Pollyanna Grows Up, Eleanor H. Porter [best short novels of all time txt] 📗

call on a lady who lived in a beautiful house surrounded by just such walks and trees and flowerbeds as these.

Pollyanna wanted now very much to cross the street and walk in those grounds, but she doubted if she had the right. To be sure, others were there, moving about, she could see; but they might be invited guests, of course. After she had seen two women, one man, and a little girl unhesitatingly enter the gate and walk briskly down the path, however, Pollyanna concluded that she, too, might go. Watching her chance she skipped nimbly across the street and entered the Garden.

It was even more beautiful close at hand than it had been at a distance. Birds twittered over her head, and a squirrel leaped across the path ahead of her. On benches here and there sat men, women, and children. Through the trees flashed the sparkle of the sun on water; and from somewhere came the shouts of children and the sound of music.

Once again Pollyanna hesitated; then, a little timidly, she accosted a handsomely-dressed young woman coming toward her.

“Please, is this⁠—a party?” she asked.

The young woman stared.

“A party!” she repeated dazedly.

“Yes’m. I mean, is it all right for me⁠—to be here?”

“For you to be here? Why, of course. It’s for⁠—for everybody!” exclaimed the young woman.

“Oh, that’s all right, then. I’m glad I came,” beamed Pollyanna.

The young woman said nothing; but she turned back and looked at Pollyanna still dazedly as she hurried away.

Pollyanna, not at all surprised that the owner of this beautiful place should be so generous as to give a party to everybody, continued on her way. At the turn of the path she came upon a small girl and a doll carriage. She stopped with a glad little cry, but she had not said a dozen words before from somewhere came a young woman with hurrying steps and a disapproving voice; a young woman who held out her hand to the small girl, and said sharply:

“Here, Gladys, Gladys, come away with me. Hasn’t mama told you not to talk to strange children?”

“But I’m not strange children,” explained Pollyanna in eager defense. “I live right here in Boston, now, and⁠—” But the young woman and the little girl dragging the doll carriage were already far down the path; and with a half-stifled sigh Pollyanna fell back. For a moment she stood silent, plainly disappointed; then resolutely she lifted her chin and went forward.

“Well, anyhow, I can be glad for that,” she nodded to herself, “for now maybe I’ll find somebody even nicer⁠—Susie Smith, perhaps, or even Mrs. Carew’s Jamie. Anyhow, I can imagine I’m going to find them; and if I don’t find them, I can find somebody!” she finished, her wistful eyes on the self-absorbed people all about her.

Undeniably Pollyanna was lonesome. Brought up by her father and the Ladies’ Aid Society in a small Western town, she had counted every house in the village her home, and every man, woman, and child her friend. Coming to her aunt in Vermont at eleven years of age, she had promptly assumed that conditions would differ only in that the homes and the friends would be new, and therefore even more delightful, possibly, for they would be “different”⁠—and Pollyanna did so love “different” things and people! Her first and always her supreme delight in Beldingsville, therefore, had been her long rambles about the town and the charming visits with the new friends she had made. Quite naturally, in consequence, Boston, as she first saw it, seemed to Pollyanna even more delightfully promising in its possibilities.

Thus far, however, Pollyanna had to admit that in one respect, at least, it had been disappointing: she had been here nearly two weeks and she did not yet know the people who lived across the street, or even next door. More inexplicable still, Mrs. Carew herself did not know many of them, and not any of them well. She seemed, indeed, utterly indifferent to her neighbors, which was most amazing from Pollyanna’s point of view; but nothing she could say appeared to change Mrs. Carew’s attitude in the matter at all.

“They do not interest me, Pollyanna,” was all she would say; and with this, Pollyanna⁠—whom they did interest very much⁠—was forced to be content.

Today, on her walk, however, Pollyanna had started out with high hopes, yet thus far she seemed destined to be disappointed. Here all about her were people who were doubtless most delightful⁠—if she only knew them. But she did not know them. Worse yet, there seemed to be no prospect that she would know them, for they did not, apparently, wish to know her: Pollyanna was still smarting under the nurse’s sharp warning concerning “strange children.”

“Well, I reckon I’ll just have to show ’em that I’m not strange children,” she said at last to herself, moving confidently forward again.

Pursuant of this idea Pollyanna smiled sweetly into the eyes of the next person she met, and said blithely:

“It’s a nice day, isn’t it?”

“Er⁠—what? Oh, y-yes, it is,” murmured the lady addressed, as she hastened on a little faster.

Twice again Pollyanna tried the same experiment, but with like disappointing results. Soon she came upon the little pond that she had seen sparkling in the sunlight through the trees. It was a beautiful pond, and on it were several pretty little boats full of laughing children. As she watched them, Pollyanna felt more and more dissatisfied to remain by herself. It was then that, spying a man sitting alone not far away, she advanced slowly toward him and sat down on the other end of the bench. Once Pollyanna would have danced unhesitatingly to the man’s side and suggested acquaintanceship with a cheery confidence that had no doubt of a welcome; but recent rebuffs had filled her with unaccustomed diffidence. Covertly she looked at the man now.

He was not very good to look at. His garments, though new, were dusty, and plainly showed lack of care. They were of the cut and style