Pollyanna & Pollyanna Grows Up (Musaicum Children's Classics) - Eleanor H. Porter

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Jimmy Bean, wherever have you been brought up?—not to know what a Ladies’ Aid is!”

      “Oh, all right—if you ain’t tellin’,” grunted the boy, turning and beginning to walk away indifferently.

      Pollyanna sprang to his side at once.

      “It’s—it’s—why, it’s just a lot of ladies that meet and sew and give suppers and raise money and—and talk; that’s what a Ladies’ Aid is. They’re awfully kind—that is, most of mine was, back home. I haven’t seen this one here, but they’re always good, I reckon. I’m going to tell them about you this afternoon.”

      Again the boy turned fiercely.

      “Not much you will! Maybe you think I’m goin’ ter stand ‘round an’ hear a whole LOT o’ women call me a beggar, instead of jest ONE! Not much!”

      “Oh, but you wouldn’t be there,” argued Pollyanna, quickly. “I’d go alone, of course, and tell them.”

      “You would?”

      “Yes; and I’d tell it better this time,” hurried on Pollyanna, quick to see the signs of relenting in the boy’s face. “And there’d be some of ‘em, I know, that would be glad to give you a home.”

      “I’d work—don’t forget ter say that,” cautioned the boy.

      “Of course not,” promised Pollyanna, happily, sure now that her point was gained. “Then I’ll let you know to-morrow.”

      “Where?”

      “By the road—where I found you to-day; near Mrs. Snow’s house.”

      “All right. I’ll be there.” The boy paused before he went on slowly: “Maybe I’d better go back, then, for ter-night, ter the Home. You see I hain’t no other place ter stay; and—and I didn’t leave till this mornin’. I slipped out. I didn’t tell ‘em I wasn’t comin’ back, else they’d pretend I couldn’t come—though I’m thinkin’ they won’t do no worryin’ when I don’t show up sometime. They ain’t like FOLKS, ye know. They don’t CARE!”

      “I know,” nodded Pollyanna, with understanding eyes. “But I’m sure, when I see you to-morrow, I’ll have just a common home and folks that do care all ready for you. Good-by!” she called brightly, as she turned back toward the house.

      In the sitting-room window at that moment, Miss Polly, who had been watching the two children, followed with sombre eyes the boy until a bend of the road hid him from sight. Then she sighed, turned, and walked listlesly up-stairs—and Miss Polly did not usually move listlessly. In her ears still was the boy’s scornful “you was so good and kind.” In her heart was a curious sense of desolation—as of something lost.

      Chapter XII.

       Before the Ladies’ Aid

       Table of Contents

      Dinner, which came at noon in the Harrington homestead, was a silent meal on the day of the Ladies’ Aid meeting. Pollyanna, it is true, tried to talk; but she did not make a success of it, chiefly because four times she was obliged to break off a “glad” in the middle of it, much to her blushing discomfort. The fifth time it happened, Miss Polly moved her head wearily.

      “There, there, child, say it, if you want to,” she sighed. “I’m sure I’d rather you did than not if it’s going to make all this fuss.”

      Pollyanna’s puckered little face cleared.

      “Oh, thank you. I’m afraid it would be pretty hard—not to say it. You see I’ve played it so long.”

      “You’ve—what?” demanded Aunt Polly.

      “Played it—the game, you know, that father—” Pollyanna stopped with a painful blush at finding herself so soon again on forbidden ground.

      Aunt Polly frowned and said nothing. The rest of the meal was a silent one.

      Pollyanna was not sorry to hear Aunt Polly tell the minister’s wife over the telephone, a little later, that she would not be at the Ladies’ Aid meeting that afternoon, owing to a headache. When Aunt Polly went up-stairs to her room and closed the door, Pollyanna tried to be sorry for the headache; but she could not help feeling glad that her aunt was not to be present that afternoon when she laid the case of Jimmy Bean before the Ladies’ Aid. She could not forget that Aunt Polly had called Jimmy Bean a little beggar; and she did not want Aunt Polly to call him that—before the Ladies’ Aid.

      Pollyanna knew that the Ladies’ Aid met at two o’clock in the chapel next the church, not quite half a mile from home. She planned her going, therefore, so that she should get there a little before three.

      “I want them all to be there,” she said to herself; “else the very one that wasn’t there might be the one who would be wanting to give Jimmy Bean a home; and, of course, two o’clock always means three, really—to Ladies’ Aiders.”

      Quietly, but with confident courage, Pollyanna ascended the chapel steps, pushed open the door and entered the vestibule. A soft babel of feminine chatter and laughter came from the main room. Hesitating only a brief moment Pollyanna pushed open one of the inner doors.

      The chatter dropped to a surprised hush. Pollyanna advanced a little timidly. Now that the time had come, she felt unwontedly shy. After all, these half-strange, half-familiar faces about her were not her own dear Ladies’ Aid.

      “How do you do, Ladies’ Aiders?” she faltered politely. “I’m Pollyanna Whittier. I—I reckon some of you know me, maybe; anyway, I do YOU—only I don’t know you all together this way.”

      The silence could almost be felt now. Some of the ladies did know this rather extraordinary niece of their fellow-member, and nearly all had heard of her; but not one of them could think of anything to say, just then.

      “I—I’ve come to—to lay the case before you,” stammered Pollyanna, after a moment, unconsciously falling into her father’s familiar phraseology.

      There was a slight rustle.

      “Did—did your aunt send you, my dear?” asked Mrs. Ford, the minister’s wife.

      Pollyanna colored a little.

      “Oh, no. I came all by myself. You see, I’m used to Ladies’ Aiders. It was Ladies’ Aiders that brought me up—with father.”

      Somebody tittered hysterically, and the minister’s wife frowned.

      “Yes, dear. What is it?”

      “Well, it—it’s Jimmy Bean,” sighed Pollyanna. “He hasn’t any home except the Orphan one, and they’re full, and don’t want him, anyhow, he thinks; so he wants another. He wants one of the common kind, that has a mother instead of a Matron in it—folks, you know, that’ll care. He’s ten years old going on eleven. I thought some of you might like him—to live with you, you know.”

      “Well, did you ever!” murmured a voice, breaking the dazed pause that followed Pollyanna’s words.

      With anxious eyes Pollyanna swept the circle of faces about her.

      “Oh, I forgot to say; he will work,” she supplemented eagerly.

      Still there was silence; then, coldly, one or two women began to question her. After a time they all had the story and began to talk among themselves, animatedly, not quite pleasantly.

      Pollyanna listened with growing anxiety. Some of what was said she could not understand. She did gather, after a time, however, that there was no woman there who had a home to give him, though every woman seemed to think that some of the others might take him, as there were several who had no little boys of their own already in their homes. But there was no one who agreed herself to take him. Then

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