CHAPTER XXV
THE GAME AND POLLYANNA
Before the middle of September the Carews and Sadie Dean said good-byand went back to Boston. Much as she knew she would miss them,Pollyanna drew an actual sigh of relief as the train bearing them awayrolled out of the Beldingsville station. Pollyanna would not haveadmitted having this feeling of relief to any one else, and even toherself she apologized in her thoughts.
"It isn't that I don't love them dearly, every one of them," shesighed, watching the train disappear around the curve far down thetrack. "It's only that--that I'm so sorry for poor Jamie all the time;and--and--I am tired. I shall be glad, for a while, just to go back tothe old quiet days with Jimmy."
Pollyanna, however, did not go back to the old quiet days with Jimmy.The days that immediately followed the going of the Carews were quiet,certainly, but they were not passed "with Jimmy." Jimmy rarely camenear the house now, and when he did call, he was not the old Jimmythat she used to know. He was moody, restless, and silent, or elsevery gay and talkative in a nervous fashion that was most puzzling andannoying. Before long, too, he himself went to Boston; and then ofcourse she did not see him at all.
Pollyanna was surprised then to see how much she missed him. Even toknow that he was in town, and that there was a chance that he mightcome over, was better than the dreary emptiness of certain absence;and even his puzzling moods of alternating gloominess and gayety werepreferable to this utter silence of nothingness. Then, one day,suddenly she pulled herself up with hot cheeks and shamed eyes.
"Well, Pollyanna Whittier," she upbraided herself sharply, "one wouldthink you were in LOVE with Jimmy Bean Pendleton! Can't you think ofANYTHING but him?"
Whereupon, forthwith, she bestirred herself to be very gay and livelyindeed, and to put this Jimmy Bean Pendleton out of her thoughts. Asit happened, Aunt Polly, though unwittingly, helped her to this.
With the going of the Carews had gone also their chief source ofimmediate income, and Aunt Polly was beginning to worry again,audibly, about the state of their finances.
"I don't know, really, Pollyanna, what IS going to become of us," shewould moan frequently. "Of course we are a little ahead now from thissummer's work, and we have a small sum from the estate right along;but I never know how soon that's going to stop, like all the rest. Ifonly we could do something to bring in some ready cash!"
It was after one of these moaning lamentations one day thatPollyanna's eyes chanced to fall on a prize-story contest offer. Itwas a most alluring one. The prizes were large and numerous. Theconditions were set forth in glowing terms. To read it, one wouldthink that to win out were the easiest thing in the world. Itcontained even a special appeal that might have been framed forPollyanna herself.
"This is for you--you who read this," it ran. "What if you never havewritten a story before! That is no sign you cannot write one. Try it.That's all. Wouldn't YOU like three thousand dollars? Two thousand?One thousand? Five hundred, or even one hundred? Then why not go afterit?"
"The very thing!" cried Pollyanna, clapping her hands. "I'm so glad Isaw it! And it says I can do it, too. I thought I could, if I'd justtry. I'll go tell auntie, so she needn't worry any more."
Pollyanna was on her feet and half way to the door when a secondthought brought her steps to a pause.
"Come to think of it, I reckon I won't, after all. It'll be all thenicer to surprise her; and if I SHOULD get the first one--!"
Pollyanna went to sleep that night planning what she COULD do withthat three thousand dollars.
Pollyanna began her story the next day. That is, she, with a veryimportant air, got out a quantity of paper, sharpened up half-a-dozenpencils, and established herself at the big old-fashioned Harringtondesk in the living-room. After biting restlessly at the ends of two ofher pencils, she wrote down three words on the fair white page beforeher. Then she drew a long sigh, threw aside the second ruined pencil,and picked up a slender green one with a beautiful point. This pointshe eyed with a meditative frown.
"O dear! I wonder WHERE they get their titles," she despaired. "Maybe,though, I ought to decide on the story first, and then make a title tofit. Anyhow, I'M going to do it." And forthwith she drew a black linethrough the three words and poised the pencil for a fresh start.
The start was not made at once, however. Even when it was made, itmust have been a false one, for at the end of half an hour the wholepage was nothing but a jumble of scratched-out lines, with only a fewwords here and there left to tell the tale.
At this juncture Aunt Polly came into the room. She turned tired eyesupon her niece.
"Well, Pollyanna, what ARE you up to now?" she demanded.
Pollyanna laughed and colored guiltily.
"Nothing much, auntie. Anyhow, it doesn't look as if it weremuch--yet," she admitted, with a rueful smile. "Besides, it's asecret, and I'm not going to tell it yet."
"Very well; suit yourself," sighed Aunt Polly. "But I can tell youright now that if you're trying to make anything different out ofthose mortgage papers Mr. Hart left, it's useless. I've been all overthem myself twice."
"No, dear, it isn't the papers. It's a whole heap nicer than anypapers ever could be," crowed Pollyanna triumphantly, turning back toher work. In Pollyanna's eyes suddenly had risen a glowing vision ofwhat it might be, with that three thousand dollars once hers.
For still another half-hour Pollyanna wrote and scratched, and chewedher pencils; then, with her courage dulled, but not destroyed, shegathered up her papers and pencils and left the room.
"I reckon maybe I'll do better by myself up-stairs," she was thinkingas she hurried through the hall. "I THOUGHT I ought to do it at adesk--being literary work, so--but anyhow, the desk didn't help me anythis morning. I'll try the window seat in my room."
The window seat, however, proved to be no more inspiring, judging bythe scratched and re-scratched pages that fell from Pollyanna's hands;and at the end of another half-hour Pollyanna discovered suddenly thatit was time to get dinner.
"Well, I'm glad 'tis, anyhow," she sighed to herself. "I'd a lotrather get dinner than do this. Not but that I WANT to do this, ofcourse; only I'd no idea 'twas such an awful job--just a story, so!"
During the following month Pollyanna worked faithfully, doggedly, butshe soon found that "just a story, so" was indeed no small matter toaccomplish. Pollyanna, however, was not one to set her hand to theplow and look back. Besides, there was that three-thousand-dollarprize, or even any of the others, if she should not happen to win thefirst one! Of course even one hundred dollars was something! So dayafter day she wrote and erased, and rewrote, until finally the story,such as it was, lay completed before her. Then, with some misgivings,it must be confessed, she took the manuscript to Milly Snow to betypewritten.
"It reads all right--that is, it makes sense," mused Pollyannadoubtfully, as she hurried along toward the Snow cottage; "and it's areal nice story about a perfectly lovely girl. But there's somethingsomewhere that isn't quite right about it, I'm afraid. Anyhow, I don'tbelieve I'd better count too much on the first prize; then I won't betoo much disappointed when I get one of the littler ones."
Pollyanna always thought of Jimmy when she went to the Snows', for itwas at the side of the road near their cottage that she had first seenhim as a forlorn little runaway lad from the Orphans' Home yearsbefore. She thought of him again to-day, with a little catch of herbreath. Then, with the proud lifting of her head that always came nowwith the second thought of Jimmy, she hurried up the Snows' doorstepsand rang the bell.
As was usually the case, the Snows had nothing but the warmest ofwelcomes for Pollyanna; and also as usual it was not long before theywere talking of the game: in no home in Beldingsville was the gladgame more ardently played than in the Snows'.
"Well, and how are you getting along?" asked Pollyanna, when she hadfinished the business part of her call.
"Splendidly!" beamed Milly Snow. "This is the third job I've got thisweek. Oh, Miss Pollyanna, I'm so glad you had me t
ake up typewriting,for you see I CAN do that right at home! And it's all owing to you."
"Nonsense!" disclaimed Pollyanna, merrily.
"But it is. In the first place, I couldn't have done it anyway if ithadn't been for the game--making mother so much better, you know, thatI had some time to myself. And then, at the very first, you suggestedtypewriting, and helped me to buy a machine. I should like to know ifthat doesn't come pretty near owing it all to you!"
But once again Pollyanna objected. This time she was interrupted byMrs. Snow from her wheel chair by the window. And so earnestly andgravely did Mrs. Snow speak, that Pollyanna, in spite of herself,could but hear what she had to say.
"Listen, child, I don't think you know quite what you've done. But Iwish you could! There's a little look in your eyes, my dear, to-day,that I don't like to see there. You are plagued and worried oversomething, I know. I can see it. And I don't wonder: your uncle'sdeath, your aunt's condition, everything--I won't say more about that.But there's something I do want to say, my dear, and you must let mesay it, for I can't bear to see that shadow in your eyes withouttrying to drive it away by telling you what you've done for me, forthis whole town, and for countless other people everywhere."
"MRS. SNOW!" protested Pollyanna, in genuine distress.
"Oh, I mean it, and I know what I'm talking about," nodded theinvalid, triumphantly. "To begin with, look at me. Didn't you find mea fretful, whining creature who never by any chance wanted what shehad until she found what she didn't have? And didn't you open my eyesby bringing me three kinds of things so I'd HAVE to have what Iwanted, for once?"
"Oh, Mrs. Snow, was I really ever quite so--impertinent as that?"murmured Pollyanna, with a painful blush.
"It wasn't impertinent," objected Mrs. Snow, stoutly. "You didn't MEANit as impertinence--and that made all the difference in the world. Youdidn't preach, either, my dear. If you had, you'd never have got me toplaying the game, nor anybody else, I fancy. But you did get me toplaying it--and see what it's done for me, and for Milly! Here I am somuch better that I can sit in a wheel chair and go anywhere on thisfloor in it. That means a whole lot when it comes to waiting onyourself, and giving those around you a chance to breathe--meaningMilly, in this case. And the doctor says it's all owing to the game.Then there's others, quantities of others, right in this town, thatI'm hearing of all the time. Nellie Mahoney broke her wrist and was soglad it wasn't her leg that she didn't mind the wrist at all. Old Mrs.Tibbits has lost her hearing, but she's so glad 'tisn't her eyesightthat she's actually happy. Do you remember cross-eyed Joe that theyused to call Cross Joe, be cause of his temper? Nothing went to suithim either, any more than it did me. Well, somebody's taught him thegame, they say, and made a different man of him. And listen, dear.It's not only this town, but other places. I had a letter yesterdayfrom my cousin in Massachusetts, and she told me all about Mrs. TomPayson that used to live here. Do you remember them? They lived on theway up Pendleton Hill."
"Yes, oh, yes, I remember them," cried Pollyanna.
"Well, they left here that winter you were in the Sanatorium and wentto Massachusetts where my sister lives. She knows them well. She saysMrs. Payson told her all about you, and how your glad game actuallysaved them from a divorce. And now not only do they play itthemselves, but they've got quite a lot of others playing it downthere, and THEY'RE getting still others. So you see, dear, there's notelling where that glad game of yours is going to stop. I wanted youto know. I thought it might help--even you to play the game sometimes;for don't think I don't understand, dearie, that it IS hard for you toplay your own game--sometimes."
Pollyanna rose to her feet. She smiled, but her eyes glistened withtears, as she held out her hand in good-by.
"Thank you, Mrs. Snow," she said unsteadily. "It IS hard--sometimes;and maybe I DID need a little help about my own game. But, anyhow,now--" her eyes flashed with their old merriment--"if any time I thinkI can't play the game myself I can remember that I can still always beGLAD there are some folks playing it!"
Pollyanna walked home a little soberly that afternoon. Touched as shewas by what Mrs. Snow had said, there was yet an undercurrent ofsadness in it all. She was thinking of Aunt Polly--Aunt Polly whoplayed the game now so seldom; and she was wondering if she herselfalways played it, when she might.
"Maybe I haven't been careful, always, to hunt up the glad side of thethings Aunt Polly says," she thought with undefined guiltiness; "andmaybe if I played the game better myself, Aunt Polly would play it--alittle. Anyhow I'm going to try. If I don't look out, all these otherpeople will be playing my own game better than I am myself!"