Christmas gold, p.358
Christmas Gold, page 358
“But Pollyanna, Pollyanna,” remonstrated Aunt Polly, following the little girl from the room and panting up-stairs after her.
“Oh, did you come up here?” Pollyanna greeted her at the door of Miss Polly’s own room. “That’ll be nicer yet! I’ve got the comb. Now sit down, please, right here. Oh, I’m so glad you let me do it!”
“But, Pollyanna, I—I—”
Miss Polly did not finish her sentence. To her helpless amazement she found herself in the low chair before the dressing table, with her hair already tumbling about her ears under ten eager, but very gentle fingers.
“Oh, my! what pretty hair you’ve got,” prattled Pollyanna; “and there’s so much more of it than Mrs. Snow has, too! But, of course, you need more, anyhow, because you’re well and can go to places where folks can see it. My! I reckon folks’ll be glad when they do see it—and surprised, too, ‘cause you’ve hid it so long. Why, Aunt Polly, I’ll make you so pretty everybody’ll just love to look at you!”
“Pollyanna!” gasped a stifled but shocked voice from a veil of hair. “I—I’m sure I don’t know why I’m letting you do this silly thing.”
“Why, Aunt Polly, I should think you’d be glad to have folks like to look at you! Don’t you like to look at pretty things? I’m ever so much happier when I look at pretty folks, ‘cause when I look at the other kind I’m so sorry for them.”
“But—but—”
“And I just love to do folks’ hair,” purred Pollyanna, contentedly. “I did quite a lot of the Ladies’ Aiders’—but there wasn’t any of them so nice as yours. Mrs. White’s was pretty nice, though, and she looked just lovely one day when I dressed her up in—Oh, Aunt Polly, I’ve just happened to think of something! But it’s a secret, and I sha’n’t tell. Now your hair is almost done, and pretty quick I’m going to leave you just a minute; and you must promise—promise—PROMISE not to stir nor peek, even, till I come back. Now remember!” she finished, as she ran from the room.
Aloud Miss Polly said nothing. To herself she said that of course she should at once undo the absurd work of her niece’s fingers, and put her hair up properly again. As for “peeking” just as if she cared how—
At that moment—unaccountably—Miss Polly caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror of the dressing table. And what she saw sent such a flush of rosy color to her cheeks that—she only flushed the more at the sight.
She saw a face—not young, it is true—but just now alight with excitement and surprise. The cheeks were a pretty pink. The eyes sparkled. The hair, dark, and still damp from the outdoor air, lay in loose waves about the forehead and curved back over the ears in wonderfully becoming lines, with softening little curls here and there.
So amazed and so absorbed was Miss Polly with what she saw in the glass that she quite forgot her determination to do over her hair, until she heard Pollyanna enter the room again. Before she could move, then, she felt a folded something slipped across her eyes and tied in the back.
“Pollyanna, Pollyanna! What are you doing?” she cried.
Pollyanna chuckled.
“That’s just what I don’t want you to know, Aunt Polly, and I was afraid you WOULD peek, so I tied on the handkerchief. Now sit still. It won’t take but just a minute, then I’ll let you see.”
“But, Pollyanna,” began Miss Polly, struggling blindly to her feet, “you must take this off! You—child, child! what ARE you doing?” she gasped, as she felt a soft something slipped about her shoulders.
Pollyanna only chuckled the more gleefully. With trembling fingers she was draping about her aunt’s shoulders the fleecy folds of a beautiful lace shawl, yellowed from long years of packing away, and fragrant with lavender. Pollyanna had found the shawl the week before when Nancy had been regulating the attic; and it had occurred to her to-day that there was no reason why her aunt, as well as Mrs. White of her Western home, should not be “dressed up.”
Her task completed, Pollyanna surveyed her work with eyes that approved, but that saw yet one touch wanting. Promptly, therefore, she pulled her aunt toward the sun parlor where she could see a belated red rose blooming on the trellis within reach of her hand.
“Pollyanna, what are you doing? Where are you taking me to?” recoiled Aunt Polly, vainly trying to hold herself back. “Pollyanna, I shall not—”
“It’s just to the sun parlor—only a minute! I’ll have you ready now quicker’n no time,” panted Pollyanna, reaching for the rose and thrusting it into the soft hair above Miss Polly’s left ear. “There!” she exulted, untying the knot of the handkerchief and flinging the bit of linen far from her. “Oh, Aunt Polly, now I reckon you’ll be glad I dressed you up!”
For one dazed moment Miss Polly looked at her bedecked self, and at her surroundings; then she gave a low cry and fled to her room. Pollyanna, following the direction of her aunt’s last dismayed gaze, saw, through the open windows of the sun parlor, the horse and gig turning into the driveway. She recognized at once the man who held the reins. Delightedly she leaned forward.
“Dr. Chilton, Dr. Chilton! Did you want to see me? I’m up here.”
“Yes,” smiled the doctor, a little gravely. “Will you come down, please?”
In the bedroom Pollyanna found a flushed-faced, angry-eyed woman plucking at the pins that held a lace shawl in place.
“Pollyanna, how could you?” moaned the woman. “To think of your rigging me up like this, and then letting me—BE SEEN!”
Pollyanna stopped in dismay.
“But you looked lovely—perfectly lovely, Aunt Polly; and—”
“‘Lovely’!” scorned the woman, flinging the shawl to one side and attacking her hair with shaking fingers.
“Oh, Aunt Polly, please, please let the hair stay!”
“Stay? Like this? As if I would!” And Miss Polly pulled the locks so tightly back that the last curl lay stretched dead at the ends of her fingers.
“O dear! And you did look so pretty,” almost sobbed Pollyanna, as she stumbled through the door.
Down-stairs Pollyanna found the doctor waiting in his gig.
“I’ve prescribed you for a patient, and he’s sent me to get the prescription filled,” announced the doctor. “Will you go?”
“You mean—an errand—to the drug store?” asked Pollyanna, a little uncertainly. “I used to go some—for the Ladies’ Aiders.”
The doctor shook his head with a smile.
“Not exactly. It’s Mr. John Pendleton. He would like to see you to-day, if you’ll be so good as to come. It’s stopped raining, so I drove down after you. Will you come? I’ll call for you and bring you back before six o’clock.”
“I’d love to!” exclaimed Pollyanna. “Let me ask Aunt Polly.”
In a few moments she returned, hat in hand, but with rather a sober face.
“Didn’t—your aunt want you to go?” asked the doctor, a little diffidently, as they drove away.
“Y-yes,” sighed Pollyanna. “She—she wanted me to go TOO much, I’m afraid.”
“Wanted you to go TOO MUCH!”
Pollyanna sighed again.
“Yes. I reckon she meant she didn’t want me there. You see, she said: ‘Yes, yes, run along, run along—do! I wish you’d gone before.’”
The doctor smiled—but with his lips only. His eyes were very grave. For some time he said nothing; then, a little hesitatingly, he asked:
“Wasn’t it—your aunt I saw with you a few minutes ago—in the window of the sun parlor?”
Pollyanna drew a long breath.
“Yes; that’s what’s the whole trouble, I suppose. You see I’d dressed her up in a perfectly lovely lace shawl I found up-stairs, and I’d fixed her hair and put on a rose, and she looked so pretty. Didn’t YOU think she looked just lovely?”
For a moment the doctor did not answer. When he did speak his voice was so low Pollyanna could but just hear the words.
“Yes, Pollyanna, I—I thought she did look—just lovely.”
“Did you? I’m so glad! I’ll tell her,” nodded the little girl, contentedly.
To her surprise the doctor gave a sudden exclamation.
“Never! Pollyanna, I—I’m afraid I shall have to ask you not to tell her—that.”
“Why, Dr. Chilton! Why not? I should think you’d be glad—”
“But she might not be,” cut in the doctor.
Pollyanna considered this for a moment.
“That’s so—maybe she wouldn’t,” she sighed. “I remember now; ‘twas ‘cause she saw you that she ran. And she—she spoke afterwards about her being seen in that rig.”
“I thought as much,” declared the doctor, under his breath.
“Still, I don’t see why,” maintained Pollyanna, “—when she looked so pretty!”
The doctor said nothing. He did not speak again, indeed, until they were almost to the great stone house in which John Pendleton lay with a broken leg.
Chapter XVII.
“Just Like a Book”
Table of Contents
John Pendleton greeted Pollyanna to-day with a smile.
“Well, Miss Pollyanna, I’m thinking you must be a very forgiving little person, else you wouldn’t have come to see me again to-day.”
“Why, Mr. Pendleton, I was real glad to come, and I’m sure I don’t see why I shouldn’t be, either.”
“Oh, well, you know, I was pretty cross with you, I’m afraid, both the other day when you so kindly brought me the jelly, and that time when you found me with the broken leg at first. By the way, too, I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for that. Now I’m sure that even you would admit that you were very forgiving to come and see me, after such ungrateful treatment as that!”
Pollyanna stirred uneasily.
“But I was glad to find you—that is, I don’t mean I was glad your leg was broken, of course,” she corrected hurriedly.
John Pendleton smiled.
“I understand. Your tongue does get away with you once in a while, doesn’t it, Miss Pollyanna? I do thank you, however; and I consider you a very brave little girl to do what you did that day. I thank you for the jelly, too,” he added in a lighter voice.
“Did you like it?” asked Pollyanna with interest.
“Very much. I suppose—there isn’t any more to-day that—that Aunt Polly DIDN’T send, is there?” he asked with an odd smile.
His visitor looked distressed.
“N-no, sir.” She hesitated, then went on with heightened color. “Please, Mr. Pendleton, I didn’t mean to be rude the other day when I said Aunt Polly did NOT send the jelly.”
There was no answer. John Pendleton was not smiling now. He was looking straight ahead of him with eyes that seemed to be gazing through and beyond the object before them. After a time he drew a long sigh and turned to Pollyanna. When he spoke his voice carried the old nervous fretfulness.
“Well, well, this will never do at all! I didn’t send for you to see me moping this time. Listen! Out in the library—the big room where the telephone is, you know—you will find a carved box on the lower shelf of the big case with glass doors in the corner not far from the fireplace. That is, it’ll be there if that confounded woman hasn’t ‘regulated’ it to somewhere else! You may bring it to me. It is heavy, but not too heavy for you to carry, I think.”
“Oh, I’m awfully strong,” declared Pollyanna, cheerfully, as she sprang to her feet. In a minute she had returned with the box.
It was a wonderful half-hour that Pollyanna spent then. The box was full of treasures—curios that John Pendleton had picked up in years of travel—and concerning each there was some entertaining story, whether it were a set of exquisitely carved chessmen from China, or a little jade idol from India.
It was after she had heard the story about the idol that Pollyanna murmured wistfully:
“Well, I suppose it WOULD be better to take a little boy in India to bring up—one that didn’t know any more than to think that God was in that doll-thing—than it would be to take Jimmy Bean, a little boy who knows God is up in the sky. Still, I can’t help wishing they had wanted Jimmy Bean, too, besides the India boys.”
John Pendleton did not seem to hear. Again his, eyes were staring straight before him, looking at nothing. But soon he had roused himself, and had picked up another curio to talk about.
The visit, certainly, was a delightful one, but before it was over, Pollyanna was realizing that they were talking about something besides the wonderful things in the beautiful carved box. They were talking of herself, of Nancy, of Aunt Polly, and of her daily life. They were talking, too, even of the life and home long ago in the far Western town.
Not until it was nearly time for her to go, did the man say, in a voice Pollyanna had never before heard from stern John Pendleton:
“Little girl, I want you to come to see me often. Will you? I’m lonesome, and I need you. There’s another reason—and I’m going to tell you that, too. I thought, at first, after I found out who you were, the other day, that I didn’t want you to come any more. You reminded me of—of something I have tried for long years to forget. So I said to myself that I never wanted to see you again; and every day, when the doctor asked if I wouldn’t let him bring you to me, I said no.
“But after a time I found I was wanting to see you so much that—that the fact that I WASN’T seeing you was making me remember all the more vividly the thing I was so wanting to forget. So now I want you to come. Will you—little girl?”
“Why, yes, Mr. Pendleton,” breathed Pollyanna, her eyes luminous with sympathy for the sad-faced man lying back on the pillow before her. “I’d love to come!”
“Thank you,” said John Pendleton, gently.
After supper that evening, Pollyanna, sitting on the back porch, told Nancy all about Mr. John Pendleton’s wonderful carved box, and the still more wonderful things it contained.
“And ter think,” sighed Nancy, “that he SHOWED ye all them things, and told ye about ‘em like that—him that’s so cross he never talks ter no one—no one!”
“Oh, but he isn’t cross, Nancy, only outside,” demurred Pollyanna, with quick loyalty. “I don’t see why everybody thinks he’s so bad, either. They wouldn’t, if they knew him. But even Aunt Polly doesn’t like him very well. She wouldn’t send the jelly to him, you know, and she was so afraid he’d think she did send it!”
“Probably she didn’t call him no duty,” shrugged Nancy. “But what beats me is how he happened ter take ter you so, Miss Pollyanna—meanin’ no offence ter you, of course—but he ain’t the sort o’ man what gen’rally takes ter kids; he ain’t, he ain’t.”
Pollyanna smiled happily.
“But he did, Nancy,” she nodded, “only I reckon even he didn’t want to—ALL the time. Why, only to-day he owned up that one time he just felt he never wanted to see me again, because I reminded him of something he wanted to forget. But afterwards—”
“What’s that?” interrupted Nancy, excitedly. “He said you reminded him of something he wanted to forget?”
“Yes. But afterwards—”
“What was it?” Nancy was eagerly insistent.
“He didn’t tell me. He just said it was something.”
“THE MYSTERY!” breathed Nancy, in an awestruck voice. “That’s why he took to you in the first place. Oh, Miss Pollyanna! Why, that’s just like a book—I’ve read lots of ‘em; ‘Lady Maud’s Secret,’ and ‘The Lost Heir,’ and ‘Hidden for Years’—all of ‘em had mysteries and things just like this. My stars and stockings! Just think of havin’ a book lived right under yer nose like this an’ me not knowin’ it all this time! Now tell me everythin’—everythin’ he said, Miss Pollyanna, there’s a dear! No wonder he took ter you; no wonder—no wonder!”
“But he didn’t,” cried Pollyanna, “not till I talked to HIM, first. And he didn’t even know who I was till I took the calf’s-foot jelly, and had to make him understand that Aunt Polly didn’t send it, and—”
Nancy sprang to her feet and clasped her hands together suddenly.
“Oh, Miss Pollyanna, I know, I know—I KNOW I know!” she exulted rapturously. The next minute she was down at Pollyanna’s side again. “Tell me—now think, and answer straight and true,” she urged excitedly. “It was after he found out you was Miss Polly’s niece that he said he didn’t ever want ter see ye again, wa’n’t it?”
“Oh, yes. I told him that the last time I saw him, and he told me this to-day.”
“I thought as much,” triumphed Nancy. “And Miss Polly wouldn’t send the jelly herself, would she?”
“No.”
“And you told him she didn’t send it?”
“Why, yes; I—”
“And he began ter act queer and cry out sudden after he found out you was her niece. He did that, didn’t he?”
“Why, y-yes; he did act a little queer—over that jelly,” admitted Pollyanna, with a thoughtful frown.
Nancy drew a long sigh.
“Then I’ve got it, sure! Now listen. MR. JOHN PENDLETON WAS MISS POLLY HARRINGTON’S LOVER!” she announced impressively, but with a furtive glance over her shoulder.
“Why, Nancy, he couldn’t be! She doesn’t like him,” objected Pollyanna.
Nancy gave her a scornful glance.
“Of course she don’t! THAT’S the quarrel!”
Pollyanna still looked incredulous, and with another long breath Nancy happily settled herself to tell the story.
“It’s like this. Just before you come, Mr. Tom told me Miss Polly had had a lover once. I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t—her and a lover! But Mr. Tom said she had, and that he was livin’ now right in this town. And NOW I know, of course. It’s John Pendleton. Hain’t he got a mystery in his life? Don’t he shut himself up in that grand house alone, and never speak ter no one? Didn’t he act queer when he found out you was Miss Polly’s niece? And now hain’t he owned up that you remind him of somethin’ he wants ter forget? Just as if ANYBODY couldn’t see ‘twas Miss Polly!—an’ her sayin’ she wouldn’t send him no jelly, too. Why, Miss Pollyanna, it’s as plain as the nose on yer face; it is, it is!”
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