CHAPTER IV
THE GAME AND MRS. CAREW
Boston, to Pollyanna, was a new experience, and certainly Pollyanna,to Boston--such part of it as was privileged to know her--was verymuch of a new experience.
Pollyanna said she liked Boston, but that she did wish it was notquite so big.
"You see," she explained earnestly to Mrs. Carew, the day followingher arrival, "I want to see and know it ALL, and I can't. It's justlike Aunt Polly's company dinners; there's so much to eat--I mean, tosee--that you don't eat--I mean, see--anything, because you're alwaystrying to decide what to eat--I mean, to see.
"Of course you can be glad there IS such a lot," resumed Pollyanna,after taking breath, "'cause a whole lot of anything is nice--that is,GOOD things; not such things as medicine and funerals, of course!--butat the same time I couldn't used to help wishing Aunt Polly's companydinners could be spread out a little over the days when there wasn'tany cake and pie; and I feel the same way about Boston. I wish I couldtake part of it home with me up to Beldingsville so I'd have SOMETHINGnew next summer. But of course I can't. Cities aren't like frostedcake--and, anyhow, even the cake didn't keep very well. I tried it,and it dried up, 'specially the frosting. I reckon the time to takefrosting and good times is while they are going; so I want to see allI can now while I'm here."
Pollyanna, unlike the people who think that to see the world one mustbegin at the most distant point, began her "seeing Boston" by athorough exploration of her immediate surroundings--the beautifulCommonwealth Avenue residence which was now her home. This, with herschool work, fully occupied her time and attention for some days.
There was so much to see, and so much to learn; and everything was somarvelous and so beautiful, from the tiny buttons in the wall thatflooded the rooms with light, to the great silent ballroom hung withmirrors and pictures. There were so many delightful people to know,too, for besides Mrs. Carew herself there were Mary, who dusted thedrawing-rooms, answered the bell, and accompanied Pollyanna to andfrom school each day; Bridget, who lived in the kitchen and cooked;Jennie, who waited at table, and Perkins who drove the automobile. Andthey were all so delightful--yet so different!
Pollyanna had arrived on a Monday, so it was almost a week before thefirst Sunday. She came downstairs that morning with a beamingcountenance.
"I love Sundays," she sighed happily.
"Do you?" Mrs. Carew's voice had the weariness of one who loves noday.
"Yes, on account of church, you know, and Sunday school. Which do youlike best, church, or Sunday school?"
"Well, really, I--" began Mrs. Carew, who seldom went to church andnever went to Sunday school.
"'Tis hard to tell, isn't it?" interposed Pollyanna, with luminous butserious eyes. "But you see _I_ like church best, on account of father.You know he was a minister, and of course he's really up in Heavenwith mother and the rest of us, but I try to imagine him down here,lots of times; and it's easiest in church, when the minister istalking. I shut my eyes and imagine it's father up there; and it helpslots. I'm so glad we can imagine things, aren't you?"
"I'm not so sure of that, Pollyanna."
"Oh, but just think how much nicer our IMAGINED things are than ourreally truly ones--that is, of course, yours aren't, because your REALones are so nice." Mrs. Carew angrily started to speak, but Pollyannawas hurrying on. "And of course MY real ones are ever so much nicerthan they used to be. But all that time I was hurt, when my legsdidn't go, I just had to keep imagining all the time, just as hard asI could. And of course now there are lots of times when I do it--likeabout father, and all that. And so to-day I'm just going to imagineit's father up there in the pulpit. What time do we go?"
"GO?"
"To church, I mean."
"But, Pollyanna, I don't--that is, I'd rather not--" Mrs. Carewcleared her throat and tried again to say that she was not going tochurch at all; that she almost never went. But with Pollyanna'sconfident little face and happy eyes before her, she could not do it.
"Why, I suppose--about quarter past ten--if we walk," she said then,almost crossly. "It's only a little way."
Thus it happened that Mrs. Carew on that bright September morningoccupied for the first time in months the Carew pew in the veryfashionable and elegant church to which she had gone as a girl, andwhich she still supported liberally--so far as money went.
To Pollyanna that Sunday morning service was a great wonder and joy.The marvelous music of the vested choir, the opalescent rays from thejeweled windows, the impassioned voice of the preacher, and thereverent hush of the worshiping throng filled her with an ecstasy thatleft her for a time almost speechless. Not until they were nearly homedid she fervently breathe:
"Oh, Mrs. Carew, I've just been thinking how glad I am we don't haveto live but just one day at a time!"
Mrs. Carew frowned and looked down sharply. Mrs. Carew was in no moodfor preaching. She had just been obliged to endure it from the pulpit,she told herself angrily, and she would NOT listen to it from thischit of a child. Moreover, this "living one day at a time" theory wasa particularly pet doctrine of Della's. Was not Della always saying:"But you only have to live one minute at a time, Ruth, and any one canendure anything for one minute at a time!"
"Well?" said Mrs. Carew now, tersely.
"Yes. Only think what I'd do if I had to live yesterday and to-day andto-morrow all at once," sighed Pollyanna. "Such a lot of perfectlylovely things, you know. But I've had yesterday, and now I'm livingto-day, and I've got to-morrow still coming, and next Sunday, too.Honestly, Mrs. Carew, if it wasn't Sunday now, and on this nice quietstreet, I should just dance and shout and yell. I couldn't help it.But it's being Sunday, so, I shall have to wait till I get home andthen take a hymn--the most rejoicingest hymn I can think of. What isthe most rejoicingest hymn? Do you know, Mrs. Carew?"
"No, I can't say that I do," answered Mrs. Carew, faintly, lookingvery much as if she were searching for something she had lost. For awoman who expects, because things are so bad, to be told that she needstand only one day at a time, it is disarming, to say the least, to betold that, because things are so good, it is lucky she does not HAVEto stand but one day at a time!
On Monday, the next morning, Pollyanna went to school for the firsttime alone. She knew the way perfectly now, and it was only a shortwalk. Pollyanna enjoyed her school very much. It was a small privateschool for girls, and was quite a new experience, in its way; butPollyanna liked new experiences.
Mrs. Carew, however, did not like new experiences, and she was havinga good many of them these days. For one who is tired of everything tobe in so intimate a companionship with one to whom everything is afresh and fascinating joy must needs result in annoyance, to say theleast. And Mrs. Carew was more than annoyed. She was exasperated. Yetto herself she was forced to admit that if any one asked her why shewas exasperated, the only reason she could give would be "BecausePollyanna is so glad"--and even Mrs. Carew would hardly like to givean answer like that.
To Della, however, Mrs. Carew did write that the word "glad" had goton her nerves, and that sometimes she wished she might never hear itagain. She still admitted that Pollyanna had not preached--that shehad not even once tried to make her play the game. What the child diddo, however, was invariably to take Mrs. Carew's "gladness" as amatter of course, which, to one who HAD no gladness, was mostprovoking.
It was during the second week of Pollyanna's stay that Mrs. Carew'sannoyance overflowed into irritable remonstrance. The immediate causethereof was Pollyanna's glowing conclusion to a story about one of herLadies' Aiders.
"She was playing the game, Mrs. Carew. But maybe you don't know whatthe game is. I'll tell you. It's a lovely game."
But Mrs. Carew held up her hand.
"Never mind, Pollyanna," she demurred. "I know all about the game. Mysister told me, and--and I must say that I--I should not care for it."
"Why, of course not, Mrs. Carew!" exclaimed Pollyanna in quickapology. "I didn't mean the game for you. You couldn't play
it, ofcourse."
"I COULDN'T play it!" ejaculated Mrs. Carew, who, though she WOULD notplay this silly game, was in no mood to be told that she COULD not.
"Why, no, don't you see?" laughed Pollyanna, gleefully. "The game isto find something in everything to be glad about; and you couldn'teven begin to hunt, for there isn't anything about you but what youCOULD be glad about. There wouldn't BE any game to it for you! Don'tyou see?"
Mrs. Carew flushed angrily. In her annoyance she said more thanperhaps she meant to say.
"Well, no, Pollyanna, I can't say that I do," she differed coldly. "Asit happens, you see, I can find nothing whatever to be--glad for."
For a moment Pollyanna stared blankly. Then she fell back inamazement.
"Why, MRS. CAREW!" she breathed.
"Well, what is there--for me?" challenged the woman, forgetting allabout, for the moment, that she was never going to allow Pollyanna to"preach."
"Why, there's--there's everything," murmured Pollyanna, still withthat dazed unbelief. "There--there's this beautiful house."
"It's just a place to eat and sleep--and I don't want to eat andsleep."
"But there are all these perfectly lovely things," faltered Pollyanna.
"I'm tired of them."
"And your automobile that will take you anywhere."
"I don't want to go anywhere."
Pollyanna quite gasped aloud.
"But think of the people and things you could see, Mrs. Carew."
"They would not interest me, Pollyanna."
Once again Pollyanna stared in amazement. The troubled frown on herface deepened.
"But, Mrs. Carew, I don't see," she urged. "Always, before, there havebeen BAD things for folks to play the game on, and the badder they arethe more fun 'tis to get them out--find the things to be glad for, Imean. But where there AREN'T any bad things, I shouldn't know how toplay the game myself."
There was no answer for a time. Mrs. Carew sat with her eyes out thewindow. Gradually the angry rebellion on her face changed to a look ofhopeless sadness. Very slowly then she turned and said:
"Pollyanna, I had thought I wouldn't tell you this; but I've decidedthat I will. I'm going to tell you why nothing that I have can makeme--glad." And she began the story of Jamie, the little four-year-oldboy who, eight long years before, had stepped as into another world,leaving the door fast shut between.
"And you've never seen him since--anywhere?" faltered Pollyanna, withtear-wet eyes, when the story was done.
"Never."
"But we'll find him, Mrs. Carew--I'm sure we'll find him."
Mrs. Carew shook her head sadly.
"But I can't. I've looked everywhere, even in foreign lands."
"But he must be somewhere."
"He may be--dead, Pollyanna."
Pollyanna gave a quick cry.
"Oh, no, Mrs. Carew. Please don't say that! Let's imagine he's alive.We CAN do that, and that'll help; and when we get him IMAGINED alivewe can just as well imagine we're going to find him. And that'll helpa whole lot more."
"But I'm afraid he's--dead, Pollyanna," choked Mrs. Carew.
"You don't know it for sure, do you?" besought the little girl,anxiously.
"N-no."
"Well, then, you're just imagining it," maintained Pollyanna, intriumph. "And if you can imagine him dead, you can just as wellimagine him alive, and it'll be a whole lot nicer while you're doingit. Don't you see? And some day, I'm just sure you'll find him. Why,Mrs. Carew, you CAN play the game now! You can play it on Jamie. Youcan be glad every day, for every day brings you just one day nearer tothe time when you're going to find him. See?"
But Mrs. Carew did not "see." She rose drearily to her feet and said:
"No, no, child! You don't understand--you don't understand. Now runaway, please, and read, or do anything you like. My head aches. I'mgoing to lie down."
And Pollyanna, with a troubled, sober face, slowly left the room.