Pollyanna Grows Up

  CHAPTER XVI

  WHEN POLLYANNA WAS EXPECTED

  All Beldingsville was fairly aquiver with excitement. Not sincePollyanna Whittier came home from the Sanatorium, WALKING, had therebeen such a chatter of talk over back-yard fences and on every streetcorner. To-day, too, the center of interest was Pollyanna. Once againPollyanna was coming home--but so different a Pollyanna, and sodifferent a homecoming!

  Pollyanna was twenty now. For six years she had spent her winters inGermany, her summers leisurely traveling with Dr. Chilton and hiswife. Only once during that time had she been in Beldingsville, andthen it was for but a short four weeks the summer she was sixteen. Nowshe was coming home--to stay, report said; she and her Aunt Polly.

  The doctor would not be with them. Six months before, the town hadbeen shocked and saddened by the news that the doctor had diedsuddenly. Beldingsville had expected then that Mrs. Chilton andPollyanna would return at once to the old home. But they had not come.Instead had come word that the widow and her niece would remain abroadfor a time. The report said that, in entirely new surroundings, Mrs.Chilton was trying to seek distraction and relief from her greatsorrow.

  Very soon, however, vague rumors, and rumors not so vague, began tofloat through the town that, financially, all was not well with Mrs.Polly Chilton. Certain railroad stocks, in which it was known that theHarrington estate had been heavily interested, wavered uncertainly,then tumbled into ruin and disaster. Other investments, according toreport, were in a most precarious condition. From the doctor's estate,little could be expected. He had not been a rich man, and his expenseshad been heavy for the past six years. Beldingsville was notsurprised, therefore, when, not quite six months after the doctor'sdeath, word came that Mrs. Chilton and Pollyanna were coming home.

  Once more the old Harrington homestead, so long closed and silent,showed up-flung windows and wide-open doors. Once more Nancy--now Mrs.Timothy Durgin--swept and scrubbed and dusted until the old placeshone in spotless order.

  "No, I hain't had no instructions ter do it; I hain't, I hain't,"Nancy explained to curious friends and neighbors who halted at thegate, or came more boldly up to the doorways. "Mother Durgin's had thekey, 'course, and has come in regerler to air up and see that thingswas all right; and Mis' Chilton just wrote and said she and MissPollyanna was comin' this week Friday, and ter please see that therooms and sheets was aired, and ter leave the key under the side-doormat on that day.

  "Under the mat, indeed! Just as if I'd leave them two poor things tercome into this house alone, and all forlorn like that--and me only amile away, a-sittin' in my own parlor like as if I was a fine lady an'hadn't no heart at all, at all! Just as if the poor things hadn'tenough ter stand without that--a-comin' into this house an' the doctorgone--bless his kind heart!--an' never comin' back. An' no money, too.Did ye hear about that? An' ain't it a shame, a shame! Think of MissPolly--I mean, Mis' Chilton--bein' poor! My stars and stockings, Ican't sense it--I can't, I can't!"

  Perhaps to no one did Nancy speak so interestedly as she did to atall, good-looking young fellow with peculiarly frank eyes and aparticularly winning smile, who cantered up to the side door on amettlesome thoroughbred at ten o'clock that Thursday morning. At thesame time, to no one did she talk with so much evident embarrassment,so far as the manner of address was concerned; for her tongue stumbledand blundered out a "Master Jimmy--er--Mr. Bean--I mean, Mr.Pendleton, Master Jimmy!" with a nervous precipitation that sent theyoung man himself into a merry peal of laughter.

  "Never mind, Nancy! Let it go at whatever comes handiest," hechuckled. "I've found out what I wanted to know: Mrs. Chilton and herniece really are expected to-morrow."

  "Yes, sir, they be, sir," courtesied Nancy, "--more's the pity! Notbut that I shall be glad enough ter see 'em, you understand, but it'sthe WAY they're a-comin'."

  "Yes, I know. I understand," nodded the youth, gravely, his eyessweeping the fine old house before him. "Well, I suppose that partcan't be helped. But I'm glad you're doing--just what you are doing.That WILL help a whole lot," he finished with a bright smile, as hewheeled about and rode rapidly down the driveway.

  Back on the steps Nancy wagged her head wisely.

  "I ain't surprised, Master Jimmy," she declared aloud, her admiringeyes following the handsome figures of horse and man. "I ain'tsurprised that you ain't lettin' no grass grow under your feet 'boutinquirin' for Miss Pollyanna. I said long ago 'twould come sometime,an' it's bound to--what with your growin' so handsome and tall. An' Ihope 'twill; I do, I do. It'll be just like a book, what with hera-findin' you an' gettin' you into that grand home with Mr. Pendleton.My, but who'd ever take you now for that little Jimmy Bean that usedto be! I never did see such a change in anybody--I didn't, I didn't!"she answered, with one last look at the rapidly disappearing figuresfar down the road.

  Something of the same thought must have been in the mind of JohnPendleton some time later that same morning, for, from the veranda ofhis big gray house on Pendleton Hill, John Pendleton was watching therapid approach of that same horse and rider; and in his eyes was anexpression very like the one that had been in Mrs. Nancy Durgin's. Onhis lips, too, was an admiring "Jove! what a handsome pair!" as thetwo dashed by on the way to the stable.

  Five minutes later the youth came around the corner of the house andslowly ascended the veranda steps.

  "Well, my boy, is it true? Are they coming?" asked the man, withvisible eagerness.

  "Yes."

  "When?"

  "To-morrow." The young fellow dropped himself into a chair.

  At the crisp terseness of the answer, John Pendleton frowned. He threwa quick look into the young man's face. For a moment he hesitated;then, a little abruptly, he asked:

  "Why, son, what's the matter?"

  "Matter? Nothing, sir."

  "Nonsense! I know better. You left here an hour ago so eager to be offthat wild horses could not have held you. Now you sit humped up inthat chair and look as if wild horses couldn't drag you out of it. IfI didn't know better I'd think you weren't glad that our friends arecoming."

  He paused, evidently for a reply. But he did not get it.

  "Why, Jim, AREN'T you glad they're coming?"

  The young fellow laughed and stirred restlessly.

  "Why, yes, of course."

  "Humph! You act like it."

  The youth laughed again. A boyish red flamed into his face.

  "Well, it's only that I was thinking--of Pollyanna."

  "Pollyanna! Why, man alive, you've done nothing but prattle ofPollyanna ever since you came home from Boston and found she wasexpected. I thought you were dying to see Pollyanna."

  The other leaned forward with curious intentness.

  "That's exactly it! See? You said it a minute ago. It's just as ifyesterday wild horses couldn't keep me from seeing Pollyanna; and now,to-day, when I know she's coming--they couldn't drag me to see her."

  "Why, JIM!"

  At the shocked incredulity on John Pendleton's face, the younger manfell back in his chair with an embarrassed laugh.

  "Yes, I know. It sounds nutty, and I don't expect I can make youunderstand. But, somehow, I don't think--I ever wanted Pollyanna togrow up. She was such a dear, just as she was. I like to think of heras I saw her last, her earnest, freckled little face, her yellowpigtails, her tearful: 'Oh, yes, I'm glad I'm going; but I think Ishall be a little gladder when I come back.' That's the last time Isaw her. You know we were in Egypt that time she was here four yearsago."

  "I know. I see exactly what you mean, too. I think I felt the sameway--till I saw her last winter in Rome."

  The other turned eagerly.

  "Sure enough, you have seen her! Tell me about her."

  A shrewd twinkle came into John Pendleton's eyes.

  "Oh, but I thought you didn't want to know Pollyanna--grown up."

  With a grimace the young fellow tossed this aside.

  "Is she pretty?"

  "Oh, ye young men!" shrugged John Pendleton, in mock despa
ir. "Alwaysthe first question--'Is she pretty?'!"

  "Well, is she?" insisted the youth.

  "I'll let you judge for yourself. If you--On second thoughts, though,I believe I won't. You might be too disappointed. Pollyanna isn'tpretty, so far as regular features, curls, and dimples go. In fact, tomy certain knowledge the great cross in Pollyanna's life thus far isthat she is so sure she isn't pretty. Long ago she told me that blackcurls were one of the things she was going to have when she got toHeaven; and last year in Rome she said something else. It wasn't much,perhaps, so far as words went, but I detected the longing beneath. Shesaid she did wish that sometime some one would write a novel with aheroine who had straight hair and a freckle on her nose; but that shesupposed she ought to be glad girls in books didn't have to havethem."

  "That sounds like the old Pollyanna."

  "Oh, you'll still find her--Pollyanna," smiled the man, quizzically."Besides, _I_ think she's pretty. Her eyes are lovely. She is thepicture of health. She carries herself with all the joyous springinessof youth, and her whole face lights up so wonderfully when she talksthat you quite forget whether her features are regular or not."

  "Does she still--play the game?"

  John Pendleton smiled fondly.

  "I imagine she plays it, but she doesn't say much about it now, Ifancy. Anyhow, she didn't to me, the two or three times I saw her."

  There was a short silence; then, a little slowly, young Pendletonsaid:

  "I think that was one of the things that was worrying me. That gamehas been so much to so many people. It has meant so much everywhere,all through the town! I couldn't bear to think of her giving it up andNOT playing it. At the same time I couldn't fancy a grown-up Pollyannaperpetually admonishing people to be glad for something. Someway,I--well, as I said, I--I just didn't want Pollyanna to grow up,anyhow."

  "Well, I wouldn't worry," shrugged the elder man, with a peculiarsmile. "Always, with Pollyanna, you know, it was the 'clearing-upshower,' both literally and figuratively; and I think you'll find shelives up to the same principle now--though perhaps not quite in thesame way. Poor child, I fear she'll need some kind of game to makeexistence endurable, for a while, at least."

  "Do you mean because Mrs. Chilton has lost her money? Are they so verypoor, then?"

  "I suspect they are. In fact, they are in rather bad shape, so far asmoney matters go, as I happen to know. Mrs. Chilton's own fortune hasshrunk unbelievably, and poor Tom's estate is very small, andhopelessly full of bad debts--professional services never paid for,and that never will be paid for. Tom could never say no when his helpwas needed, and all the dead beats in town knew it and imposed on himaccordingly. Expenses have been heavy with him lately. Besides, heexpected great things when he should have completed this special workin Germany. Naturally he supposed his wife and Pollyanna were morethan amply provided for through the Harrington estate; so he had noworry in that direction."

  "Hm-m; I see, I see. Too bad, too bad!"

  "But that isn't all. It was about two months after Tom's death that Isaw Mrs. Chilton and Pollyanna in Rome, and Mrs. Chilton then was in aterrible state. In addition to her sorrow, she had just begun to getan inkling of the trouble with her finances, and she was nearlyfrantic. She refused to come home. She declared she never wanted tosee Beldingsville, or anybody in it, again. You see, she has alwaysbeen a peculiarly proud woman, and it was all affecting her in arather curious way. Pollyanna said that her aunt seemed possessed withthe idea that Beldingsville had not approved of her marrying Dr.Chilton in the first place, at her age; and now that he was dead, shefelt that they were utterly out of sympathy in any grief that shemight show. She resented keenly, too, the fact that they must now knowthat she was poor as well as widowed. In short, she had worked herselfInto an utterly morbid, wretched state, as unreasonable as it wasterrible. Poor little Pollyanna! It was a marvel to me how she stoodit. All is, if Mrs. Chilton kept it up, and continues to keep it up,that child will be a wreck. That's why I said Pollyanna would needsome kind of a game if ever anybody did."

  "The pity of it!--to think of that happening to Pollyanna!" exclaimedthe young man, in a voice that was not quite steady.

  "Yes; and you can see all is not right by the way they are comingto-day--so quietly, with not a word to anybody. That was PollyChilton's doings, I'll warrant. She didn't WANT to be met by anybody.I understand she wrote to no one but her Old Tom's wife, Mrs. Durgin,who had the keys."

  "Yes, so Nancy told me--good old soul! She'd got the whole house open,and had contrived somehow to make it look as if it wasn't a tomb ofdead hopes and lost pleasures. Of course the grounds looked fairlywell, for Old Tom has kept them up, after a fashion. But it made myheart ache--the whole thing."

  There was a long silence, then, curtly, John Pendleton suggested:

  "They ought to be met."

  "They will be met."

  "Are YOU going to the station?"

  "I am."

  "Then you know what train they're coming on."

  "Oh, no. Neither does Nancy."

  "Then how will you manage?"

  "I'm going to begin in the morning and go to every train till theycome," laughed the young man, a bit grimly. "Timothy's going, too,with the family carriage. After all, there aren't many trains, anyway,that they can come on, you know."

  "Hm-m, I know," said John Pendleton. "Jim, I admire your nerve, butnot your judgment. I'm glad you're going to follow your nerve and notyour judgment, however--and I wish you good luck."

  "Thank you, sir," smiled the young man dolefully. "I need 'em--yourgood wishes--all right, all right, as Nancy says."