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

to him, he couldn’t be at the same time grumbling and growling about how bad things were; so that much would be gained. He’d be a whole lot easier to live with, both for himself and for his friends. Meanwhile, just thinking of the doughnut instead of the hole couldn’t make things any worse for him, and it might make things better; for it wouldn’t give him such a gone feeling in the pit of his stomach, and his digestion would be better. I tell you, troubles are poor things to hug. They’ve got too many prickers.”

Pollyanna smiled appreciatively.

“That makes me think of what I told a poor old lady once. She was one of my Ladies’ Aiders out West, and was one of the kind of people that really enjoys being miserable and telling over her causes for unhappiness. I was perhaps ten years old, and was trying to teach her the game. I reckon I wasn’t having very good success, and evidently I at last dimly realized the reason, for I said to her triumphantly: ‘Well, anyhow, you can be glad you’ve got such a lot of things to make you miserable, for you love to be miserable so well!’ ”

“Well, if that wasn’t a good one on her,” chuckled Jimmy.

Pollyanna raised her eyebrows.

“I’m afraid she didn’t enjoy it any more than the man in Germany would have if I’d told him the same thing.”

“But they ought to be told, and you ought to tell⁠—” Pendleton stopped short with so queer an expression on his face that Pollyanna looked at him in surprise.

“Why, Jimmy, what is it?”

“Oh, nothing. I was only thinking,” he answered, puckering his lips. “Here I am urging you to do the very thing I was afraid you would do before I saw you, you know. That is, I was afraid before I saw you, that⁠—that⁠—” He floundered into a helpless pause, looking very red indeed.

“Well, Jimmy Pendleton,” bridled the girl, “you needn’t think you can stop there, sir. Now just what do you mean by all that, please?”

“Oh, er⁠—n-nothing, much.”

“I’m waiting,” murmured Pollyanna. Voice and manner were calm and confident, though the eyes twinkled mischievously.

The young fellow hesitated, glanced at her smiling face, and capitulated.

“Oh, well, have it your own way,” he shrugged. “It’s only that I was worrying⁠—a little⁠—about that game, for fear you would talk it just as you used to, you know, and⁠—” But a merry peal of laughter interrupted him.

“There, what did I tell you? Even you were worried, it seems, lest I should be at twenty just what I was at ten!”

“N-no, I didn’t mean⁠—Pollyanna, honestly, I thought⁠—of course I knew⁠—” But Pollyanna only put her hands to her ears and went off into another peal of laughter.

XIX Two Letters

It was toward the latter part of June that the letter came to Pollyanna from Della Wetherby.

“I am writing to ask you a favor,” Miss Wetherby wrote. “I am hoping you can tell me of some quiet private family in Beldingsville that will be willing to take my sister to board for the summer. There would be three of them, Mrs. Carew, her secretary, and her adopted son, Jamie. (You remember Jamie, don’t you?) They do not like to go to an ordinary hotel or boarding house. My sister is very tired, and the doctor has advised her to go into the country for a complete rest and change. He suggested Vermont or New Hampshire. We immediately thought of Beldingsville and you; and we wondered if you couldn’t recommend just the right place to us. I told Ruth I would write you. They would like to go right away, early in July, if possible. Would it be asking too much to request you to let us know as soon as you conveniently can if you do know of a place? Please address me here. My sister is with us here at the Sanatorium for a few weeks’ treatment.

“Hoping for a favorable reply, I am,

“Most cordially yours,

“Della Wetherby.”

For the first few minutes after the letter was finished, Pollyanna sat with frowning brow, mentally searching the homes of Beldingsville for a possible boarding house for her old friends. Then a sudden something gave her thoughts a new turn, and with a joyous exclamation she hurried to her aunt in the living-room.

“Auntie, auntie,” she panted; “I’ve got just the loveliest idea. I told you something would happen, and that I’d develop that wonderful talent sometime. Well, I have. I have right now. Listen! I’ve had a letter from Miss Wetherby, Mrs. Carew’s sister⁠—where I stayed that winter in Boston, you know⁠—and they want to come into the country to board for the summer, and Miss Wetherby’s written to see if I didn’t know a place for them. They don’t want a hotel or an ordinary boarding house, you see. And at first I didn’t know of one; but now I do. I do, Aunt Polly! Just guess where ’tis.”

“Dear me, child,” ejaculated Mrs. Chilton, “how you do run on! I should think you were a dozen years old instead of a woman grown. Now what are you talking about?”

“About a boarding place for Mrs. Carew and Jamie. I’ve found it,” babbled Pollyanna.

“Indeed! Well, what of it? Of what possible interest can that be to me, child?” murmured Mrs. Chilton, drearily.

“Because it’s here. I’m going to have them here, auntie.”

“Pollyanna!” Mrs. Chilton was sitting erect in horror.

“Now, auntie, please don’t say no⁠—please don’t,” begged Pollyanna, eagerly. “Don’t you see? This is my chance, the chance I’ve been waiting for; and it’s just dropped right into my hands. We can do it lovely. We have plenty of room, and you know I can cook and keep house. And now there’d be money in it, for they’d pay well, I know; and they’d love to come, I’m sure. There’d be three of them⁠—there’s a secretary with them.”

“But, Pollyanna, I can’t! Turn this house into a boarding house?⁠—the Harrington homestead a common boarding