POLLYANNA & Its Sequel, Pollyanna Grows Up. Элинор Портер

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      Chapter XI.

       Introducing Jimmy

       Table of Contents

      August came. August brought several surprises and some changes—none of which, however, were really a surprise to Nancy. Nancy, since Pollyanna’s arrival, had come to look for surprises and changes.

      First there was the kitten.

      Pollyanna found the kitten mewing pitifully some distance down the road. When systematic questioning of the neighbors failed to find any one who claimed it, Pollyanna brought it home at once, as a matter of course.

      “And I was glad I didn’t find any one who owned it, too,” she told her aunt in happy confidence; “‘cause I wanted to bring it home all the time. I love kitties. I knew you’d be glad to let it live here.”

      Miss Polly looked at the forlorn little gray bunch of neglected misery in Pollyanna’s arms, and shivered: Miss Polly did not care for cats—not even pretty, healthy, clean ones.

      “Ugh! Pollyanna! What a dirty little beast! And it’s sick, I’m sure, and all mangy and fleay.”

      “I know it, poor little thing,” crooned Pollyanna, tenderly, looking into the little creature’s frightened eyes. “And it’s all trembly, too, it’s so scared. You see it doesn’t know, yet, that we’re going to keep it, of course.”

      “No—nor anybody else,” retorted Miss Polly, with meaning emphasis.

      “Oh, yes, they do,” nodded Pollyanna, entirely misunderstanding her aunt’s words. “I told everybody we should keep it, if I didn’t find where it belonged. I knew you’d be glad to have it—poor little lonesome thing!”

      Miss Polly opened her lips and tried to speak; but in vain. The curious helpless feeling that had been hers so often since Pollyanna’s arrival, had her now fast in its grip.

      “Of course I knew,” hurried on Pollyanna, gratefully, “that you wouldn’t let a dear little lonesome kitty go hunting for a home when you’d just taken ME in; and I said so to Mrs. Ford when she asked if you’d let me keep it. Why, I had the Ladies’ Aid, you know, and kitty didn’t have anybody. I knew you’d feel that way,” she nodded happily, as she ran from the room.

      “But, Pollyanna, Pollyanna,” remonstrated Miss Polly. “I don’t—” But Pollyanna was already halfway to the kitchen, calling:

      “Nancy, Nancy, just see this dear little kitty that Aunt Polly is going to bring up along with me!” And Aunt Polly, in the sitting room—who abhorred cats—fell back in her chair with a gasp of dismay, powerless to remonstrate.

      The next day it was a dog, even dirtier and more forlorn, perhaps, than was the kitten; and again Miss Polly, to her dumfounded amazement, found herself figuring as a kind protector and an angel of mercy—a role that Pollyanna so unhesitatingly thrust upon her as a matter of course, that the woman—who abhorred dogs even more than she did cats, if possible—found herself as before, powerless to remonstrate.

      When, in less than a week, however, Pollyanna brought home a small, ragged boy, and confidently claimed the same protection for him, Miss Polly did have something to say. It happened after this wise.

      On a pleasant Thursday morning Pollyanna had been taking calf’s-foot jelly again to Mrs. Snow. Mrs. Snow and Pollyanna were the best of friends now. Their friendship had started from the third visit Pollyanna had made, the one after she had told Mrs. Snow of the game. Mrs. Snow herself was playing the game now, with Pollyanna. To be sure, she was not playing it very well—she had been sorry for everything for so long, that it was not easy to be glad for anything now. But under Pollyanna’s cheery instructions and merry laughter at her mistakes, she was learning fast. To-day, even, to Pollyanna’s huge delight, she had said that she was glad Pollyanna brought calf’s-foot jelly, because that was just what she had been wanting—she did not know that Milly, at the front door, had told Pollyanna that the minister’s wife had already that day sent over a great bowlful of that same kind of jelly.

      Pollyanna was thinking of this now when suddenly she saw the boy.

      The boy was sitting in a disconsolate little heap by the roadside, whittling half-heartedly at a small stick.

      “Hullo,” smiled Pollyanna, engagingly.

      The boy glanced up, but he looked away again, at once.

      “Hullo yourself,” he mumbled.

      Pollyanna laughed.

      “Now you don’t look as if you’d be glad even for calf’s-foot jelly,” she chuckled, stopping before him.

      The boy stirred restlessly, gave her a surprised look, and began to whittle again at his stick, with the dull, broken-bladed knife in his hand.

      Pollyanna hesitated, then dropped herself comfortably down on the grass near him. In spite of Pollyanna’s brave assertion that she was “used to Ladies’ Aiders,” and “didn’t mind,” she had sighed at times for some companion of her own age. Hence her determination to make the most of this one.

      “My name’s Pollyanna Whittier,” she began pleasantly. “What’s yours?”

      Again the boy stirred restlessly. He even almost got to his feet. But he settled back.

      “Jimmy Bean,” he grunted with ungracious indifference.

      “Good! Now we’re introduced. I’m glad you did your part—some folks don’t, you know. I live at Miss Polly Harrington’s house. Where do you live?”

      “Nowhere.”

      “Nowhere! Why, you can’t do that—everybody lives somewhere,” asserted Pollyanna.

      “Well, I don’t—just now. I’m huntin’ up a new place.”

      “Oh! Where is it?”

      The boy regarded her with scornful eyes.

      “Silly! As if I’d be a-huntin’ for it—if I knew!”

      Pollyanna tossed her head a little. This was not a nice boy, and she did not like to be called “silly.” Still, he was somebody besides—old folks. “Where did you live—before?” she queried.

      “Well, if you ain’t the beat’em for askin’ questions!” sighed the boy impatiently.

      “I have to be,” retorted Pollyanna calmly, “else I couldn’t find out a thing about you. If you’d talk more I wouldn’t talk so much.”

      The boy gave a short laugh. It was a sheepish laugh, and not quite a willing one; but his face looked a little pleasanter when he spoke this time.

      “All right then—here goes! I’m Jimmy Bean, and I’m ten years old goin’ on eleven. I come last year ter live at the Orphans’ Home; but they’ve got so many kids there ain’t much room for me, an’ I wa’n’t never wanted, anyhow, I don’t believe. So I’ve quit. I’m goin’ ter live somewheres else—but I hain’t found the place, yet. I’d СКАЧАТЬ