Pollyanna, Eleanor H. Porter [the top 100 crime novels of all time txt] 📗

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.

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 t’other 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! Don’t they take little boys in India to bring up? Well, they can just play you are the little India boy this time. I reckon you’re far enough away to make a report, all right. You wait. I’ll write ’em. I’ll write Mrs. White. No, I’ll write Mrs. Jones. Mrs. White has got the most money, but Mrs. Jones gives the most⁠—which is kind of funny, isn’t it?⁠—when you think of it. But I reckon some of the Aiders will take you.”

“All right⁠—but don’t furgit ter say I’ll work fur my board an’ keep,” put in Jimmy. “I ain’t no beggar, an’ biz’ness is biz’ness, even with Ladies’ Aiders, I’m thinkin’.” He hesitated, then added: “An’ I s’pose I better stay where I be fur a spell yet⁠—till you hear.”

“Of course,” nodded Pollyanna emphatically. “Then I’ll know just where to find you. And they’ll take you⁠—I’m sure you’re far enough away for that. Didn’t Aunt Polly take⁠—Say!” she broke off, suddenly, “Do you suppose I was Aunt Polly’s little girl from India?”

“Well, if you ain’t the queerest kid,” grinned Jimmy, as he turned away.

It was about a week after the accident in Pendleton Woods that Pollyanna said to her aunt one morning:

“Aunt Polly, please would you mind very much if I took Mrs. Snow’s calf’s-foot jelly this week to someone else? I’m sure Mrs. Snow wouldn’t⁠—this once.”

“Dear me, Pollyanna, what are you up to now?” sighed her aunt. “You are the most extraordinary child!”

Pollyanna frowned a little anxiously.

“Aunt Polly, please, what is extraordinary? If you’re extraordinary you can’t be ordinary, can you?”

“You certainly can not.”

“Oh, that’s all right, then. I’m glad I’m extraordinary,” sighed Pollyanna, her face clearing. “You see, Mrs. White used to say Mrs. Rawson was a very ordinary woman⁠—and she disliked Mrs. Rawson something awful. They were always fight⁠—I mean, father had⁠—that is, I mean, we had more trouble keeping peace between them than we did between any of the rest of