Pollyanna Grows Up

  Produced by Paul Hollander, Juliet Sutherland, CharlesFranks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.

  POLLYANNA GROWS UP

  The Second Glad Book Trade----Mark

  By Eleanor H. Porter

  Author of "Pollyanna: The Glad Book." "Miss Billy," Trade----Mark"Miss Billy's Decision," "Miss Billy--Married,""Cross Currents," "The Turn of the Tide," etc.

  Illustrated by

  H. Weston Taylor

  To My Cousin Walter

  CONTENTS

  I. Della Speaks Her MindII. Some Old FriendsIII. A Dose Of PollyannaIV. The Game And Mrs. CarewV. Pollyanna Takes A WalkVI. Jerry To The RescueVII. A New AcquaintanceVIII. JamieIX. Plans And PlottingsX. In Murphy's AlleyXI. A Surprise For Mrs. CarewXII. From Behind A CounterXIII. A Waiting And A WinningXIV. Jimmy And The Green-Eyed MonsterXV. Aunt Polly Takes AlarmXVI. When Pollyanna Was ExpectedXVII. When Pollyanna CameXVIII. A Matter Of AdjustmentXIX. Two LettersXX. The Paying GuestsXXI. Summer DaysXXII. ComradesXXIII. "Tied To Two Sticks"XXIV. Jimmy Wakes UpXXV. The Game And PollyannaXXVI. John PendletonXXVII. The Day Pollyanna Did Not PlayXXVIII. Jimmy And JamieXXIX. Jimmy And JohnXXX. John Pendleton Turns The KeyXXXI. After Long YearsXXXII. A New Aladdin

  LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

  "Jimmy looked down at the wistful, eager face""'Oh, my! What a perfectly lovely automobile!'""Twice again, after short intervals, she trod the fascinating way""It was a wonderful hour""'I don't know her name yet, but I know HER, so it's all right'""'The instrument that you play on, Pollyanna, will be the great heart of the world'""Involuntarily she turned as if to flee""'I'm glad, GLAD, _GLAD_ for--everything now!'"

  CHAPTER I

  DELLA SPEAKS HER MIND

  Della Wetherby tripped up the somewhat imposing steps of her sister'sCommonwealth Avenue home and pressed an energetic finger against theelectric-bell button. From the tip of her wing-trimmed hat to the toeof her low-heeled shoe she radiated health, capability, and alertdecision. Even her voice, as she greeted the maid that opened thedoor, vibrated with the joy of living.

  "Good morning, Mary. Is my sister in?"

  "Y-yes, ma'am, Mrs. Carew is in," hesitated the girl; "but--she gaveorders she'd see no one."

  "Did she? Well, I'm no one," smiled Miss Wetherby, "so she'll see me.Don't worry--I'll take the blame," she nodded, in answer to thefrightened remonstrance in the girl's eyes. "Where is she--in hersitting-room?"

  "Y-yes, ma'am; but--that is, she said--" Miss Wetherby, however, wasalready halfway up the broad stairway; and, with a despairing backwardglance, the maid turned away.

  In the hall above Della Wetherby unhesitatingly walked toward ahalf-open door, and knocked.

  "Well, Mary," answered a "dear-me-what-now" voice. "Haven't I--Oh,Della!" The voice grew suddenly warm with love and surprise. "You deargirl, where did you come from?"

  "Yes, it's Della," smiled that young woman, blithely, already halfwayacross the room. "I've come from an over-Sunday at the beach with twoof the other nurses, and I'm on my way back to the Sanatorium now.That is, I'm here now, but I sha'n't be long. I stepped in for--this,"she finished, giving the owner of the "dear-me-what-now" voice ahearty kiss.

  Mrs. Carew frowned and drew back a little coldly. The slight touch ofjoy and animation that had come into her face fled, leaving only adispirited fretfulness that was plainly very much at home there.

  "Oh, of course! I might have known," she said. "You never stay--here."

  "Here!" Della Wetherby laughed merrily, and threw up her hands; then,abruptly, her voice and manner changed. She regarded her sister withgrave, tender eyes. "Ruth, dear, I couldn't--I just couldn't live inthis house. You know I couldn't," she finished gently.

  Mrs. Carew stirred irritably.

  "I'm sure I don't see why not," she fenced.

  Della Wetherby shook her head.

  "Yes, you do, dear. You know I'm entirely out of sympathy with it all:the gloom, the lack of aim, the insistence on misery and bitterness."

  "But I AM miserable and bitter."

  "You ought not to be."

  "Why not? What have I to make me otherwise?"

  Della Wetherby gave an impatient gesture.

  "Ruth, look here," she challenged. "You're thirty-three years old. Youhave good health--or would have, if you treated yourself properly--andyou certainly have an abundance of time and a superabundance of money.Surely anybody would say you ought to find SOMETHING to do thisglorious morning besides sitting moped up in this tomb-like house withinstructions to the maid that you'll see no one."

  "But I don't WANT to see anybody."

  "Then I'd MAKE myself want to."

  Mrs. Carew sighed wearily and turned away her head.

  "Oh, Della, why won't you ever understand? I'm not like you. Ican't--forget."

  A swift pain crossed the younger woman's face.

  "You mean--Jamie, I suppose. I don't forget--that, dear. I couldn't,of course. But moping won't help us--find him."

  "As if I hadn't TRIED to find him, for eight long years--and bysomething besides moping," flashed Mrs. Carew, indignantly, with a sobin her voice.

  "Of course you have, dear," soothed the other, quickly; "and we shallkeep on hunting, both of us, till we do find him--or die. But THISsort of thing doesn't help."

  "But I don't want to do--anything else," murmured Ruth Carew,drearily.

  For a moment there was silence. The younger woman sat regarding hersister with troubled, disapproving eyes.

  "Ruth," she said, at last, with a touch of exasperation, "forgive me,but--are you always going to be like this? You're widowed, I'll admit;but your married life lasted only a year, and your husband was mucholder than yourself. You were little more than a child at the time,and that one short year can't seem much more than a dream now. Surelythat ought not to embitter your whole life!"

  "No, oh, no," murmured Mrs. Carew, still drearily.

  "Then ARE you going to be always like this?"

  "Well, of course, if I could find Jamie--"

  "Yes, yes, I know; but, Ruth, dear, isn't there anything in the worldbut Jamie--to make you ANY happy?"

  "There doesn't seem to be, that I can think of," sighed Mrs. Carew,indifferently.

  "Ruth!" ejaculated her sister, stung into something very like anger.Then suddenly she laughed. "Oh, Ruth, Ruth, I'd like to give you adose of Pollyanna. I don't know any one who needs it more!"

  Mrs. Carew stiffened a little.

  "Well, what pollyanna may be I don't know, but whatever it is, I don'twant it," she retorted sharply, nettled in her turn. "This isn't yourbeloved Sanatorium, and I'm not your patient to be dosed and bossed,please remember."

  Della Wetherby's eyes danced, but her lips remained unsmiling.

  "Pollyanna isn't a medicine, my dear," she said demurely, "--though Ihave heard some people call her a tonic. Pollyanna is a little girl."

  "A child? Well, how should I know," retorted the other, stillaggrievedly. "You have your 'belladonna,' so I'm sure I don't see whynot 'pollyanna.' Besides, you're always recommending something for meto take, and you distinctly said 'dose'--and dose usually meansmedicine, of a sort."

  "Well, Pollyanna IS a medicine--of a sort," smiled Della. "Anyway, theSanatorium doctors all declare that she's better than any medicinethey can give. She's a little girl, Ruth, twelve or thirteen yearsold, who was at the Sanatorium all last summer and most of the winter.I didn't see her but a month or two, for she left soon after Iarrived. But that was long enough for me to come fully under herspell. Besides, the whole Sanatorium is still talking Pollyanna, andplaying her game."

  "GAME!"

  "Yes," nodded Della, with a curious smile. "Her 'glad game.' I'llnever forget my first introduction to it. One feature of her treatm
entwas particularly disagreeable and even painful. It came every Tuesdaymorning, and very soon after my arrival it fell to my lot to give itto her. I was dreading it, for I knew from past experience with otherchildren what to expect: fretfulness and tears, if nothing worse. Tomy unbounded amazement she greeted me with a smile and said she wasglad to see me; and, if you'll believe it, there was never so much asa whimper from her lips through the whole ordeal, though I knew I washurting her cruelly.

  "I fancy I must have said something that showed my surprise, for sheexplained earnestly: 'Oh, yes, I used to feel that way, too, and I diddread it so, till I happened to think 'twas just like Nancy'swash-days, and I could be gladdest of all on TUESDAYS, 'cause therewouldn't be another one for a whole week.'"

  "Why, how extraordinary!" frowned Mrs. Carew, not quite comprehending."But, I'm sure I don't see any GAME to that."

  "No, I didn't, till later. Then she told me. It seems she was themotherless daughter of a poor minister in the West, and was brought upby the Ladies' Aid Society and missionary barrels. When she was a tinygirl she wanted a doll, and confidently expected it in the nextbarrel; but there turned out to be nothing but a pair of littlecrutches.

  "The child cried, of course, and it was then that her father taughther the game of hunting for something to be glad about, in everythingthat happened; and he said she could begin right then by being gladshe didn't NEED the crutches. That was the beginning. Pollyanna saidit was a lovely game, and she'd been playing it ever since; and thatthe harder it was to find the glad part, the more fun it was, onlywhen it was too AWFUL hard, like she had found it sometimes."

  "Why, how extraordinary!" murmured Mrs. Carew, still not entirelycomprehending.

  "You'd think so--if you could see the results of that game in theSanatorium," nodded Della; "and Dr. Ames says he hears she'srevolutionized the whole town where she came from, just the same way.He knows Dr. Chilton very well--the man that married Pollyanna's aunt.And, by the way, I believe that marriage was one of her ministrations.She patched up an old lovers' quarrel between them.

  "You see, two years ago, or more, Pollyanna's father died, and thelittle girl was sent East to this aunt. In October she was hurt by anautomobile, and was told she could never walk again. In April Dr.Chilton sent her to the Sanatorium, and she was there till lastMarch--almost a year. She went home practically cured. You should haveseen the child! There was just one cloud to mar her happiness: thatshe couldn't WALK all the way there. As near as I can gather, thewhole town turned out to meet her with brass bands and banners.

  "But you can't TELL about Pollyanna. One has to SEE her. And that'swhy I say I wish you could have a dose of Pollyanna. It would do you aworld of good."

  Mrs. Carew lifted her chin a little.

  "Really, indeed, I must say I beg to differ with you," she returnedcoldly. "I don't care to be 'revolutionized,' and I have no lovers'quarrel to be patched up; and if there is ANYTHING that would beinsufferable to me, it would be a little Miss Prim with a long facepreaching to me how much I had to be thankful for. I never couldbear--" But a ringing laugh interrupted her.

  "Oh, Ruth, Ruth," choked her sister, gleefully. "Miss Prim,indeed--POLLYANNA! Oh, oh, if only you could see that child now! Butthere, I might have known. I SAID one couldn't TELL about Pollyanna.And of course you won't be apt to see her. But--Miss Prim, indeed!"And off she went into another gale of laughter. Almost at once,however, she sobered and gazed at her sister with the old troubledlook in her eyes.

  "Seriously, dear, can't anything be done?" she pleaded. "You ought notto waste your life like this. Won't you try to get out a little more,and--meet people?"

  "Why should I, when I don't want to? I'm tired of--people. You knowsociety always bored me."

  "Then why not try some sort of work--charity?"

  Mrs. Carew gave an impatient gesture.

  "Della, dear, we've been all over this before. I do give money--lotsof it, and that's enough. In fact, I'm not sure but it's too much. Idon't believe in pauperizing people."

  "But if you'd give a little of yourself, dear," ventured Della,gently. "If you could only get interested in something outside of yourown life, it would help so much; and--"

  "Now, Della, dear," interrupted the elder sister, restively, "I loveyou, and I love to have you come here; but I simply cannot endurebeing preached to. It's all very well for you to turn yourself into anangel of mercy and give cups of cold water, and bandage up brokenheads, and all that. Perhaps YOU can forget Jamie that way; but Icouldn't. It would only make me think of him all the more, wonderingif HE had any one to give him water and bandage up his head. Besides,the whole thing would be very distasteful to me--mixing with all sortsand kinds of people like that."

  "Did you ever try it?"

  "Why, no, of course not!" Mrs. Carew's voice was scornfully indignant.

  "Then how can you know--till you do try?" asked the young nurse,rising to her feet a little wearily. "But I must go, dear. I'm to meetthe girls at the South Station. Our train goes at twelve-thirty. I'msorry if I've made you cross with me," she finished, as she kissed hersister good-by.

  "I'm not cross with you, Della," sighed Mrs. Carew; "but if you onlywould understand!"

  One minute later Della Wetherby made her way through the silent,gloomy halls, and out to the street. Face, step, and manner were verydifferent from what they had been when she tripped up the steps lessthan half an hour before. All the alertness, the springiness, the joyof living were gone. For half a block she listlessly dragged one footafter the other. Then, suddenly, she threw back her head and drew along breath.

  "One week in that house would kill me," she shuddered. "I don'tbelieve even Pollyanna herself could so much as make a dent in thegloom! And the only thing she could be glad for there would be thatshe didn't have to stay."

  That this avowed disbelief in Pollyanna's ability to bring about achange for the better in Mrs. Carew's home was not Della Wetherby'sreal opinion, however, was quickly proved; for no sooner had the nursereached the Sanatorium than she learned something that sent her flyingback over the fifty-mile journey to Boston the very next day.

  So exactly as before did she find circumstances at her sister's homethat it seemed almost as if Mrs. Carew had not moved since she lefther.

  "Ruth," she burst out eagerly, after answering her sister's surprisedgreeting, "I just HAD to come, and you must, this once, yield to meand let me have my way. Listen! You can have that little Pollyannahere, I think, if you will."

  "But I won't," returned Mrs. Carew, with chilly promptness.

  Della Wetherby did not seem to have heard. She plunged on excitedly.

  "When I got back yesterday I found that Dr. Ames had had a letter fromDr. Chilton, the one who married Pollyanna's aunt, you know. Well, itseems in it he said he was going to Germany for the winter for aspecial course, and was going to take his wife with him, if he couldpersuade her that Pollyanna would be all right in some boarding schoolhere meantime. But Mrs. Chilton didn't want to leave Pollyanna in justa school, and so he was afraid she wouldn't go. And now, Ruth, there'sour chance. I want YOU to take Pollyanna this winter, and let her goto some school around here."

  "What an absurd idea, Della! As if I wanted a child here to botherwith!"

  "She won't bother a bit. She must be nearly or quite thirteen by thistime, and she's the most capable little thing you ever saw."

  "I don't like 'capable' children," retorted Mrs. Carew perversely--butshe laughed; and because she did laugh, her sister took sudden courageand redoubled her efforts.

  Perhaps it was the suddenness of the appeal, or the novelty of it.Perhaps it was because the story of Pollyanna had somehow touched RuthCarew's heart. Perhaps it was only her unwillingness to refuse hersister's impassioned plea. Whatever it was that finally turned thescale, when Della Wetherby took her hurried leave half an hour later,she carried with her Ruth Carew's promise to receive Pollyanna intoher home.

  "But just remember," Mrs. Carew warned her at parting, "just remembe
rthat the minute that child begins to preach to me and to tell me tocount my mercies, back she goes to you, and you may do what you pleasewith her. _I_ sha'n't keep her!"

  "I'll remember--but I'm not worrying any," nodded the younger woman,in farewell. To herself she whispered, as she hurried away from thehouse: "Half my job is done. Now for the other half--to get Pollyannato come. But she's just got to come. I'll write that letter so theycan't help letting her come!"