CHAPTER III
A DOSE OF POLLYANNA
As the eighth of September approached--the day Pollyanna was toarrive--Mrs. Ruth Carew became more and more nervously exasperatedwith herself. She declared that she had regretted just ONCE herpromise to take the child--and that was ever since she had given it.Before twenty-four hours had passed she had, indeed, written to hersister demanding that she be released from the agreement; but Dellahad answered that it was quite too late, as already both she and Dr.Ames had written the Chiltons.
Soon after that had come Della's letter saying that Mrs. Chilton hadgiven her consent, and would in a few days come to Boston to makearrangements as to school, and the like. So there was nothing to bedone, naturally, but to let matters take their course. Mrs. Carewrealized that, and submitted to the inevitable, but with poor grace.True, she tried to be decently civil when Della and Mrs. Chilton madetheir expected appearance; but she was very glad that limited timemade Mrs. Chilton's stay of very short duration, and full to the brimof business.
It was well, indeed, perhaps, that Pollyanna's arrival was to be at adate no later than the eighth; for time, instead of reconciling Mrs.Carew to the prospective new member of her household, was filling herwith angry impatience at what she was pleased to call her "absurdyielding to Della's crazy scheme."
Nor was Della herself in the least unaware of her sister's state ofmind. If outwardly she maintained a bold front, inwardly she was veryfearful as to results; but on Pollyanna she was pinning her faith, andbecause she did pin her faith on Pollyanna, she determined on the boldstroke of leaving the little girl to begin her fight entirely unaidedand alone. She contrived, therefore, that Mrs. Carew should meet themat the station upon their arrival; then, as soon as greetings andintroductions were over, she hurriedly pleaded a previous engagementand took herself off. Mrs. Carew, therefore, had scarcely time to lookat her new charge before she found herself alone with the child.
"Oh, but Della, Della, you mustn't--I can't--" she called agitatedly,after the retreating figure of the nurse.
But Della, if she heard, did not heed; and, plainly annoyed and vexed,Mrs. Carew turned back to the child at her side.
"What a shame! She didn't hear, did she?" Pollyanna was saying, hereyes, also, wistfully following the nurse. "And I didn't WANT her togo now a bit. But then, I've got you, haven't I? I can be glad forthat."
"Oh, yes, you've got me--and I've got you," returned the lady, notvery graciously. "Come, we go this way," she directed, with a motiontoward the right.
Obediently Pollyanna turned and trotted at Mrs. Carew's side, throughthe huge station; but she looked up once or twice rather anxiouslyinto the lady's unsmiling face. At last she spoke hesitatingly.
"I expect maybe you thought--I'd be pretty," she hazarded, in atroubled voice.
"P--pretty?" repeated Mrs. Carew.
"Yes--with curls, you know, and all that. And of course you did wonderhow I DID look, just as I did you. Only I KNEW you'd be pretty andnice, on account of your sister. I had her to go by, and you didn'thave anybody. And of course I'm not pretty, on account of thefreckles, and it ISN'T nice when you've been expecting a PRETTY littlegirl, to have one come like me; and--"
"Nonsense, child!" interrupted Mrs. Carew, a trifle sharply. "Come,we'll see to your trunk now, then we'll go home. I had hoped that mysister would come with us; but it seems she didn't see fit--even forthis one night."
Pollyanna smiled and nodded.
"I know; but she couldn't, probably. Somebody wanted her, I expect.Somebody was always wanting her at the Sanatorium. It's a bother, ofcourse, when folks do want you all the time, isn't it?--'cause youcan't have yourself when you want yourself, lots of times. Still, youcan be kind of glad for that, for it IS nice to be wanted, isn't it?"
There was no reply--perhaps because for the first time in her lifeMrs. Carew was wondering if anywhere in the world there was any onewho really wanted her--not that she WISHED to be wanted, of course,she told herself angrily, pulling herself up with a jerk, and frowningdown at the child by her side.
Pollyanna did not see the frown. Pollyanna's eyes were on the hurryingthrongs about them.
"My! what a lot of people," she was saying happily. "There's even moreof them than there was the other time I was here; but I haven't seenanybody, yet, that I saw then, though I've looked for them everywhere.Of course the lady and the little baby lived in Honolulu, so probablyTHEY WOULDN'T be here; but there was a little girl, Susie Smith--shelived right here in Boston. Maybe you know her though. Do you knowSusie Smith?"
"No, I don't know Susie Smith," replied Mrs. Carew, dryly.
"Don't you? She's awfully nice, and SHE'S pretty--black curls, youknow; the kind I'm going to have when I go to Heaven. But never mind;maybe I can find her for you so you WILL know her. Oh, my! what aperfectly lovely automobile! And are we going to ride in it?" brokeoff Pollyanna, as they came to a pause before a handsome limousine,the door of which a liveried chauffeur was holding open.
"'Oh, my! What a perfectly lovely automobile!'"]
The chauffeur tried to hide a smile--and failed. Mrs. Carew, however,answered with the weariness of one to whom "rides" are never anythingbut a means of locomotion from one tiresome place to another probablyquite as tiresome.
"Yes, we're going to ride in it." Then "Home, Perkins," she added tothe deferential chauffeur.
"Oh, my, is it yours?" asked Pollyanna, detecting the unmistakable airof ownership in her hostess's manner. "How perfectly lovely! Then youmust be rich--awfully--I mean EXCEEDINGLY rich, more than the kindthat just has carpets in every room and ice cream Sundays, like theWhites--one of my Ladies' Aiders, you know. (That is, SHE was aLadies' Aider.) I used to think THEY were rich, but I know now thatbeing really rich means you've got diamond rings and hired girls andsealskin coats, and dresses made of silk and velvet for every day, andan automobile. Have you got all those?"
"Why, y-yes, I suppose I have," admitted Mrs. Carew, with a faintsmile.
"Then you are rich, of course," nodded Pollyanna, wisely. "My AuntPolly has them, too, only her automobile is a horse. My! but don't Ijust love to ride in these things," exulted Pollyanna, with a happylittle bounce. "You see I never did before, except the one that ranover me. They put me IN that one after they'd got me out from underit; but of course I didn't know about it, so I couldn't enjoy it.Since then I haven't been in one at all. Aunt Polly doesn't like them.Uncle Tom does, though, and he wants one. He says he's got to haveone, in his business. He's a doctor, you know, and all the otherdoctors in town have got them now. I don't know how it will come out.Aunt Polly is all stirred up over it. You see, she wants Uncle Tom tohave what he wants, only she wants him to want what she wants him towant. See?"
Mrs. Carew laughed suddenly.
"Yes, my dear, I think I see," she answered demurely, though her eyesstill carried--for them--a most unusual twinkle.
"All right," sighed Pollyanna contentedly. "I thought you would;still, it did sound sort of mixed when I said it. Oh, Aunt Polly saysshe wouldn't mind having an automobile, so much, if she could have theonly one there was in the world, so there wouldn't be any one else torun into her; but--My! what a lot of houses!" broke off Pollyanna,looking about her with round eyes of wonder. "Don't they ever stop?Still, there'd have to be a lot of them for all those folks to livein, of course, that I saw at the station, besides all these here onthe streets. And of course where there ARE more folks, there are moreto know. I love folks. Don't you?"
"LOVE FOLKS!"
"Yes, just folks, I mean. Anybody--everybody."
"Well, no, Pollyanna, I can't say that I do," replied Mrs. Carew,coldly, her brows contracted.
Mrs. Carew's eyes had lost their twinkle. They were turned rathermistrustfully, indeed, on Pollyanna. To herself Mrs. Carew was saying:"Now for preachment number one, I suppose, on my duty to mix with myfellow-men, a la Sister Della!"
"Don't you? Oh, I do," sighed Pollyanna. "They're all so nice and sodifferent, you know. And down he
re there must be such a lot of them tobe nice and different. Oh, you don't know how glad I am so soon that Icame! I knew I would be, anyway, just as soon as I found out you wereYOU--that is, Miss Wetherby's sister, I mean. I love Miss Wetherby, soI knew I should you, too; for of course you'd be alike--sisters,so--even if you weren't twins like Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Peck--and theyweren't quite alike, anyway, on account of the wart. But I reckon youdon't know what I mean, so I'll tell you."
And thus it happened that Mrs. Carew, who had been steeling herselffor a preachment on social ethics, found herself, much to her surpriseand a little to her discomfiture, listening to the story of a wart onthe nose of one Mrs. Peck, Ladies' Aider.
By the time the story was finished the limousine had turned intoCommonwealth Avenue, and Pollyanna immediately began to exclaim at thebeauty of a street which had such a "lovely big long yard all the wayup and down through the middle of it," and which was all the nicer,she said, "after all those little narrow streets."
"Only I should think every one would want to live on it," shecommented enthusiastically.
"Very likely; but that would hardly be possible," retorted Mrs. Carew,with uplifted eyebrows.
Pollyanna, mistaking the expression on her face for one ofdissatisfaction that her own home was not on the beautiful Avenue,hastened to make amends.
"Why, no, of course not," she agreed. "And I didn't mean that thenarrower streets weren't just as nice," she hurried on; "and evenbetter, maybe, because you could be glad you didn't have to go so farwhen you wanted to run across the way to borrow eggs or soda, and--Oh,but DO you live here?" she interrupted herself, as the car came to astop before the imposing Carew doorway. "Do you live here, Mrs.Carew?"
"Why, yes, of course I live here," returned the lady, with just atouch of irritation.
"Oh, how glad, GLAD you must be to live in such a perfectly lovelyplace!" exulted the little girl, springing to the sidewalk and lookingeagerly about her. "Aren't you glad?"
Mrs. Carew did not reply. With unsmiling lips and frowning brow shewas stepping from the limousine.
For the second time in five minutes, Pollyanna hastened to makeamends.
"Of course I don't mean the kind of glad that's sinfully proud," sheexplained, searching Mrs. Carew's face with anxious eyes. "Maybe youthought I did, same as Aunt Polly used to, sometimes. I don't mean thekind that's glad because you've got something somebody else can'thave; but the kind that just--just makes you want to shout and yelland bang doors, you know, even if it isn't proper," she finished,dancing up and down on her toes.
The chauffeur turned his back precipitately, and busied himself withthe car. Mrs. Carew, still with unsmiling lips and frowning brow ledthe way up the broad stone steps.
"Come, Pollyanna," was all she said, crisply.
It was five days later that Della Wetherby received the letter fromher sister, and very eagerly she tore it open. It was the first thathad come since Pollyanna's arrival in Boston.
"My dear Sister," Mrs. Carew had written. "For pity's sake, Della, whydidn't you give me some sort of an idea what to expect from this childyou have insisted upon my taking? I'm nearly wild--and I simply can'tsend her away. I've tried to three times, but every time, before I getthe words out of my mouth, she stops them by telling me what aperfectly lovely time she is having, and how glad she is to be here,and how good I am to let her live with me while her Aunt Polly hasgone to Germany. Now how, pray, in the face of that, can I turn aroundand say 'Well, won't you please go home; I don't want you'? And theabsurd part of it is, I don't believe it has ever entered her headthat I don't WANT her here; and I can't seem to make it enter herhead, either.
"Of course if she begins to preach, and to tell me to count myblessings, I SHALL send her away. You know I told you, to begin with,that I wouldn't permit that. And I won't. Two or three times I havethought she was going to (preach, I mean), but so far she has alwaysended up with some ridiculous story about those Ladies' Aiders ofhers; so the sermon gets sidetracked--luckily for her, if she wants tostay.
"But, really, Della, she is impossible. Listen. In the first place sheis wild with delight over the house. The very first day she got hereshe begged me to open every room; and she was not satisfied untilevery shade in the house was up, so that she might 'see all theperfectly lovely things,' which, she declared, were even nicer thanMr. John Pendleton's--whoever he may be, somebody in Beldingsville, Ibelieve. Anyhow, he isn't a Ladies' Aider. I've found out that much.
"Then, as if it wasn't enough to keep me running from room to room (asif I were the guide on a 'personally conducted'), what did she do butdiscover a white satin evening gown that I hadn't worn for years, andbeseech me to put it on. And I did put it on--why, I can't imagine,only that I found myself utterly helpless in her hands.
"But that was only the beginning. She begged then to see everythingthat I had, and she was so perfectly funny in her stories of themissionary barrels, which she used to 'dress out of,' that I had tolaugh--though I almost cried, too, to think of the wretched thingsthat poor child had to wear. Of course gowns led to jewels, and shemade such a fuss over my two or three rings that I foolishly openedthe safe, just to see her eyes pop out. And, Della, I thought thatchild would go crazy. She put on to me every ring, brooch, bracelet,and necklace that I owned, and insisted on fastening both diamondtiaras in my hair (when she found out what they were), until there Isat, hung with pearls and diamonds and emeralds, and feeling like aheathen goddess in a Hindu temple, especially when that preposterouschild began to dance round and round me, clapping her hands andchanting, 'Oh, how perfectly lovely, how perfectly lovely! How I wouldlove to hang you on a string in the window--you'd make such abeautiful prism!'
"I was just going to ask her what on earth she meant by that when downshe dropped in the middle of the floor and began to cry. And what doyou suppose she was crying for? Because she was so glad she'd got eyesthat could see! Now what do you think of that?
"Of course this isn't all. It's only the beginning. Pollyanna has beenhere four days, and she's filled every one of them full. She alreadynumbers among her friends the ash-man, the policeman on the beat, andthe paper boy, to say nothing of every servant in my employ. They seemactually bewitched with her, every one of them. But please do notthink _I_ am, for I'm not. I would send the child back to you at onceif I didn't feel obliged to fulfil my promise to keep her this winter.As for her making me forget Jamie and my great sorrow--that isimpossible. She only makes me feel my loss all the morekeenly--because I have her instead of him. But, as I said, I shallkeep her--until she begins to preach. Then back she goes to you. Butshe hasn't preached yet.
"Lovingly but distractedly yours,
"RUTH."
"'Hasn't preached yet,' indeed!" chuckled Della Wetherby to herself,folding up the closely-written sheets of her sister's letter. "Oh,Ruth, Ruth! and yet you admit that you've opened every room, raisedevery shade, decked yourself in satin and jewels--and Pollyanna hasn'tbeen there a week yet. But she hasn't preached--oh, no, she hasn'tpreached!"