” nodded Mrs. Polly Chilton, emphatically. “But I don’t want Pollyanna to know she did it! Oh, of course she knows it, in a way. She knows she taught them to play the glad game with her, and that they are lots happier in consequence. And that’s all right. It’s a game⁠—her game, and they’re playing it together. To you I will admit that Pollyanna has preached to us one of the most powerful sermons I ever heard; but the minute she knows it⁠—well, I don’t want her to. That’s all. And right now let me tell you that I’ve decided that I will go to Germany with you this fall. At first I thought I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to leave Pollyanna⁠—and I’m not going to leave her now. I’m going to take her with me.”

“Take her with us? Good! Why not?”

“I’ve got to. That’s all. Furthermore, I should be glad to plan to stay a few years, just as you said you’d like to. I want to get Pollyanna away, quite away from Beldingsville for a while. I’d like to keep her sweet and unspoiled, if I can. And she shall not get silly notions into her head if I can help myself. Why, Thomas Chilton, do we want that child made an insufferable little prig?”

“We certainly don’t,” laughed the doctor. “But, for that matter, I don’t believe anything or anybody could make her so. However, this Germany idea suits me to a T. You know I didn’t want to come away when I did⁠—if it hadn’t been for Pollyanna. So the sooner we get back there the better I’m satisfied. And I’d like to stay⁠—for a little practice, as well as study.”

“Then that’s settled.” And Aunt Polly gave a satisfied sigh.

XVI When Pollyanna Was Expected

All Beldingsville was fairly aquiver with excitement. Not since Pollyanna Whittier came home from the Sanatorium, walking, had there been such a chatter of talk over backyard fences and on every street corner. Today, too, the center of interest was Pollyanna. Once again Pollyanna was coming home⁠—but so different a Pollyanna, and so different a homecoming!

Pollyanna was twenty now. For six years she had spent her winters in Germany, her summers leisurely traveling with Dr. Chilton and his wife. Only once during that time had she been in Beldingsville, and then it was for but a short four weeks the summer she was sixteen. Now she was coming home⁠—to stay, report said; she and her Aunt Polly.

The doctor would not be with them. Six months before, the town had been shocked and saddened by the news that the doctor had died suddenly. Beldingsville had expected then that Mrs. Chilton and Pollyanna would return at once to the old home. But they had not come. Instead had come word that the widow and her niece would remain abroad for a time. The report said that, in entirely new surroundings, Mrs. Chilton was trying to seek distraction and relief from her great sorrow.

Very soon, however, vague rumors, and rumors not so vague, began to float through the town that, financially, all was not well with Mrs. Polly Chilton. Certain railroad stocks, in which it was known that the Harrington estate had been heavily interested, wavered uncertainly, then tumbled into ruin and disaster. Other investments, according to report, were in a most precarious condition. From the doctor’s estate, little could be expected. He had not been a rich man, and his expenses had been heavy for the past six years. Beldingsville was not surprised, therefore, when, not quite six months after the doctor’s death, word came that Mrs. Chilton and Pollyanna were coming home.

Once more the old Harrington homestead, so long closed and silent, showed up-flung windows and wide-open doors. Once more Nancy⁠—now Mrs. Timothy Durgin⁠—swept and scrubbed and dusted until the