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

stock, but was not much himself, I guess, and was certainly a very eccentric, disagreeable man to deal with. He was bitterly angry at the Wetherbys’ attitude toward him, and there was little communication between the families until the baby came. The Wetherbys worshiped the little boy, James⁠—‘Jamie,’ as they called him. Doris, the mother, died when the boy was four years old, and the Wetherbys were making every effort to get the father to give the child entirely up to them, when suddenly Kent disappeared, taking the boy with him. He has never been heard from since, though a worldwide search has been made.

“The loss practically killed old Mr. and Mrs. Wetherby. They both died soon after. Ruth was already married and widowed. Her husband was a man named Carew, very wealthy, and much older than herself. He lived but a year or so after marriage, and left her with a young son who also died within a year.

“From the time little Jamie disappeared, Ruth and Della seemed to have but one object in life, and that was to find him. They have spent money like water, and have all but moved heaven and earth; but without avail. In time Della took up nursing. She is doing splendid work, and has become the cheerful, efficient, sane woman that she was meant to be⁠—though still never forgetting her lost nephew, and never leaving unfollowed any possible clue that might lead to his discovery.

“But with Mrs. Carew it is quite different. After losing her own boy, she seemed to concentrate all her thwarted mother-love on her sister’s son. As you can imagine, she was frantic when he disappeared. That was eight years ago⁠—for her, eight long years of misery, gloom, and bitterness. Everything that money can buy, of course, is at her command; but nothing pleases her, nothing interests her. Della feels that the time has come when she must be gotten out of herself, at all hazards; and Della believes that your wife’s sunny little niece, Pollyanna, possesses the magic key that will unlock the door to a new existence for her. Such being the case, I hope you will see your way clear to granting her request. And may I add that I, too, personally, would appreciate the favor; for Ruth Carew and her sister are very old, dear friends of my wife and myself; and what touches them touches us. As ever yours, Charlie.”

The letter finished, there was a long silence, so long a silence that the doctor uttered a quiet, “Well, Polly?”

Still there was silence. The doctor, watching his wife’s face closely, saw that the usually firm lips and chin were trembling. He waited then quietly until his wife spoke.

“How soon⁠—do you think⁠—they’ll expect her?” she asked at last.

In spite of himself Dr. Chilton gave a slight start.

“You⁠—mean⁠—that you will let her go?” he cried.

His wife turned indignantly.

“Why, Thomas Chilton, what a question! Do you suppose, after a letter like that, I could do anything but let her go? Besides, didn’t Dr. Ames himself ask us to? Do you think, after what that man has done for Pollyanna, that I’d refuse him anything⁠—no matter what it was?”

“Dear, dear! I hope, now, that the doctor won’t take it into his head to ask for⁠—for you, my love,” murmured the husband-of-a-year, with a whimsical smile. But his wife only gave him a deservedly scornful glance, and said:

“You may write Dr. Ames that we’ll send Pollyanna; and ask him to tell Miss Wetherby to give us full instructions. It must be sometime before the tenth of next month, of course, for you sail then; and I want to see the child properly established myself before I leave, naturally.”

“When will you tell Pollyanna?”

“Tomorrow, probably.”

“What will you tell her?”

“I don’t know⁠—exactly; but not any more than I can’t help, certainly. Whatever happens, Thomas, we don’t want to spoil Pollyanna; and no child could help being spoiled if she once got it into her head that she was a sort of⁠—of⁠—”

“Of medicine bottle with a label of full instructions for taking?” interpolated the doctor, with a smile.

“Yes,” sighed Mrs. Chilton. “It’s her unconsciousness that saves the whole thing. you know that, dear.”

“Yes, I know,” nodded the man.

“She knows, of course, that you and I, and half the town are playing the game with her, and that we⁠—we are wonderfully happier because we are playing it.” Mrs. Chilton’s voice shook a little, then went on more steadily. “But if, consciously, she should begin to be anything but her own natural, sunny, happy little self, playing the game that her father taught her, she would be⁠—just what that nurse said she sounded like⁠—‘impossible.’ So, whatever I tell her, I shan’t tell her that she’s going down to Mrs. Carew’s to cheer her up,” concluded Mrs. Chilton, rising to her feet with decision, and putting away her work.

“Which is where I think you’re wise,” approved the doctor.

Pollyanna was told the next day; and this was the manner of it.

“My dear,” began her aunt, when the two were alone together that morning, “how would you like to spend next winter in Boston?”

“With you?”

“No; I have decided to go with your uncle to Germany. But Mrs. Carew, a dear friend of Dr. Ames, has asked you to come and stay with her for the winter, and I think I shall let you go.”

Pollyanna’s face fell.

“But in Boston I won’t have Jimmy, or Mr. Pendleton, or Mrs. Snow, or anybody that I know, Aunt Polly.”

“No, dear; but you didn’t have them when you came here⁠—till you found them.”

Pollyanna gave a sudden smile.

“Why, Aunt Polly, so I didn’t! And that means that down to Boston there are some Jimmys and Mr. Pendletons and Mrs. Snows waiting for me that I don’t know, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Then I can be glad of that. I believe now, Aunt Polly, you know how to play the game better than I do. I never thought of the folks down there waiting for me to know them. And there’s such a lot of ’em, too! I saw some