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

“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 the gate, or came more boldly up to the doorways. “Mother Durgin’s had the key, ’course, and has come in regerler to air up and see that things was all right; and Mis’ Chilton just wrote and said she and Miss Pollyanna was comin’ this week Friday, and ter please see that the rooms and sheets was aired, and ter leave the key under the side-door mat on that day.

“Under the mat, indeed! Just as if I’d leave them two poor things ter come into this house alone, and all forlorn like that⁠—and me only a mile 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’t enough ter stand without that⁠—a-comin’ into this house an’ the doctor gone⁠—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 Miss Polly⁠—I mean, Mis’ Chilton⁠—bein’ poor! My stars and stockings, I can’t sense it⁠—I can’t, I can’t!”

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

“Never mind, Nancy! Let it go at whatever comes handiest,” he chuckled. “I’ve found out what I wanted to know: Mrs. Chilton and her niece really are expected tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir, they be, sir,” courtesied Nancy, “⁠—more’s the pity! Not but that I shall be glad enough ter see ’em, you understand, but it’s the way they’re a-comin’.”

“Yes, I know. I understand,” nodded the youth, gravely, his eyes sweeping the fine old house before him. “Well, I suppose that part can’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 he wheeled 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 admiring eyes following the handsome figures of horse and man. “I ain’t surprised that you ain’t lettin’ no grass grow under your feet ’bout inquirin’ for Miss Pollyanna. I said long ago ’twould come sometime, an’ it’s bound to⁠—what with your growin’ so handsome and tall. An’ I hope ’twill; I do, I do. It’ll be just like a book, what with her a-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 used to 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 figures far down the road.

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

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

“Well, my boy, is it true? Are they coming?” asked the man, with visible eagerness.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.” The young fellow dropped himself into a chair.

At the crisp terseness of the answer, John Pendleton frowned. He threw a 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 off that wild horses could not have held you. Now you sit humped up in that chair and look as if wild horses couldn’t drag you out of it. If I didn’t know better I’d think you weren’t glad that our friends are coming.”

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 of Pollyanna ever since you came home from Boston and found she was expected. 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 if yesterday wild horses couldn’t keep me from seeing Pollyanna; and now, today, 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 man fell back in his chair with an embarrassed laugh.

“Yes, I know. It sounds nutty, and I don’t expect I can make you understand. But, somehow, I don’t think⁠—I ever wanted Pollyanna to grow up. She was such a dear, just as she was. I like to think of her as I saw her last, her earnest, freckled little face, her yellow pigtails, her tearful: ‘Oh, yes, I’m glad I’m going; but I think I shall be a little gladder when I come back.’ That’s the last time I saw her. You know we were in Egypt that time she was here four years ago.”

“I know. I