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

my boy why I have kept him from his mother’s family all these years. If this packet is opened by him at thirty years of age, he will read this letter, and I hope will forgive a father who feared to lose his boy entirely, so took this drastic course to keep him to himself. If it is opened by strangers, because of his death, I request that his mother’s people in Boston be notified at once, and the enclosed package of papers be given, intact, into their hands.

“John Kent.”

Jimmy was pale and shaken when he looked up to meet John Pendleton’s eyes.

“Am I⁠—the lost⁠—Jamie?” he faltered.

“That letter says you have documents there to prove it,” nodded the other.

“Mrs. Carew’s nephew?”

“Of course.”

“But, why⁠—what⁠—I can’t realize it!” There was a moment’s pause before into Jimmy’s face flashed a new joy. “Then, surely now I know who I am! I can tell⁠—Mrs. Chilton something of my people.”

“I should say you could,” retorted John Pendleton, dryly. “The Boston Wetherbys can trace straight back to the crusades, and I don’t know but to the year one. That ought to satisfy her. As for your father⁠—he came of good stock, too, Mrs. Carew told me, though he was rather eccentric, and not pleasing to the family, as you know, of course.”

“Yes. Poor dad! And what a life he must have lived with me all those years⁠—always dreading pursuit. I can understand⁠—lots of things, now, that used to puzzle me. A woman called me ‘Jamie,’ once. Jove! how angry he was! I know now why he hurried me away that night without even waiting for supper. Poor dad! It was right after that he was taken sick. He couldn’t use his hands or his feet, and very soon he couldn’t talk straight. Something ailed his speech. I remember when he died he was trying to tell me something about this packet. I believe now he was telling me to open it, and go to my mother’s people; but I thought then he was just telling me to keep it safe. So that’s what I promised him. But it didn’t comfort him any. It only seemed to worry him more. You see, I didn’t understand. Poor dad!”

“Suppose we take a look at these papers,” suggested John Pendleton. “Besides, there’s a letter from your father to you, I understand. Don’t you want to read it?”

“Yes, of course. And then⁠—” the young fellow laughed shamefacedly and glanced at the clock⁠—“I was wondering just how soon I could go back⁠—to Pollyanna.”

A thoughtful frown came to John Pendleton’s face. He glanced at Jimmy, hesitated, then spoke.

“I know you want to see Pollyanna, lad, and I don’t blame you; but it strikes me that, under the circumstances, you should go first to⁠—Mrs. Carew, and take these.” He tapped the papers before him.

Jimmy drew his brows together and pondered.

“All right, sir, I will.” he agreed resignedly.

“And if you don’t mind, I’d like to go with you,” further suggested John Pendleton, a little diffidently.

“I⁠—I have a little matter of my own that I’d like to see⁠—your aunt about. Suppose we go down today on the three o’clock?”

“Good! We will, sir. Gorry! And so I’m Jamie! I can’t grasp it yet!” exclaimed the young man, springing to his feet, and restlessly moving about the room. “I wonder, now,” he stopped, and colored boyishly, “do you think⁠—Aunt Ruth⁠—will mind⁠—very much?”

John Pendleton shook his head. A hint of the old somberness came into his eyes.

“Hardly, my boy. But⁠—I’m thinking of myself. How about it? When you’re her boy, where am I coming in?”

“You! Do you think anything could put you one side?” scoffed Jimmy, fervently. “You needn’t worry about that. And she won’t mind. She has Jamie, you know, and⁠—” He stopped short, a dawning dismay in his eyes. “By George! Uncle John, I forgot⁠—Jamie. This is going to be tough on⁠—Jamie!”

“Yes, I’d thought of that. Still, he’s legally adopted, isn’t he?”

“Oh, yes; it isn’t that. It’s the fact that he isn’t the real Jamie himself⁠—and he with his two poor useless legs! Why, Uncle John, it’ll just about kill him. I’ve heard him talk. I know. Besides, Pollyanna and Mrs. Carew both have told me how he feels, how sure he is, and how happy he is. Great Scott! I can’t take away from him this⁠—But what can I do?”

“I don’t know, my boy. I don’t see as there’s anything you can do, but what you are doing.”

There was a long silence. Jimmy had resumed his nervous pacing up and down the room. Suddenly he wheeled, his face alight.

“There is a way, and I’ll do it. I know Mrs. Carew will agree. We won’t tell! We won’t tell anybody but Mrs. Carew herself, and⁠—and Pollyanna and her aunt. I’ll have to tell them,” he added defensively.

“You certainly will, my boy. As for the rest⁠—” John Pendleton paused doubtfully.

“It’s nobody’s business.”

“But, remember, you are making quite a sacrifice⁠—in several ways. I want you to weigh it well.”

“Weigh it? I have weighed it, and there’s nothing in it⁠—with Jamie on the other side of the scales, sir. I just couldn’t do it. That’s all.”

“I don’t blame you, and I think you’re right,” declared John Pendleton heartily. “Furthermore, I believe Mrs. Carew will agree with you, particularly as she’ll know now that the real Jamie is found at last.”

“You know she’s always said she’d seen me somewhere,” chuckled Jimmy. “Now how soon does that train go? I’m ready.”

“Well, I’m not,” laughed John Pendleton. “Luckily for me it doesn’t go for some hours yet, anyhow,” he finished, as he got to his feet and left the room.

XXXII A New Aladdin

Whatever were John Pendleton’s preparations for departure⁠—and they were both varied and hurried⁠—they were done in the open, with two exceptions. The exceptions were two letters, one addressed to Pollyanna, and one to Mrs. Polly Chilton. These letters, together with careful and minute instructions, were given into the hands of Susan, his housekeeper, to be delivered after they should be gone. But