The Classic Children's Literature Collection: 39 Classic Novels

by Various Authors

  It was Pollyanna’s turn to frown.

  “Why, y-yes,” she admitted. “Of course that IS one way, but it isn’t the way I said; and—someway, I don’t seem to quite like the sound of it. It isn’t exactly as if he said he was glad they WERE sick, but—You do play the game so funny, sometimes Nancy,” she sighed, as she went into the house.

  Pollyanna found her aunt in the sitting room.

  “Who was that man—the one who drove into the yard, Pollyanna?” questioned the lady a little sharply.

  “Why, Aunt Polly, that was Dr. Chilton! Don’t you know him?”

  “Dr. Chilton! What was he doing—here?”

  “He drove me home. Oh, and I gave the jelly to Mr. Pendleton, and—”

  Miss Polly lifted her head quickly.

  “Pollyanna, he did not think I sent it?”

  “Oh, no, Aunt Polly. I told him you didn’t.”

  Miss Polly grew a sudden vivid pink.

  “You TOLD him I didn’t!”

  Pollyanna opened wide her eyes at the remonstrative dismay in her aunt’s voice.

  “Why, Aunt Polly, you SAID to!”

  Aunt Polly sighed.

  “I SAID, Pollyanna, that I did not send it, and for you to be very sure that he did not think I DID!—which is a very different matter from TELLING him outright that I did not send it.” And she turned vexedly away.

  “Dear me! Well, I don’t see where the difference is,” sighed Pollyanna, as she went to hang her hat on the one particular hook in the house upon which Aunt Polly had said that it must be hung.

  CHAPTER XVI. A RED ROSE AND A LACE SHAWL

  It was on a rainy day about a week after Pollyanna’s visit to Mr. John Pendleton, that Miss Polly was driven by Timothy to an early afternoon committee meeting of the Ladies’ Aid Society. When she returned at three o’clock, her cheeks were a bright, pretty pink, and her hair, blown by the damp wind, had fluffed into kinks and curls wherever the loosened pins had given leave.

  Pollyanna had never before seen her aunt look like this.

  “Oh—oh—oh! Why, Aunt Polly, you’ve got ‘em, too,” she cried rapturously, dancing round and round her aunt, as that lady entered the sitting room.

  “Got what, you impossible child?”

  Pollyanna was still revolving round and round her aunt.

  “And I never knew you had ‘em! Can folks have ‘em when you don’t know they’ve got ‘em? DO you suppose I could?—’fore I get to Heaven, I mean,” she cried, pulling out with eager fingers the straight locks above her ears. “But then, they wouldn’t be black, if they did come. You can’t hide the black part.”

  “Pollyanna, what does all this mean?” demanded Aunt Polly, hurriedly removing her hat, and trying to smooth back her disordered hair.

  “No, no—please, Aunt Polly!” Pollyanna’s jubilant voice turned to one of distressed appeal. “Don’t smooth ‘em out! It’s those that I’m talking about—those darling little black curls. Oh, Aunt Polly, they’re so pretty!”

  “Nonsense! What do you mean, Pollyanna, by going to the Ladies’ Aid the other day in that absurd fashion about that beggar boy?”

  “But it isn’t nonsense,” urged Pollyanna, answering only the first of her aunt’s remarks. “You don’t know how pretty you look with your hair like that! Oh, Aunt Polly, please, mayn’t I do your hair like I did Mrs. Snow’s, and put in a flower? I’d so love to see you that way! Why, you’d be ever so much prettier than she was!”

  “Pollyanna!” (Miss Polly spoke very sharply—all the more sharply because Pollyanna’s words had given her an odd throb of joy: when before had anybody cared how she, or her hair looked? When before had anybody “loved” to see her “pretty”?) “Pollyanna, you did not answer my question. Why did you go to the Ladies’ Aid in that absurd fashion?”

  “Yes’m, I know; but, please, I didn’t know it was absurd until I went and found out they’d rather see their report grow than Jimmy. So then I wrote to MY Ladies’ Aiders—’cause Jimmy is far away from them, you know; and I thought maybe he could be their little India boy same as—Aunt Polly, WAS I your little India girl? And, Aunt Polly, you WILL let me do your hair, won’t you?”

  Aunt Polly put her hand to her throat—the old, helpless feeling was upon her, she knew.

  “But, Pollyanna, when the ladies told me this afternoon how you came to them, I was so ashamed! I—”

  Pollyanna began to dance up and down lightly on her toes.

  “You didn’t!—You didn’t say I COULDN’T do your hair,” she crowed triumphantly; “and so I’m sure it means just the other way ‘round, sort of—like it did the other day about Mr. Pendleton’s jelly that you didn’t send, but didn’t want me to say you didn’t send, you know. Now wait just where you are. I’ll get a comb.”

  “But Pollyanna, Pollyanna,” remonstrated Aunt Polly, following the little girl from the room and panting up-stairs after her.

  “Oh, did you come up here?” Pollyanna greeted her at the door of Miss Polly’s own room. “That’ll be nicer yet! I’ve got the comb. Now sit down, please, right here. Oh, I’m so glad you let me do it!”

  “But, Pollyanna, I—I—”

  Miss Polly did not finish her sentence. To her helpless amazement she found herself in the low chair before the dressing table, with her hair already tumbling about her ears under ten eager, but very gentle fingers.

  “Oh, my! what pretty hair you’ve got,” prattled Pollyanna; “and there’s so much more of it than Mrs. Snow has, too! But, of course, you need more, anyhow, because you’re well and can go to places where folks can see it. My! I reckon folks’ll be glad when they do see it—and surprised, too, ‘cause you’ve hid it so long. Why, Aunt Polly, I’ll make you so pretty everybody’ll just love to look at you!”

  “Pollyanna!” gasped a stifled but shocked voice from a veil of hair. “I—I’m sure I don’t know why I’m letting you do this silly thing.”

  “Why, Aunt Polly, I should think you’d be glad to have folks like to look at you! Don’t you like to look at pretty things? I’m ever so much happier when I look at pretty folks, ‘cause when I look at the other kind I’m so sorry for them.”

  “But—but—”

  “And I just love to do folks’ hair,” purred Pollyanna, contentedly. “I did quite a lot of the Ladies’ Aiders’—but there wasn’t any of them so nice as yours. Mrs. White’s was pretty nice, though, and she looked just lovely one day when I dressed her up in—Oh, Aunt Polly, I’ve just happened to think of something! But it’s a secret, and I sha’n’t tell. Now your hair is almost done, and pretty quick I’m going to leave you just a minute; and you must promise—promise—PROMISE not to stir nor peek, even, till I come back. Now remember!” she finished, as she ran from the room.

  Aloud Miss Polly said nothing. To herself she said that of course she should at once undo the absurd work of her niece’s fingers, and put her hair up properly again. As for “peeking” just as if she cared how—

  At that moment—unaccountably—Miss Polly caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror of the dressing table. And what she saw sent such a flush of rosy color to her cheeks that—she only flushed the more at the sight.

  She saw a face—not young, it is true—but just now alight with excitement and surprise. The cheeks were a pretty pink. The eyes sparkled. The hair, dark, and still damp from the outdoor air, lay in loose waves about the forehead and curved back over the ears in wonderfully becoming lines, with softening little curls here and there.

  So amazed and so absorbed was Miss Polly with what she saw in the glass that she quite forgot her determination to do over her hair, until she heard Pollyanna enter the room again. Before she could move, then, she felt a folded something slipped across her eyes and tied in the back.

  “Pollyanna, Pollyanna! What are you doing?” she cried.

  Pollyanna ch
uckled.

  “That’s just what I don’t want you to know, Aunt Polly, and I was afraid you WOULD peek, so I tied on the handkerchief. Now sit still. It won’t take but just a minute, then I’ll let you see.”

  “But, Pollyanna,” began Miss Polly, struggling blindly to her feet, “you must take this off! You—child, child! what ARE you doing?” she gasped, as she felt a soft something slipped about her shoulders.

  Pollyanna only chuckled the more gleefully. With trembling fingers she was draping about her aunt’s shoulders the fleecy folds of a beautiful lace shawl, yellowed from long years of packing away, and fragrant with lavender. Pollyanna had found the shawl the week before when Nancy had been regulating the attic; and it had occurred to her to-day that there was no reason why her aunt, as well as Mrs. White of her Western home, should not be “dressed up.”

  Her task completed, Pollyanna surveyed her work with eyes that approved, but that saw yet one touch wanting. Promptly, therefore, she pulled her aunt toward the sun parlor where she could see a belated red rose blooming on the trellis within reach of her hand.

  “Pollyanna, what are you doing? Where are you taking me to?” recoiled Aunt Polly, vainly trying to hold herself back. “Pollyanna, I shall not—”

  “It’s just to the sun parlor—only a minute! I’ll have you ready now quicker’n no time,” panted Pollyanna, reaching for the rose and thrusting it into the soft hair above Miss Polly’s left ear. “There!” she exulted, untying the knot of the handkerchief and flinging the bit of linen far from her. “Oh, Aunt Polly, now I reckon you’ll be glad I dressed you up!”

  For one dazed moment Miss Polly looked at her bedecked self, and at her surroundings; then she gave a low cry and fled to her room. Pollyanna, following the direction of her aunt’s last dismayed gaze, saw, through the open windows of the sun parlor, the horse and gig turning into the driveway. She recognized at once the man who held the reins. Delightedly she leaned forward.

  “Dr. Chilton, Dr. Chilton! Did you want to see me? I’m up here.”

  “Yes,” smiled the doctor, a little gravely. “Will you come down, please?”

  In the bedroom Pollyanna found a flushed-faced, angry-eyed woman plucking at the pins that held a lace shawl in place.

  “Pollyanna, how could you?” moaned the woman. “To think of your rigging me up like this, and then letting me—BE SEEN!”

  Pollyanna stopped in dismay.

  “But you looked lovely—perfectly lovely, Aunt Polly; and—”

  “‘Lovely’!” scorned the woman, flinging the shawl to one side and attacking her hair with shaking fingers.

  “Oh, Aunt Polly, please, please let the hair stay!”

  “Stay? Like this? As if I would!” And Miss Polly pulled the locks so tightly back that the last curl lay stretched dead at the ends of her fingers.

  “O dear! And you did look so pretty,” almost sobbed Pollyanna, as she stumbled through the door.

  Down-stairs Pollyanna found the doctor waiting in his gig.

  “I’ve prescribed you for a patient, and he’s sent me to get the prescription filled,” announced the doctor. “Will you go?”

  “You mean—an errand—to the drug store?” asked Pollyanna, a little uncertainly. “I used to go some—for the Ladies’ Aiders.”

  The doctor shook his head with a smile.

  “Not exactly. It’s Mr. John Pendleton. He would like to see you to-day, if you’ll be so good as to come. It’s stopped raining, so I drove down after you. Will you come? I’ll call for you and bring you back before six o’clock.”

  “I’d love to!” exclaimed Pollyanna. “Let me ask Aunt Polly.”

  In a few moments she returned, hat in hand, but with rather a sober face.

  “Didn’t—your aunt want you to go?” asked the doctor, a little diffidently, as they drove away.

  “Y-yes,” sighed Pollyanna. “She—she wanted me to go TOO much, I’m afraid.”

  “Wanted you to go TOO MUCH!”

  Pollyanna sighed again.

  “Yes. I reckon she meant she didn’t want me there. You see, she said: ‘Yes, yes, run along, run along—do! I wish you’d gone before.’”

  The doctor smiled—but with his lips only. His eyes were very grave. For some time he said nothing; then, a little hesitatingly, he asked:

  “Wasn’t it—your aunt I saw with you a few minutes ago—in the window of the sun parlor?”

  Pollyanna drew a long breath.

  “Yes; that’s what’s the whole trouble, I suppose. You see I’d dressed her up in a perfectly lovely lace shawl I found up-stairs, and I’d fixed her hair and put on a rose, and she looked so pretty. Didn’t YOU think she looked just lovely?”

  For a moment the doctor did not answer. When he did speak his voice was so low Pollyanna could but just hear the words.

  “Yes, Pollyanna, I—I thought she did look—just lovely.”

  “Did you? I’m so glad! I’ll tell her,” nodded the little girl, contentedly.

  To her surprise the doctor gave a sudden exclamation.

  “Never! Pollyanna, I—I’m afraid I shall have to ask you not to tell her—that.”

  “Why, Dr. Chilton! Why not? I should think you’d be glad—”

  “But she might not be,” cut in the doctor.

  Pollyanna considered this for a moment.

  “That’s so—maybe she wouldn’t,” she sighed. “I remember now; ‘twas ‘cause she saw you that she ran. And she—she spoke afterwards about her being seen in that rig.”

  “I thought as much,” declared the doctor, under his breath.

  “Still, I don’t see why,” maintained Pollyanna, “—when she looked so pretty!”

  The doctor said nothing. He did not speak again, indeed, until they were almost to the great stone house in which John Pendleton lay with a broken leg.

  CHAPTER XVII. ‘JUST LIKE A BOOK’

  John Pendleton greeted Pollyanna to-day with a smile.

  “Well, Miss Pollyanna, I’m thinking you must be a very forgiving little person, else you wouldn’t have come to see me again to-day.”

  “Why, Mr. Pendleton, I was real glad to come, and I’m sure I don’t see why I shouldn’t be, either.”

  “Oh, well, you know, I was pretty cross with you, I’m afraid, both the other day when you so kindly brought me the jelly, and that time when you found me with the broken leg at first. By the way, too, I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for that. Now I’m sure that even you would admit that you were very forgiving to come and see me, after such ungrateful treatment as that!”

  Pollyanna stirred uneasily.

  “But I was glad to find you—that is, I don’t mean I was glad your leg was broken, of course,” she corrected hurriedly.

  John Pendleton smiled.

  “I understand. Your tongue does get away with you once in a while, doesn’t it, Miss Pollyanna? I do thank you, however; and I consider you a very brave little girl to do what you did that day. I thank you for the jelly, too,” he added in a lighter voice.

  “Did you like it?” asked Pollyanna with interest.

  “Very much. I suppose—there isn’t any more to-day that—that Aunt Polly DIDN’T send, is there?” he asked with an odd smile.

  His visitor looked distressed.

  “N-no, sir.” She hesitated, then went on with heightened color. “Please, Mr. Pendleton, I didn’t mean to be rude the other day when I said Aunt Polly did NOT send the jelly.”

  There was no answer. John Pendleton was not smiling now. He was looking straight ahead of him with eyes that seemed to be gazing through and beyond the object before them. After a time he drew a long sigh and turned to Pollyanna. When he spoke his voice carried the old nervous fretfulness.

  “Well, well, this will never do at all! I didn’t send for you to see me moping this time. Li
sten! Out in the library—the big room where the telephone is, you know—you will find a carved box on the lower shelf of the big case with glass doors in the corner not far from the fireplace. That is, it’ll be there if that confounded woman hasn’t ‘regulated’ it to somewhere else! You may bring it to me. It is heavy, but not too heavy for you to carry, I think.”

  “Oh, I’m awfully strong,” declared Pollyanna, cheerfully, as she sprang to her feet. In a minute she had returned with the box.

  It was a wonderful half-hour that Pollyanna spent then. The box was full of treasures—curios that John Pendleton had picked up in years of travel—and concerning each there was some entertaining story, whether it were a set of exquisitely carved chessmen from China, or a little jade idol from India.

  It was after she had heard the story about the idol that Pollyanna murmured wistfully:

  “Well, I suppose it WOULD be better to take a little boy in India to bring up—one that didn’t know any more than to think that God was in that doll-thing—than it would be to take Jimmy Bean, a little boy who knows God is up in the sky. Still, I can’t help wishing they had wanted Jimmy Bean, too, besides the India boys.”

  John Pendleton did not seem to hear. Again his, eyes were staring straight before him, looking at nothing. But soon he had roused himself, and had picked up another curio to talk about.

  The visit, certainly, was a delightful one, but before it was over, Pollyanna was realizing that they were talking about something besides the wonderful things in the beautiful carved box. They were talking of herself, of Nancy, of Aunt Polly, and of her daily life. They were talking, too, even of the life and home long ago in the far Western town.

  Not until it was nearly time for her to go, did the man say, in a voice Pollyanna had never before heard from stern John Pendleton:

  “Little girl, I want you to come to see me often. Will you? I’m lonesome, and I need you. There’s another reason—and I’m going to tell you that, too. I thought, at first, after I found out who you were, the other day, that I didn’t want you to come any more. You reminded me of—of something I have tried for long years to forget. So I said to myself that I never wanted to see you again; and every day, when the doctor asked if I wouldn’t let him bring you to me, I said no.