Pollyanna & Pollyanna Grows Up (Musaicum Children's Classics). Eleanor H. Porter
end and opened it.
The room was large, and sombre with dark woods and hangings like the hall; but through the west window the sun threw a long shaft of gold across the floor, gleamed dully on the tarnished brass andirons in the fireplace, and touched the nickel of the telephone on the great desk in the middle of the room. It was toward this desk that Pollyanna hurriedly tiptoed.
The telephone card was not on its hook; it was on the floor. But Pollyanna found it, and ran her shaking forefinger down through the C’s to “Chilton.” In due time she had Dr. Chilton himself at the other end of the wires, and was tremblingly delivering her message and answering the doctor’s terse, pertinent questions. This done, she hung up the receiver and drew a long breath of relief.
Only a brief glance did Pollyanna give about her; then, with a confused vision in her eyes of crimson draperies, book-lined walls, a littered floor, an untidy desk, innumerable closed doors (any one of which might conceal a skeleton), and everywhere dust, dust, dust, she fled back through the hall to the great carved door, still half open as she had left it.
In what seemed, even to the injured man, an incredibly short time, Pollyanna was back in the woods at the man’s side.
“Well, what is the trouble? Couldn’t you get in?” he demanded.
Pollyanna opened wide her eyes.
“Why, of course I could! I’m HERE,” she answered. “As if I’d be here if I hadn’t got in! And the doctor will be right up just as soon as possible with the men and things. He said he knew just where you were, so I didn’t stay to show him. I wanted to be with you.”
“Did you?” smiled the man, grimly. “Well, I can’t say I admire your taste. I should think you might find pleasanter companions.”
“Do you mean—because you’re so—cross?”
“Thanks for your frankness. Yes.”
Pollyanna laughed softly.
“But you’re only cross OUTSIDE—You arn’t cross inside a bit!”
“Indeed! How do you know that?” asked the man, trying to change the position of his head without moving the rest of his body.
“Oh, lots of ways; there—like that—the way you act with the dog,” she added, pointing to the long, slender hand that rested on the dog’s sleek head near him. “It’s funny how dogs and cats know the insides of folks better than other folks do, isn’t it? Say, I’m going to hold your head,” she finished abruptly.
The man winced several times and groaned once; softly while the change was being made; but in the end he found Pollyanna’s lap a very welcome substitute for the rocky hollow in which his head had lain before.
“Well, that is—better,” he murmured faintly.
He did not speak again for some time. Pollyanna, watching his face, wondered if he were asleep. She did not think he was. He looked as if his lips were tight shut to keep back moans of pain. Pollyanna herself almost cried aloud as she looked at his great, strong body lying there so helpless. One hand, with fingers tightly clenched, lay outflung, motionless. The other, limply open, lay on the dog’s head. The dog, his wistful, eager eyes on his master’s face, was motionless, too.
Minute by minute the time passed. The sun dropped lower in the west and the shadows grew deeper under the trees. Pollyanna sat so still she hardly seemed to breathe. A bird alighted fearlessly within reach of her hand, and a squirrel whisked his bushy tail on a tree-branch almost under her nose—yet with his bright little eyes all the while on the motionless dog.
At last the dog pricked up his cars and whined softly; then he gave a short, sharp bark. The next moment Pollyanna heard voices, and very soon their owners appeared three men carrying a stretcher and various other articles.
The tallest of the party—a smooth-shaven, kind-eyed man whom Pollyanna knew by sight as “Dr. Chilton”—advanced cheerily.
“Well, my little lady, playing nurse?”
“Oh, no, sir,” smiled Pollyanna. “I’ve only held his head—I haven’t given him a mite of medicine. But I’m glad I was here.”
“So am I,” nodded the doctor, as he turned his absorbed attention to the injured man.
Chapter XIV.
Just a Matter of Jelly
Pollyanna was a little late for supper on the night of the accident to John Pendleton; but, as it happened, she escaped without reproof.
Nancy met her at the door.
“Well, if I ain’t glad ter be settin’ my two eyes on you,” she sighed in obvious relief. “It’s half-past six!”
“I know it,” admitted Pollyanna anxiously; “but I’m not to blame—truly I’m not. And I don’t think even Aunt Polly will say I am, either.”
“She won’t have the chance,” retorted Nancy, with huge satisfaction. “She’s gone.”
“Gone!” gasped Pollyanna. “You don’t mean that I’ve driven her away?” Through Pollyanna’s mind at the moment trooped remorseful memories of the morning with its unwanted boy, cat, and dog, and its unwelcome “glad” and forbidden “father” that would spring to her forgetful little tongue. “Oh, I DIDN’T drive her away?”
“Not much you did,” scoffed Nancy. “Her cousin died suddenly down to Boston, and she had ter go. She had one o’ them yeller telegram letters after you went away this afternoon, and she won’t be back for three days. Now I guess we’re glad all right. We’ll be keepin’ house tergether, jest you and me, all that time. We will, we will!”
Pollyanna looked shocked.
“Glad! Oh, Nancy, when it’s a funeral?”
“Oh, but ‘twa’n’t the funeral I was glad for, Miss Pollyanna. It was—” Nancy stopped abruptly. A shrewd twinkle came into her eyes. “Why, Miss Pollyanna, as if it wa’n’t yerself that was teachin’ me ter play the game,” she reproached her gravely.
Pollyanna puckered her forehead into a troubled frown.
“I can’t help it, Nancy,” she argued with a shake of her head. “It must be that there are some things that ‘tisn’t right to play the game on—and I’m sure funerals is one of them. There’s nothing in a funeral to be glad about.”
Nancy chuckled.
“We can be glad ‘tain’t our’n,” she observed demurely. But Pollyanna did not hear. She had begun to tell of the accident; and in a moment Nancy, open-mouthed, was listening.
At the appointed place the next afternoon, Pollyanna met Jimmy Bean according to agreement. As was to be expected, of course, Jimmy showed keen disappointment that the Ladies’ Aid preferred a little India boy to himself.
“Well, maybe ‘tis natural,” he sighed. “Of course things you don’t know about are always nicer’n things you do, same as the pertater on ‘tother side of the plate is always the biggest. But I wish I looked that way ter somebody ‘way off. Wouldn’t it be jest great, now, if only somebody over in India wanted ME?”
Pollyanna clapped her hands.
“Why, of course! That’s the very thing, Jimmy! I’ll write to my Ladies’ Aiders about you. They aren’t over in India; they’re only out West—but that’s awful far away, just the same. I reckon you’d think so if you’d come all the way here as I did!”
Jimmy’s face brightened.
“Do you think they would—truly—take me?” he asked.
“Of course they would!