Pollyanna, Eleanor Hodgman Porter [bill gates best books TXT] 📗

Aunt Polly who brought home the other story that she had heard about the poor old lady who had only two teeth, but who was so glad that those two teeth “hit”!

Pollyanna now, like Mrs. Snow, was knitting wonderful things out of bright colored worsteds that trailed their cheery lengths across the white spread, and made Pollyanna—again like Mrs. Snow—so glad she had her hands and arms, anyway.

Pollyanna saw people now, occasionally, and always there were the loving messages from those she could not see; and always they brought her something new to think about—and Pollyanna needed new things to think about.

Once she had seen John Pendleton, and twice she had seen Jimmy Bean. John Pendleton had told her what a fine boy Jimmy was getting to be, and how well he was doing. Jimmy had told her what a first-rate home he had, and what bang-up “folks” Mr. Pendleton made; and both had said that it was all owing to her.

“Which makes me all the gladder, you know, that I HAVE had my legs,” Pollyanna confided to her aunt afterwards.

The winter passed, and spring came. The anxious watchers over Pollyanna’s condition could see little change wrought by the prescribed treatment. There seemed every reason to believe, indeed, that Dr. Mead’s worst fears would be realized—that Pollyanna would never walk again.

Beldingsville, of course, kept itself informed concerning Pollyanna; and of Beldingsville, one man in particular fumed and fretted himself into a fever of anxiety over the daily bulletins which he managed in some way to procure from the bed of suffering. As the days passed, however, and the news came to be no better, but rather worse, something besides anxiety began to show in the man’s face: despair, and a very dogged determination, each fighting for the mastery. In the end, the dogged determination won; and it was then that Mr. John Pendleton, somewhat to his surprise, received one Saturday morning a call from Dr. Thomas Chilton.

“Pendleton,” began the doctor, abruptly, “I’ve come to you because you, better than any one else in town, know something of my relations with Miss Polly Harrington.”

John Pendleton was conscious that he must have started visibly—he did know something of the affair between Polly Harrington and Thomas Chilton, but the matter had not been mentioned between them for fifteen years, or more.

“Yes,” he said, trying to make his voice sound concerned enough for sympathy, and not eager enough for curiosity. In a moment he saw that he need not have worried, however: the doctor was quite too intent on his errand to notice how that errand was received.

“Pendleton, I want to see that child. I want to make an examination. I MUST make an examination.”

“Well—can’t you?”

“CAN’T I! Pendleton, you know very well I haven’t been inside that door for more than fifteen years. You don’t know—but I will tell you—that the mistress of that house told me that the NEXT time she ASKED me to enter it, I might take it that she was begging my pardon, and that all would be as before—which meant that she’d marry me. Perhaps you see her summoning me now—but I don’t!”

“But couldn’t you go—without a summons?”

The doctor frowned.

“Well, hardly. I have some pride, you know.”

“But if you’re so anxious—couldn’t you swallow your pride and forget the quarrel—”

“Forget the quarrel!” interrupted the doctor, savagely. “I’m not talking of that kind of pride. So far as THAT is concerned, I’d go from here there on my knees—or on my head—if that would do any good. It’s PROFESSIONAL pride I’m talking about. It’s a case of sickness, and I’m a doctor. I can’t butt in and say, ‘Here, take me!‘can I?”

“Chilton, what was the quarrel?” demanded Pendleton.

The doctor made an impatient gesture, and got to his feet.

“What was it? What’s any lovers’ quarrel after it’s over?” he snarled, pacing the room angrily. “A silly wrangle over the size of the moon or the depth of a river, maybe—it might as well be, so far as its having any real significance compared to the years of misery that follow them! Never mind the quarrel! So far as I am concerned, I am willing to say there was no quarrel. Pendleton, I must see that child. It may mean life or death. It will mean—I honestly believe—nine chances out of ten that Pollyanna Whittier will walk again!”

The words were spoken clearly, impressively; and they were spoken just as the one who uttered them had almost reached the open window near John Pendleton’s chair. Thus it happened that very distinctly they reached the ears of a small boy kneeling beneath the window on the ground outside.

Jimmy Bean, at his Saturday morning task of pulling up the first little green weeds of the flowerbeds, sat up with ears and eyes wide open.

“Walk! Pollyanna!” John Pendleton was saying. “What do you mean?”

I mean that from what I can hear and learn—a mile from her bedside—that her case is very much like one that a college friend of mine has just helped. For years he’s been making this sort of thing a special study. I’ve kept in touch with him, and studied, too, in a way. And from what I hear—but I want to SEE the girl!”

John Pendleton came erect in his chair.

“You must see her, man! Couldn’t you—say, through Dr. Warren?”

The other shook his head.

“I’m afraid not. Warren has been very decent, though. He told me himself that he suggested consultation with me at the first, but—Miss Harrington said no so decisively that he didn’t dare venture it again, even though he knew of my desire to see the child. Lately, some of his best patients have come over to me—so of course that ties my hands still more effectually. But, Pendleton, I’ve got to see that child! Think of what it may mean to her—if I do!”

“Yes, and think of what it will mean—if you don’t!” retorted Pendleton.

“But how can I—without a direct request from her aunt?—which I’ll never get!”

“She must be made to ask you!”

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

“No, I guess you don’t—nor anybody else. She’s too proud and too angry to ask me—after what she said years ago it would mean if she did ask me. But when I think of that child, doomed to lifelong misery, and when I think that maybe in my hands lies a chance of escape, but for that confounded nonsense we call pride and professional etiquette, I—” He did not finish his sentence, but with his hands thrust deep into his pockets, he turned and began to tramp up and down the room again, angrily.

“But if she could be made to see—to understand,” urged John Pendleton.

“Yes; and who’s going to do it?” demanded the doctor, with a savage turn.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” groaned the other, miserably.

Outside the window Jimmy Bean stirred suddenly. Up to now he had scarcely breathed, so intently had he listened to every word.

“Well, by Jinks, I know!” he whispered, exultingly. “I’M a-goin’ ter do it!” And forthwith he rose to his feet, crept stealthily around the corner of the house, and ran with all his might down Pendleton Hill.

CHAPTER XXX. JIMMY TAKES THE HELM

“It’s Jimmy Bean. He wants ter see ye, ma’am,” announced Nancy in the doorway.

“Me?” rejoined Miss Polly, plainly surprised. “Are you sure he did not mean Miss Pollyanna? He may see her a few minutes to-day, if he likes.”

“Yes’m. I told him. But he said it was you he wanted.”

“Very well, I’ll come down.” And Miss Polly arose from her chair a little wearily.

In the sitting room she found waiting for her a round-eyed, flushed-faced boy, who began to speak at once.

“Ma’am, I s’pose it’s dreadful—what I’m doin’, an’ what I’m sayin’; but I can’t help it. It’s for Pollyanna, and I’d walk over hot coals for her, or face you, or—or anythin’ like that, any time. An’ I think you would, too, if you thought there was a chance for her ter walk again. An’ so that’s why I come ter tell ye that as long as it’s only pride an’ et—et-somethin’ that’s keepin’ Pollyanna from walkin’, why I knew you WOULD ask Dr. Chilton here if you understood—”

“Wh-at?” interrupted Miss Polly, the look of stupefaction on her face changing to one of angry indignation.

Jimmy sighed despairingly.

“There, I didn’t mean ter make ye mad. That’s why I begun by tellin’ ye about her walkin’ again. I thought you’d listen ter that.”

“Jimmy, what are you talking about?”

Jimmy sighed again.

“That’s what I’m tryin’ ter tell ye.”

“Well, then tell me. But begin at the beginning, and be sure I understand each thing as you go. Don’t plunge into the middle of it as you did before—and mix everything all up!”

Jimmy wet his lips determinedly.

“Well, ter begin with, Dr. Chilton come ter see Mr. Pendleton, an’ they talked in the library. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, Jimmy.” Miss Polly’s voice was rather faint.

“Well, the window was open, and I was weedin’ the flower-bed under it; an’ I heard ‘em talk.”

“Oh, Jimmy! LISTENING?”

” ‘Twa’n’t about me, an’ ‘twa’n’t sneak listenin’,” bridled Jimmy. “And I’m glad I listened. You will be when I tell ye. Why, it may make Pollyanna—walk!”

“Jimmy, what do you mean?” Miss Polly was leaning forward eagerly.

“There, I told ye so,” nodded Jimmy, contentedly. “Well, Dr. Chilton knows some doctor somewhere that can cure Pollyanna, he thinks—make her walk, ye know; but he can’t tell sure till he SEES her. And he wants ter see her somethin’ awful, but he told Mr. Pendleton that you wouldn’t let him.”

Miss Polly’s face turned very red.

“But, Jimmy, I—I can’t—I couldn’t! That is, I didn’t know!” Miss Polly was twisting her fingers together helplessly.

“Yes, an’ that’s what I come ter tell ye, so you WOULD know,” asserted Jimmy, eagerly. “They said that for some reason—I didn’t rightly catch what—you wouldn’t let Dr. Chilton come, an’ you told Dr. Warren so; an’ Dr. Chilton couldn’t come himself, without you asked him, on account of pride an’ professional et—et—well, et-somethin anyway. An’ they was wishin’ somebody could make you understand, only they didn’t know who could; an’ I was outside the winder, an’ I says ter myself right away, ‘By Jinks, I’ll do it!’ An’ I come—an’ have I made ye understand?”

“Yes; but, Jimmy, about that doctor,” implored Miss Polly, feverishly. “Who was he? What did he do? Are they SURE he could make Pollyanna walk?”

“I don’t know who he was. They didn’t say. Dr. Chilton knows him, an’ he’s just cured somebody just like her, Dr. Chilton thinks. Anyhow, they didn’t seem ter be doin’ no worryin’ about HIM. ‘Twas YOU they was worryin’ about, ‘cause you wouldn’t let Dr. Chilton see her. An’ say—you will let him come. won’t you?—now you understand?”

Miss Polly turned her head from side to side. Her breath was coming in little uneven, rapid gasps. Jimmy, watching her with anxious eyes, thought she was going to cry. But she did not cry. After a minute she said brokenly:

“Yes—I’ll let—Dr. Chilton—see her. Now run home, Jimmy—quick! I’ve got to speak to Dr. Warren. He’s up-stairs now. I saw him drive in a few minutes ago.”

A little later Dr. Warren was surprised to meet an agitated, flushed-faced Miss Polly in the hall. He was still more surprised to hear the lady say, a little breathlessly:

“Dr. Warren, you asked me once to allow Dr.