CHAPTER XXVI
JOHN PENDLETON
It was just a week before Christmas that Pollyanna sent her story (nowneatly typewritten) in for the contest. The prize-winners would not beannounced until April, the magazine notice said, so Pollyanna settledherself for the long wait with characteristic, philosophical patience.
"I don't know, anyhow, but I'm glad 'tis so long," she told herself,"for all winter I can have the fun of thinking it may be the first oneinstead of one of the others, that I'll get. I might just as wellthink I'm going to get it, then if I do get it, I won't have beenunhappy any. While if I don't get it--I won't have had all these weeksof unhappiness beforehand, anyway; and I can be glad for one of thesmaller ones, then." That she might not get any prize was not inPollyanna's calculations at all. The story, so beautifully typed byMilly Snow, looked almost as good as printed already--to Pollyanna.
Christmas was not a happy time at the Harrington homestead that year,in spite of Pollyanna's strenuous efforts to make it so. Aunt Pollyrefused absolutely to allow any sort of celebration of the day, andmade her attitude so unmistakably plain that Pollyanna could not giveeven the simplest of presents.
Christmas evening John Pendleton called. Mrs. Chilton excused herself,but Pollyanna, utterly worn out from a long day with her aunt,welcomed him joyously. But even here she found a fly in the amber ofher content; for John Pendleton had brought with him a letter fromJimmy, and the letter was full of nothing but the plans he and Mrs.Carew were making for a wonderful Christmas celebration at the Homefor Working Girls: and Pollyanna, ashamed though she was to own it toherself, was not in a mood to hear about Christmas celebrations justthen--least of all, Jimmy's.
John Pendleton, however, was not ready to let the subject drop, evenwhen the letter had been read.
"Great doings--those!" he exclaimed, as he folded the letter.
"Yes, indeed; fine!" murmured Pollyanna, trying to speak with dueenthusiasm.
"And it's to-night, too, isn't it? I'd like to drop in on them aboutnow."
"Yes," murmured Pollyanna again, with still more careful enthusiasm.
"Mrs. Carew knew what she was about when she got Jimmy to help her, Ifancy," chuckled the man. "But I'm wondering how Jimmy likesit--playing Santa Claus to half a hundred young women at once!"
"Why, he finds it delightful, of course!" Pollyanna lifted her chinever so slightly.
"Maybe. Still, it's a little different from learning to build bridges,you must confess."
"Oh, yes."
"But I'll risk Jimmy, and I'll risk wagering that those girls neverhad a better time than he'll give them to-night, too."
"Y-yes, of course," stammered Pollyanna, trying to keep the hatedtremulousness out of her voice, and trying very hard NOT to compareher own dreary evening in Beldingsville with nobody but John Pendletonto that of those fifty girls in Boston--with Jimmy.
There was a brief pause, during which John Pendleton gazed dreamily atthe dancing fire on the hearth.
"She's a wonderful woman--Mrs. Carew is," he said at last.
"She is, indeed!" This time the enthusiasm in Pollyanna's voice wasall pure gold.
"Jimmy's written me before something of what she's done for thosegirls," went on the man, still gazing into the fire. "In just the lastletter before this he wrote a lot about it, and about her. He said healways admired her, but never so much as now, when he can see what shereally is."
"She's a dear--that's what Mrs. Carew is," declared Pollyanna, warmly."She's a dear in every way, and I love her."
John Pendleton stirred suddenly. He turned to Pollyanna with an oddlywhimsical look in his eyes.
"I know you do, my dear. For that matter, there may be others,too--that love her."
Pollyanna's heart skipped a beat. A sudden thought came to her withstunning, blinding force. JIMMY! Could John Pendleton be meaning thatJimmy cared THAT WAY--for Mrs. Carew?
"You mean--?" she faltered. She could not finish.
With a nervous twitch peculiar to him, John Pendleton got to his feet.
"I mean--the girls, of course," he answered lightly, still with thatwhimsical smile. "Don't you suppose those fifty girls--love her 'mostto death?"
Pollyanna said "yes, of course," and murmured something elseappropriate, in answer to John Pendleton's next remark. But herthoughts were in a tumult, and she let the man do most of the talkingfor the rest of the evening.
Nor did John Pendleton seem averse to this. Restlessly he took a turnor two about the room, then sat down in his old place. And when hespoke, it was on his old subject, Mrs. Carew.
"Queer--about that Jamie of hers, isn't it? I wonder if he IS hernephew."
As Pollyanna did not answer, the man went on, after a moment'ssilence.
"He's a fine fellow, anyway. I like him. There's something fine andgenuine about him. She's bound up in him. That's plain to be seen,whether he's really her kin or not."
There was--another pause, then, in a slightly altered voice, JohnPendleton said:
"Still it's queer, too, when you come to think of it, that shenever--married again. She is certainly now--a very beautiful woman.Don't you think so?"
"Yes--yes, indeed she is," plunged in Pollyanna, with precipitatehaste; "a--a very beautiful woman."
There was a little break at the last in Pollyanna's voice. Pollyanna,just then, had caught sight of her own face in the mirroropposite--and Pollyanna to herself was never "a very beautiful woman."
On and on rambled John Pendleton, musingly, contentedly, his eyes onthe fire. Whether he was answered or not seemed not to disturb him.Whether he was even listened to or not, he seemed hardly to know. Hewanted, apparently, only to talk; but at last he got to his feetreluctantly and said good-night.
For a weary half-hour Pollyanna had been longing for him to go, thatshe might be alone; but after he had gone she wished he were back. Shehad found suddenly that she did not want to be alone--with herthoughts.
It was wonderfully clear to Pollyanna now. There was no doubt of it.Jimmy cared for Mrs. Carew. That was why he was so moody and restlessafter she left. That was why he had come so seldom to see her,Pollyanna, his old friend. That was why--
Countless little circumstances of the past summer flocked toPollyanna's memory now, mute witnesses that would not be denied.
And why should he not care for her? Mrs. Carew was certainly beautifuland charming. True, she was older than Jimmy; but young men hadmarried women far older than she, many times. And if they loved eachother--
Pollyanna cried herself to sleep that night.
In the morning, bravely she tried to face the thing. She even tried,with a tearful smile, to put it to the test of the glad game. She wasreminded then of something Nancy had said to her years before: "Ifthere IS a set o' folks in the world that wouldn't have no use forthat 'ere glad game o' your'n, it'd be a pair o' quarrellin' lovers!"
"Not that we're 'quarrelling,' or even 'lovers,'" thought Pollyannablushingly; "but just the same I can be glad HE'S glad, and glad SHE'Sglad, too, only--" Even to herself Pollyanna could not finish thissentence.
Being so sure now that Jimmy and Mrs. Carew cared for each other,Pollyanna became peculiarly sensitive to everything that tended tostrengthen that belief. And being ever on the watch for it, she foundit, as was to be expected. First in Mrs. Carew's letters.
"I am seeing a lot of your friend, young Pendleton," Mrs. Carew wroteone day; "and I'm liking him more and more. I do wish, however--justfor curiosity's sake--that I could trace to its source that elusivefeeling that I've seen him before somewhere."
Frequently, after this, she mentioned him casually; and, to Pollyanna,in the very casualness of these references lay their sharpest sting;for it showed so unmistakably that Jimmy and Jimmy's presence were nowto Mrs. Carew a matter of course. From other sources, too, Pollyannafound fuel for the fire of her suspicions. More and more frequentlyJohn Pendleton "dropped in" with his stories of Jimmy, and of whatJimmy was doing; and always here there was mention of Mrs.
Carew. PoorPollyanna wondered, indeed, sometimes, if John Pendleton could nottalk of anything--but Mrs. Carew and Jimmy, so constantly was one orthe other of those names on his lips.
There were Sadie Dean's letters, too, and they told of Jimmy, and ofwhat he was doing to help Mrs. Carew. Even Jamie, who wroteoccasionally, had his mite to add, for he wrote one evening:
"It's ten o'clock. I'm sitting here alone waiting for Mrs. Carew tocome home. She and Pendleton have been to one of their usual socialsdown to the Home."
From Jimmy himself Pollyanna heard very rarely; and for that she toldherself mournfully that she COULD be GLAD.
"For if he can't write about ANYTHING but Mrs. Carew and those girls,I'm glad he doesn't write very often!" she sighed.