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

fallen cake, but the frown of worry and anxiety on her own face.

“Just as if it wasn’t enough for you to let us come,” Jamie declared, “without just killing yourself with work to get us something to eat.”

“Besides, we ought not to eat so much, anyway,” Mrs. Carew laughed, “or else we shall get ‘digestion,’ as one of my girls calls it when her food disagrees with her.”

It was wonderful, after all, how easily the three new members of the family fitted into the daily life. Before twenty-four hours had passed, Mrs. Carew had gotten Mrs. Chilton to asking really interested questions about the new Home for Working Girls, and Sadie Dean and Jamie were quarreling over the chance to help with the pea-shelling or the flower-picking.

The Carews had been at the Harrington homestead nearly a week when one evening John Pendleton and Jimmy called. Pollyanna had been hoping they would come soon. She had, indeed, urged it very strongly before the Carews came. She made the introductions now with visible pride.

“You are such good friends of mine, I want you to know each other, and be good friends together,” she explained.

That Jimmy and Mr. Pendleton should be clearly impressed with the charm and beauty of Mrs. Carew did not surprise Pollyanna in the least; but the look that came into Mrs. Carew’s face at sight of Jimmy did surprise her very much. It was almost a look of recognition.

“Why, Mr. Pendleton, haven’t I met you before?” Mrs. Carew cried.

Jimmy’s frank eyes met Mrs. Carew’s gaze squarely, admiringly.

“I think not,” he smiled back at her. “I’m sure I never have met you. I should have remembered it⁠—if I had met you,” he bowed.

So unmistakable was his significant emphasis that everybody laughed, and John Pendleton chuckled:

“Well done, son⁠—for a youth of your tender years. I couldn’t have done half so well myself.”

Mrs. Carew flushed slightly and joined in the laugh.

“No, but really,” she urged; “joking aside, there certainly is a strangely familiar something in your face. I think I must have seen you somewhere, if I haven’t actually met you.”

“And maybe you have,” cried Pollyanna, “in Boston. Jimmy goes to Tech there winters, you know. Jimmy’s going to build bridges and dams, you see⁠—when he grows up, I mean,” she finished with a merry glance at the big six-foot fellow still standing before Mrs. Carew.

Everybody laughed again⁠—that is, everybody but Jamie; and only Sadie Dean noticed that Jamie, instead of laughing, closed his eyes as if at the sight of something that hurt. And only Sadie Dean knew how⁠—and why⁠—the subject was so quickly changed, for it was Sadie herself who changed it. It was Sadie, too, who, when the opportunity came, saw to it that books and flowers and beasts and birds⁠—things that Jamie knew and understood⁠—were talked about as well as dams and bridges which (as Sadie knew), Jamie could never build. That Sadie did all this, however, was not realized by anybody, least of all by Jamie, the one who most of all was concerned.

When the call was over and the Pendletons had gone, Mrs. Carew referred again to the curiously haunting feeling that somewhere she had seen young Pendleton before.

“I have, I know I have⁠—somewhere,” she declared musingly. “Of course it may have been in Boston; but⁠—” She let the sentence remain unfinished; then, after a minute she added: “He’s a fine young fellow, anyway. I like him.”

“I’m so glad! I do, too,” nodded Pollyanna. “I’ve always liked Jimmy.”

“You’ve known him some time, then?” queried Jamie, a little wistfully.

“Oh, yes. I knew him years ago when I was a little girl, you know. He was Jimmy Bean then.”

“Jimmy Bean! Why, isn’t he Mr. Pendleton’s son?” asked Mrs. Carew, in surprise.

“No, only by adoption.”

“Adoption!” exclaimed Jamie. “Then he isn’t a real son any more than I am.” There was a curious note of almost joy in the lad’s voice.

“No. Mr. Pendleton hasn’t any children. He never married. He⁠—he was going to, once, but he⁠—he didn’t.” Pollyanna blushed and spoke with sudden diffidence. Pollyanna had never forgotten that it was her mother who, in the long ago, had said no to this same John Pendleton, and who had thus been responsible for the man’s long, lonely years of bachelorhood.

Mrs. Carew and Jamie, however, being unaware of this, and seeing now only the blush on Pollyanna’s cheek and the diffidence in her manner, drew suddenly the same conclusion.

“Is it possible,” they asked themselves, “that this man, John Pendleton, ever had a love affair with Pollyanna, child that she is?”

Naturally they did not say this aloud; so, naturally, there was no answer possible. Naturally, too, perhaps, the thought, though unspoken, was still not forgotten, but was tucked away in a corner of their minds for future reference⁠—if need arose.

XXI Summer Days

Before the Carews came, Pollyanna had told Jimmy that she was depending on him to help her entertain them. Jimmy had not expressed himself then as being overwhelmingly desirous to serve her in this way; but before the Carews had been in town a fortnight, he had shown himself as not only willing but anxious⁠—judging by the frequency and length of his calls, and the lavishness of his offers of the Pendleton horses and motor cars.

Between him and Mrs. Carew there sprang up at once a warm friendship based on what seemed to be a peculiarly strong attraction for each other. They walked and talked together, and even made sundry plans for the Home for Working Girls, to be carried out the following winter when Jimmy should be in Boston. Jamie, too, came in for a good measure of attention, nor was Sadie Dean forgotten. Sadie, as Mrs. Carew plainly showed, was to be regarded as if she were quite one of the family; and Mrs. Carew was careful to see that she had full share in any plans for merrymaking.

Nor did Jimmy always come alone with his offers for entertainment. More and more frequently John Pendleton appeared with him. Rides and drives and picnics were planned and carried out, and long delightful afternoons