The Classic Children's Literature Collection: 39 Classic Novels

by Various Authors

  Pollyanna was thinking of this now when suddenly she saw the boy.

  The boy was sitting in a disconsolate little heap by the roadside, whittling half-heartedly at a small stick.

  “Hullo,” smiled Pollyanna, engagingly.

  The boy glanced up, but he looked away again, at once.

  “Hullo yourself,” he mumbled.

  Pollyanna laughed.

  “Now you don’t look as if you’d be glad even for calf’s-foot jelly,” she chuckled, stopping before him.

  The boy stirred restlessly, gave her a surprised look, and began to whittle again at his stick, with the dull, broken-bladed knife in his hand.

  Pollyanna hesitated, then dropped herself comfortably down on the grass near him. In spite of Pollyanna’s brave assertion that she was “used to Ladies’ Aiders,” and “didn’t mind,” she had sighed at times for some companion of her own age. Hence her determination to make the most of this one.

  “My name’s Pollyanna Whittier,” she began pleasantly. “What’s yours?”

  Again the boy stirred restlessly. He even almost got to his feet. But he settled back.

  “Jimmy Bean,” he grunted with ungracious indifference.

  “Good! Now we’re introduced. I’m glad you did your part—some folks don’t, you know. I live at Miss Polly Harrington’s house. Where do you live?”

  “Nowhere.”

  “Nowhere! Why, you can’t do that—everybody lives somewhere,” asserted Pollyanna.

  “Well, I don’t—just now. I’m huntin’ up a new place.”

  “Oh! Where is it?”

  The boy regarded her with scornful eyes.

  “Silly! As if I’d be a-huntin’ for it—if I knew!”

  Pollyanna tossed her head a little. This was not a nice boy, and she did not like to be called “silly.” Still, he was somebody besides—old folks. “Where did you live—before?” she queried.

  “Well, if you ain’t the beat’em for askin’ questions!” sighed the boy impatiently.

  “I have to be,” retorted Pollyanna calmly, “else I couldn’t find out a thing about you. If you’d talk more I wouldn’t talk so much.”

  The boy gave a short laugh. It was a sheepish laugh, and not quite a willing one; but his face looked a little pleasanter when he spoke this time.

  “All right then—here goes! I’m Jimmy Bean, and I’m ten years old goin’ on eleven. I come last year ter live at the Orphans’ Home; but they’ve got so many kids there ain’t much room for me, an’ I wa’n’t never wanted, anyhow, I don’t believe. So I’ve quit. I’m goin’ ter live somewheres else—but I hain’t found the place, yet. I’d LIKE a home—jest a common one, ye know, with a mother in it, instead of a Matron. If ye has a home, ye has folks; an’ I hain’t had folks since—dad died. So I’m a-huntin’ now. I’ve tried four houses, but—they didn’t want me—though I said I expected ter work, ‘course. There! Is that all you want ter know?” The boy’s voice had broken a little over the last two sentences.

  “Why, what a shame!” sympathized Pollyanna. “And didn’t there anybody want you? O dear! I know just how you feel, because after—after my father died, too, there wasn’t anybody but the Ladies’ Aid for me, until Aunt Polly said she’d take—” Pollyanna stopped abruptly. The dawning of a wonderful idea began to show in her face.

  “Oh, I know just the place for you,” she cried. “Aunt Polly’ll take you—I know she will! Didn’t she take me? And didn’t she take Fluffy and Buffy, when they didn’t have any one to love them, or any place to go?—and they’re only cats and dogs. Oh, come, I know Aunt Polly’ll take you! You don’t know how good and kind she is!”

  Jimmy Bean’s thin little face brightened.

  “Honest Injun? Would she, now? I’d work, ye know, an’ I’m real strong!” He bared a small, bony arm.

  “Of course she would! Why, my Aunt Polly is the nicest lady in the world—now that my mama has gone to be a Heaven angel. And there’s rooms—heaps of ‘em,” she continued, springing to her feet, and tugging at his arm. “It’s an awful big house. Maybe, though,” she added a little anxiously, as they hurried on, “maybe you’ll have to sleep in the attic room. I did, at first. But there’s screens there now, so ‘twon’t be so hot, and the flies can’t get in, either, to bring in the germ-things on their feet. Did you know about that? It’s perfectly lovely! Maybe she’ll let you read the book if you’re good—I mean, if you’re bad. And you’ve got freckles, too,"—with a critical glance—"so you’ll be glad there isn’t any looking-glass; and the outdoor picture is nicer than any wall-one could be, so you won’t mind sleeping in that room at all, I’m sure,” panted Pollyanna, finding suddenly that she needed the rest of her breath for purposes other than talking.

  “Gorry!” exclaimed Jimmy Bean tersely and uncomprehendingly, but admiringly. Then he added: “I shouldn’t think anybody who could talk like that, runnin’, would need ter ask no questions ter fill up time with!”

  Pollyanna laughed.

  “Well, anyhow, you can be glad of that,” she retorted; “for when I’m talking, YOU don’t have to!”

  When the house was reached, Pollyanna unhesitatingly piloted her companion straight into the presence of her amazed aunt.

  “Oh, Aunt Polly,” she triumphed, “just look a-here! I’ve got something ever so much nicer, even, than Fluffy and Buffy for you to bring up. It’s a real live boy. He won’t mind a bit sleeping in the attic, at first, you know, and he says he’ll work; but I shall need him the most of the time to play with, I reckon.”

  Miss Polly grew white, then very red. She did not quite understand; but she thought she understood enough.

  “Pollyanna, what does this mean? Who is this dirty little boy? Where did you find him?” she demanded sharply.

  The “dirty little boy” fell back a step and looked toward the door. Pollyanna laughed merrily.

  “There, if I didn’t forget to tell you his name! I’m as bad as the Man. And he is dirty, too, isn’t he?—I mean, the boy is—just like Fluffy and Buffy were when you took them in. But I reckon he’ll improve all right by washing, just as they did, and—Oh, I ‘most forgot again,” she broke off with a laugh. “This is Jimmy Bean, Aunt Polly.”

  “Well, what is he doing here?”

  “Why, Aunt Polly, I just told you!” Pollyanna’s eyes were wide with surprise. “He’s for you. I brought him home—so he could live here, you know. He wants a home and folks. I told him how good you were to me, and to Fluffy and Buffy, and that I knew you would be to him, because of course he’s even nicer than cats and dogs.”

  Miss Polly dropped back in her chair and raised a shaking hand to her throat. The old helplessness was threatening once more to overcome her. With a visible struggle, however, Miss Polly pulled herself suddenly erect.

  “That will do, Pollyanna. This is a little the most absurd thing you’ve done yet. As if tramp cats and mangy dogs weren’t bad enough but you must needs bring home ragged little beggars from the street, who—”

  There was a sudden stir from the boy. His eyes flashed and his chin came up. With two strides of his sturdy little legs he confronted Miss Polly fearlessly.

  “I ain’t a beggar, marm, an’ I don’t want nothin’ o’ you. I was cal’latin’ ter work, of course, fur my board an’ keep. I wouldn’t have come ter your old house, anyhow, if this ‘ere girl hadn’t ‘a’ made me, a-tellin’ me how you was so good an’ kind that you’d be jest dyin’ ter take me in. So, there!” And he wheeled about and stalked from the room with a dignity that would have been absurd had it not been so pitiful.

  “Oh, Aunt Polly,” choked Pollyanna. “Why, I thought you’d be GLAD to have him here! I’m sure, I should think you’d be glad—”

  Miss Polly raised her hand with a peremptory gesture of silence. Miss Polly’s nerves had snapped at last. The “good and kind” of the boy’s
words were still ringing in her ears, and the old helplessness was almost upon her, she knew. Yet she rallied her forces with the last atom of her will power.

  “Pollyanna,” she cried sharply, “WILL you stop using that everlasting word ‘glad’! It’s ‘glad’—’glad’—’glad’ from morning till night until I think I shall grow wild!”

  From sheer amazement Pollyanna’s jaw dropped.

  “Why, Aunt Polly,” she breathed, “I should think you’d be glad to have me gl—Oh!” she broke off, clapping her hand to her lips and hurrying blindly from the room.

  Before the boy had reached the end of the driveway, Pollyanna overtook him.

  “Boy! Boy! Jimmy Bean, I want you to know how—how sorry I am,” she panted, catching him with a detaining hand.

  “Sorry nothin’! I ain’t blamin’ you,” retorted the boy, sullenly. “But I ain’t no beggar!” he added, with sudden spirit.

  “Of course you aren’t! But you mustn’t blame auntie,” appealed Pollyanna. “Probably I didn’t do the introducing right, anyhow; and I reckon I didn’t tell her much who you were. She is good and kind, really—she’s always been; but I probably didn’t explain it right. I do wish I could find some place for you, though!”

  The boy shrugged his shoulders and half turned away.

  “Never mind. I guess I can find one myself. I ain’t no beggar, you know.”

  Pollyanna was frowning thoughtfully. Of a sudden she turned, her face illumined.

  “Say, I’ll tell you what I WILL do! The Ladies’ Aid meets this afternoon. I heard Aunt Polly say so. I’ll lay your case before them. That’s what father always did, when he wanted anything—educating the heathen and new carpets, you know.”

  The boy turned fiercely.

  “Well, I ain’t a heathen or a new carpet. Besides—what is a Ladies’ Aid?”

  Pollyanna stared in shocked disapproval.

  “Why, Jimmy Bean, wherever have you been brought up?—not to know what a Ladies’ Aid is!”

  “Oh, all right—if you ain’t tellin’,” grunted the boy, turning and beginning to walk away indifferently.

  Pollyanna sprang to his side at once.

  “It’s—it’s—why, it’s just a lot of ladies that meet and sew and give suppers and raise money and—and talk; that’s what a Ladies’ Aid is. They’re awfully kind—that is, most of mine was, back home. I haven’t seen this one here, but they’re always good, I reckon. I’m going to tell them about you this afternoon.”

  Again the boy turned fiercely.

  “Not much you will! Maybe you think I’m goin’ ter stand ‘round an’ hear a whole LOT o’ women call me a beggar, instead of jest ONE! Not much!”

  “Oh, but you wouldn’t be there,” argued Pollyanna, quickly. “I’d go alone, of course, and tell them.”

  “You would?”

  “Yes; and I’d tell it better this time,” hurried on Pollyanna, quick to see the signs of relenting in the boy’s face. “And there’d be some of ‘em, I know, that would be glad to give you a home.”

  “I’d work—don’t forget ter say that,” cautioned the boy.

  “Of course not,” promised Pollyanna, happily, sure now that her point was gained. “Then I’ll let you know to-morrow.”

  “Where?”

  “By the road—where I found you to-day; near Mrs. Snow’s house.”

  “All right. I’ll be there.” The boy paused before he went on slowly: “Maybe I’d better go back, then, for ter-night, ter the Home. You see I hain’t no other place ter stay; and—and I didn’t leave till this mornin’. I slipped out. I didn’t tell ‘em I wasn’t comin’ back, else they’d pretend I couldn’t come—though I’m thinkin’ they won’t do no worryin’ when I don’t show up sometime. They ain’t like FOLKS, ye know. They don’t CARE!”

  “I know,” nodded Pollyanna, with understanding eyes. “But I’m sure, when I see you to-morrow, I’ll have just a common home and folks that do care all ready for you. Good-by!” she called brightly, as she turned back toward the house.

  In the sitting-room window at that moment, Miss Polly, who had been watching the two children, followed with sombre eyes the boy until a bend of the road hid him from sight. Then she sighed, turned, and walked listlesly up-stairs—and Miss Polly did not usually move listlessly. In her ears still was the boy’s scornful “you was so good and kind.” In her heart was a curious sense of desolation—as of something lost.

  CHAPTER XII. BEFORE THE LADIES’ AID

  Dinner, which came at noon in the Harrington homestead, was a silent meal on the day of the Ladies’ Aid meeting. Pollyanna, it is true, tried to talk; but she did not make a success of it, chiefly because four times she was obliged to break off a “glad” in the middle of it, much to her blushing discomfort. The fifth time it happened, Miss Polly moved her head wearily.

  “There, there, child, say it, if you want to,” she sighed. “I’m sure I’d rather you did than not if it’s going to make all this fuss.”

  Pollyanna’s puckered little face cleared.

  “Oh, thank you. I’m afraid it would be pretty hard—not to say it. You see I’ve played it so long.”

  “You’ve—what?” demanded Aunt Polly.

  “Played it—the game, you know, that father—” Pollyanna stopped with a painful blush at finding herself so soon again on forbidden ground.

  Aunt Polly frowned and said nothing. The rest of the meal was a silent one.

  Pollyanna was not sorry to hear Aunt Polly tell the minister’s wife over the telephone, a little later, that she would not be at the Ladies’ Aid meeting that afternoon, owing to a headache. When Aunt Polly went up-stairs to her room and closed the door, Pollyanna tried to be sorry for the headache; but she could not help feeling glad that her aunt was not to be present that afternoon when she laid the case of Jimmy Bean before the Ladies’ Aid. She could not forget that Aunt Polly had called Jimmy Bean a little beggar; and she did not want Aunt Polly to call him that—before the Ladies’ Aid.

  Pollyanna knew that the Ladies’ Aid met at two o’clock in the chapel next the church, not quite half a mile from home. She planned her going, therefore, so that she should get there a little before three.

  “I want them all to be there,” she said to herself; “else the very one that wasn’t there might be the one who would be wanting to give Jimmy Bean a home; and, of course, two o’clock always means three, really—to Ladies’ Aiders.”

  Quietly, but with confident courage, Pollyanna ascended the chapel steps, pushed open the door and entered the vestibule. A soft babel of feminine chatter and laughter came from the main room. Hesitating only a brief moment Pollyanna pushed open one of the inner doors.

  The chatter dropped to a surprised hush. Pollyanna advanced a little timidly. Now that the time had come, she felt unwontedly shy. After all, these half-strange, half-familiar faces about her were not her own dear Ladies’ Aid.

  “How do you do, Ladies’ Aiders?” she faltered politely. “I’m Pollyanna Whittier. I—I reckon some of you know me, maybe; anyway, I do YOU—only I don’t know you all together this way.”

  The silence could almost be felt now. Some of the ladies did know this rather extraordinary niece of their fellow-member, and nearly all had heard of her; but not one of them could think of anything to say, just then.

  “I—I’ve come to—to lay the case before you,” stammered Pollyanna, after a moment, unconsciously falling into her father’s familiar phraseology.

  There was a slight rustle.

  “Did—did your aunt send you, my dear?” asked Mrs. Ford, the minister’s wife.

  Pollyanna colored a little.

  “Oh, no. I came all by myself. You see, I’m used to Ladies’ Aiders. It was Ladies’ Aiders that brought me up—with father.”

  Somebody tittered hysterically, and the minister’s wife frowned.


  “Yes, dear. What is it?”

  “Well, it—it’s Jimmy Bean,” sighed Pollyanna. “He hasn’t any home except the Orphan one, and they’re full, and don’t want him, anyhow, he thinks; so he wants another. He wants one of the common kind, that has a mother instead of a Matron in it—folks, you know, that’ll care. He’s ten years old going on eleven. I thought some of you might like him—to live with you, you know.”

  “Well, did you ever!” murmured a voice, breaking the dazed pause that followed Pollyanna’s words.

  With anxious eyes Pollyanna swept the circle of faces about her.

  “Oh, I forgot to say; he will work,” she supplemented eagerly.

  Still there was silence; then, coldly, one or two women began to question her. After a time they all had the story and began to talk among themselves, animatedly, not quite pleasantly.

  Pollyanna listened with growing anxiety. Some of what was said she could not understand. She did gather, after a time, however, that there was no woman there who had a home to give him, though every woman seemed to think that some of the others might take him, as there were several who had no little boys of their own already in their homes. But there was no one who agreed herself to take him. Then she heard the minister’s wife suggest timidly that they, as a society, might perhaps assume his support and education instead of sending quite so much money this year to the little boys in far-away India.

  A great many ladies talked then, and several of them talked all at once, and even more loudly and more unpleasantly than before. It seemed that their society was famous for its offering to Hindu missions, and several said they should die of mortification if it should be less this year. Some of what was said at this time Pollyanna again thought she could not have understood, too, for it sounded almost as if they did not care at all what the money DID, so long as the sum opposite the name of their society in a certain “report” “headed the list"—and of course that could not be what they meant at all! But it was all very confusing, and not quite pleasant, so that Pollyanna was glad, indeed, when at last she found herself outside in the hushed, sweet air—only she was very sorry, too: for she knew it was not going to be easy, or anything but sad, to tell Jimmy Bean to-morrow that the Ladies’ Aid had decided that they would rather send all their money to bring up the little India boys than to save out enough to bring up one little boy in their own town, for which they would not get “a bit of credit in the report,” according to the tall lady who wore spectacles.