CHAPTER XI
A SURPRISE FOR MRS. CAREW
The matter of repairs and improvements having been properly andefficiently attended to, Mrs. Carew told herself that she had done herduty, and that the matter was closed. She would forget it. The boy wasnot Jamie--he could not be Jamie. That ignorant, sickly, crippled boyher dead sister's son? Impossible! She would cast the whole thing fromher thoughts.
It was just here, however, that Mrs. Carew found herself against animmovable, impassable barrier: the whole thing refused to be cast fromher thoughts. Always before her eyes was the picture of that barelittle room and the wistful-faced boy. Always in her ears was thatheartbreaking "What if it WERE Jamie?" And always, too, there wasPollyanna; for even though Mrs. Carew might (as she did) silence thepleadings and questionings of the little girl's tongue, there was nogetting away from the prayers and reproaches of the little girl'seyes.
Twice again in desperation Mrs. Carew went to see the boy, tellingherself each time that only another visit was needed to convince herthat the boy was not the one she sought. But, even though while therein the boy's presence, she told herself that she WAS convinced, onceaway from it, the old, old questioning returned. At last, in stillgreater desperation, she wrote to her sister, and told her the wholestory.
"I had not meant to tell you," she wrote, after she had stated thebare facts of the case. "I thought it a pity to harrow you up, or toraise false hopes. I am so sure it is not he--and yet, even as I writethese words, I know I am NOT sure. That is why I want you to come--whyyou must come. I must have you see him.
"I wonder--oh, I wonder what you'll say! Of course we haven't seen ourJamie since he was four years old. He would be twelve now. This boy istwelve, I should judge. (He doesn't know his age.) He has hair andeyes not unlike our Jamie's. He is crippled, but that condition cameupon him through a fall, six years ago, and was made worse throughanother one four years later. Anything like a complete description ofhis father's appearance seems impossible to obtain; but what I havelearned contains nothing conclusive either for or against his beingpoor Doris's husband. He was called 'the Professor,' was very queer,and seemed to own nothing save a few books. This might, or might notsignify. John Kent was certainly always queer, and a good deal of aBohemian in his tastes. Whether he cared for books or not I don'tremember. Do you? And of course the title 'Professor' might easilyhave been assumed, if he wished, or it might have been merely givenhim by others. As for this boy--I don't know, I don't know--but I dohope YOU will!
"Your distracted sister,
"RUTH."
Della came at once, and she went immediately to see the boy; but shedid not "know." Like her sister, she said she did not think it wastheir Jamie, but at the same time there was that chance--it might behe, after all. Like Pollyanna, however, she had what she thought was avery satisfactory way out of the dilemma.
"But why don't you take him, dear?" she proposed to her sister. "Whydon't you take him and adopt him? It would be lovely for him--poorlittle fellow--and--" But Mrs. Carew shuddered and would not even lether finish.
"No, no, I can't, I can't!" she moaned. "I want my Jamie, my ownJamie--or no one." And with a sigh Della gave it up and went back toher nursing.
If Mrs. Carew thought that this closed the matter, however, she wasagain mistaken; for her days were still restless, and her nights werestill either sleepless or filled with dreams of a "may be" or a "mightbe" masquerading as an "it is so." She was, moreover, having adifficult time with Pollyanna.
Pollyanna was puzzled. She was filled with questionings and unrest.For the first time in her life Pollyanna had come face to face withreal poverty. She knew people who did not have enough to eat, who woreragged clothing, and who lived in dark, dirty, and very tiny rooms.Her first impulse, of course, had been "to help." With Mrs. Carew shemade two visits to Jamie, and greatly did she rejoice at the changedconditions she found there after "that man Dodge" had "tended tothings." But this, to Pollyanna, was a mere drop in the bucket. Therewere yet all those other sick-looking men, unhappy-looking women, andragged children out in the street--Jamie's neighbors. Confidently shelooked to Mrs. Carew for help for them, also.
"Indeed!" exclaimed Mrs. Carew, when she learned what was expected ofher, "so you want the whole street to be supplied with fresh paper,paint, and new stairways, do you? Pray, is there anything else you'dlike?"
"Oh, yes, lots of things," sighed Pollyanna, happily. "You see, thereare so many things they need--all of them! And what fun it will be toget them! How I wish I was rich so I could help, too; but I'm 'most asglad to be with you when you get them."
Mrs. Carew quite gasped aloud in her amazement. She lost notime--though she did lose not a little patience--in explaining thatshe had no intention of doing anything further in "Murphy's Alley,"and that there was no reason why she should. No one would expect herto. She had canceled all possible obligations, and had even beenreally very generous, any one would say, in what she had done for thetenement where lived Jamie and the Murphys. (That she owned thetenement building she did not think it necessary to state.) At somelength she explained to Pollyanna that there were charitableinstitutions, both numerous and efficient, whose business it was toaid all the worthy poor, and that to these institutions she gavefrequently and liberally.
Even then, however, Pollyanna was not convinced.
"But I don't see," she argued, "why it's any better, or even so nice,for a whole lot of folks to club together and do what everybody wouldlike to do for themselves. I'm sure I'd much rather give Jamie a--anice book, now, than to have some old Society do it; and I KNOW he'dlike better to have me do it, too."
"Very likely," returned Mrs. Carew, with some weariness and a littleexasperation. "But it is just possible that it would not be so wellfor Jamie as--as if that book were given by a body of people who knewwhat sort of one to select."
This led her to say much, also (none of which Pollyanna in the leastunderstood), about "pauperizing the poor," the "evils ofindiscriminate giving," and the "pernicious effect of unorganizedcharity."
"Besides," she added, in answer to the still perplexed expression onPollyanna's worried little face, "very likely if I offered help tothese people they would not take it. You remember Mrs. Murphydeclined, at the first, to let me send food and clothing--though theyaccepted it readily enough from their neighbors on the first floor, itseems."
"Yes, I know," sighed Pollyanna, turning away. "There's somethingthere somehow that I don't understand. But it doesn't seem right thatWE should have such a lot of nice things, and that THEY shouldn't haveanything, hardly."
As the days passed, this feeling on the part of Pollyanna increasedrather than diminished; and the questions she asked and the commentsshe made were anything but a relief to the state of mind in which Mrs.Carew herself was. Even the test of the glad game, in this case,Pollyanna was finding to be very near a failure; for, as she expressedit:
"I don't see how you can find anything about this poor-people businessto be glad for. Of course we can be glad for ourselves that we aren'tpoor like them; but whenever I'm thinking how glad I am for that, Iget so sorry for them that I CAN'T be glad any longer. Of course weCOULD be glad there were poor folks, because we could help them. Butif we DON'T help them, where's the glad part of that coming in?" Andto this Pollyanna could find no one who could give her a satisfactoryanswer.
Especially she asked this question of Mrs. Carew; and Mrs. Carew,still haunted by the visions of the Jamie that was, and the Jamie thatmight be, grew only more restless, more wretched, and more utterlydespairing. Nor was she helped any by the approach of Christmas.Nowhere was there glow of holly or flash of tinsel that did not carryits pang to her; for always to Mrs. Carew it but symbolized a child'sempty stocking--a stocking that might be--Jamie's.
Finally, a week before Christmas, she fought what she thought was thelast battle with herself. Resolutely, but with no real joy in herface, she gave terse orde
rs to Mary, and summoned Pollyanna.
"Pollyanna," she began, almost harshly, "I have decided to--to takeJamie. The car will be here at once. I'm going after him now, andbring him home. You may come with me if you like."
A great light transfigured Pollyanna's face.
"Oh, oh, oh, how glad I am!" she breathed. "Why, I'm so glad I--I wantto cry! Mrs. Carew, why is it, when you're the very gladdest ofanything, you always want to cry?"
"I don't know, I'm sure, Pollyanna," rejoined Mrs. Carew,abstractedly. On Mrs. Carew's face there was still no look of joy.
Once in the Murphys' little one-room tenement, it did not take Mrs.Carew long to tell her errand. In a few short sentences she told thestory of the lost Jamie, and of her first hopes that this Jamie mightbe he. She made no secret of her doubts that he was the one; at thesame time, she said she had decided to take him home with her and givehim every possible advantage. Then, a little wearily, she told whatwere the plans she had made for him.
At the foot of the bed Mrs. Murphy listened, crying softly. Across theroom Jerry Murphy, his eyes dilating, emitted an occasional low "Gee!Can ye beat that, now?" As to Jamie--Jamie, on the bed, had listenedat first with the air of one to whom suddenly a door has opened into alonged-for paradise; but gradually, as Mrs. Carew talked, a new lookcame to his eyes. Very slowly he closed them, and turned away hisface.
When Mrs. Carew ceased speaking there was a long silence before Jamieturned his head and answered. They saw then that his face was verywhite, and that his eyes were full of tears.
"Thank you, Mrs. Carew, but--I can't go," he said simply.
"You can't--what?" cried Mrs. Carew, as if she doubted the evidence ofher own ears.
"Jamie!" gasped Pollyanna.
"Oh, come, kid, what's eatin' ye?" scowled Jerry, hurriedly comingforward. "Don't ye know a good thing when ye see it?"
"Yes; but I can't--go," said the crippled boy, again.
"But, Jamie, Jamie, think, THINK what it would mean to you!" quaveredMrs. Murphy, at the foot of the bed.
"I am a-thinkin'," choked Jamie. "Don't you suppose I know what I'mdoin'--what I'm givin' up?" Then to Mrs. Carew he turned tear-weteyes. "I can't," he faltered. "I can't let you do all that for me. Ifyou--CARED it would be different. But you don't care--not really. Youdon't WANT me--not ME. You want the real Jamie, and I ain't the realJamie. You don't think I am. I can see it in your face."
"I know. But--but--" began Mrs. Carew, helplessly.
"And it isn't as if--as if I was like other boys, and could walk,either," interrupted the cripple, feverishly. "You'd get tired of mein no time. And I'd see it comin'. I couldn't stand it--to be a burdenlike that. Of course, if you CARED--like mumsey here--" He threw outhis hand, choked back a sob, then turned his head away again. "I'm notthe Jamie you want. I--can't--go," he said. With the words his thin,boyish hand fell clenched till the knuckles showed white against thetattered old shawl that covered the bed.
There was a moment's breathless hush, then, very quietly, Mrs. Carewgot to her feet. Her face was colorless; but there was that in it thatsilenced the sob that rose to Pollyanna's lips.
"Come, Pollyanna," was all she said.
"Well, if you ain't the fool limit!" babbled Jerry Murphy to the boyon the bed, as the door closed a moment later.
But the boy on the bed was crying very much as if the closing door hadbeen the one that had led to paradise--and that had closed nowforever.