Pollyanna Crows up / Поллианна вырастает. Книга для чтения на английском языке

“But, Mrs. Carew, I don’t see,” she urged. “Always, before, there have been BAD things for folks to play the game on, and the badder they are the more fun ’tis to get them out – find the things to be glad for, I mean. But where there AREN’t any bad things, I shouldn’t know how to play the game myself.”

There was no answer for a time. Mrs. Carew sat with her eyes out the window. Gradually the angry rebellion on her face changed to a look of hopeless sadness. Very slowly then she turned and said:

“Pollyanna, I had thought I wouldn’t tell you this; but I’ve decided that I will. I’m going to tell you why nothing that I have can make me – glad.” And she began the story of Jamie, the little four-year-old boy 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, with tear-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 alive we can just as well imagine we’re going to find him. And that’ll help a 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, in triumph. “And if you can imagine him dead, you can just as well imagine him alive, and it’ll be a whole lot nicer while you’re doing it. 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. You can be glad every day, for every day brings you just one day nearer to the 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 run away, please, and read, or do anything you like. My head aches. I’m going to lie down.”

And Pollyanna, with a troubled, sober face, slowly left the room.

Chapter V

Pollyanna Takes a Walk

It was on the second Saturday afternoon that Pollyanna took her memorable walk. Heretofore Pollyanna had not walked out alone, except to go to and from school. That she would ever attempt to explore Boston streets by herself, never occurred to Mrs. Carew, hence she naturally had never forbidden it. In Beldingsville, however, Pollyanna had found – especially at the first – her chief diversion in strolling about the rambling old village streets in search of new friends and new adventures.

On this particular Saturday afternoon Mrs. Carew had said, as she often did say: “There, there, child, run away; please do. Go where you like and do what you like, only don’t, please, ask me any more questions to-day!”

Until now, left to herself, Pollyanna had always found plenty to interest her within the four walls of the house; for, if inanimate things failed, there were yet Mary, Jennie, Bridget, and Perkins. To-day, however, Mary had a headache, Jennie was trimming a new hat[25 - was trimming a new hat – (разг.) отделывала новую шляпку], Bridget was making apple pies, and Perkins was nowhere to be found. Moreover it was a particularly beautiful September day, and nothing within the house was so alluring as the bright sunlight and balmy air outside. So outside Pollyanna went and dropped herself down on the steps.

For some time she watched in silence the well-dressed men, women, and children, who walked briskly by the house, or else sauntered more leisurely through the parkway that extended up and down the middle of the Avenue. Then she got to her feet, skipped down the steps, and stood looking, first to the right, then to the left.

Pollyanna had decided that she, too, would take a walk. It was a beautiful day for a walk, and not once, yet, had she taken one at all – not a REAL walk. Just going to and from school did not count. So she would take one to-day. Mrs. Carew would not mind. Had she not told her to do just what she pleased so long as she asked no more questions? And there was the whole long afternoon before her. Only think what a lot one might see in a whole long afternoon! And it really was such a beautiful day. She would go – this way! And with a little whirl and skip of pure joy, Pollyanna turned and walked blithely down the Avenue.

Into the eyes of those she met Pollyanna smiled joyously. She was disappointed – but not surprised – that she received no answering smile in return. She was used to that now – in Boston. She still smiled, however, hopefully: there might be some one, sometime, who would smile back.

Mrs. Carew’s home was very near the beginning of Commonwealth Avenue, so it was not long before Pollyanna found herself at the edge of a street crossing her way at right angles. Across the street, in all its autumn glory, lay what to Pollyanna was the most beautiful “yard” she had ever seen – the Boston Public Garden.

For a moment Pollyanna hesitated, her eyes longingly fixed on the wealth of beauty before her. That it was the private grounds of some rich man or woman, she did not for a moment doubt. Once, with Dr. Ames at the Sanatorium, she had been taken to call on a lady who lived in a beautiful house surrounded by just such walks and trees and flowerbeds as these.

Pollyanna wanted now very much to cross the street and walk in those grounds, but she doubted if she had the right. To be sure, others were there, moving about, she could see; but they might be invited guests, of course. After she had seen two women, one man, and a little girl unhesitatingly enter the gate and walk briskly down the path, however, Pollyanna concluded that she, too, might go. Watching her chance she skipped nimbly across the street and entered the Garden.

It was even more beautiful close at hand[26 - close at hand – (разг.) вблизи] than it had been at a distance. Birds twittered over her head, and a squirrel leaped across the path ahead of her. On benches here and there sat men, women, and children. Through the trees flashed the sparkle of the sun on water; and from somewhere came the shouts of children and the sound of music.

Once again Pollyanna hesitated; then, a little timidly, she accosted a handsomely-dressed young woman coming toward her.

“Please, is this – a party?” she asked.

The young woman stared.

“A party!” she repeated dazedly.

“Yes’m. I mean, is it all right for me – to be here?”

“For you to be here? Why, of course. It’s for – for everybody!” exclaimed the young woman.

“Oh, that’s all right, then. I’m glad I came,” beamed Pollyanna.

The young woman said nothing; but she turned back and looked at Pollyanna still dazedly as she hurried away.

Pollyanna, not at all surprised that the owner of this beautiful place should be so generous as to give a party to everybody, continued on her way. At the turn of the path she came upon a small girl and a doll carriage. She stopped with a glad little cry, but she had not said a dozen words before from somewhere came a young woman with hurrying steps and a disapproving voice; a young woman who held out her hand to the small girl, and said sharply:

“Here, Gladys, Gladys, come away with me. Hasn’t mama told you not to talk to strange children?”

“But I’m not strange children,” explained Pollyanna in eager defense. “I live right here in Boston, now, and —” But the young woman and the little girl dragging the doll carriage were already far down the path; and with a half-stifled sigh Pollyanna fell back. For a moment she stood silent, plainly disappointed; then resolutely she lifted her chin and went forward.

“Well, anyhow, I can be glad for that,” she nodded to herself, “for now maybe I’ll find somebody even nicer – Susie Smith, perhaps, or even Mrs. Carew’s Jamie. Anyhow, I can IMAGINE I’m going to find them; and if I don’t find THEM, I can find SOMEBODY!” she finished, her wistful eyes on the self-absorbed people all about her.

Undeniably Pollyanna was lonesome. Brought up by her father and the Ladies’ Aid Society in a small Western town, she had counted every house in the village her home, and every man, woman, and child her friend. Coming to her aunt in Vermont at eleven years of age, she had promptly assumed that conditions would differ only in that the homes and the friends would be new, and therefore even more delightful, possibly, for they would be “different” – and Pollyanna did so love “different” things and people! Her first and always her supreme delight in Beldingsville, therefore, had been her long rambles about the town and the charming visits with the new friends she had made. Quite naturally, in consequence, Boston, as she first saw it, seemed to Pollyanna even more delightfully promising in its possibilities.

Thus far, however, Pollyanna had to admit that in one respect, at least, it had been disappointing: she had been here nearly two weeks and she did not yet know the people who lived across the street, or even next door. More inexplicable still, Mrs. Carew herself did not know many of them, and not any of them well. She seemed, indeed, utterly indifferent to her neighbors, which was most amazing from Pollyanna’s point of view; but nothing she could say appeared to change Mrs. Carew’s attitude in the matter at all.

“They do not interest me, Pollyanna,” was all she would say; and with this, Pollyanna – whom they did interest very much – was forced to be content.

To-day, on her walk, however, Pollyanna had started out with high hopes, yet thus far she seemed destined to be disappointed. Here all about her were people who were doubtless most delightful – if she only knew them. But she did not know them. Worse yet, there seemed to be no prospect that she would know them, for they did not, apparently, wish to know her: Pollyanna was still smarting under the nurse’s sharp warning concerning “strange children.”

“Well, I reckon I’ll just have to show ’em that I’m not strange children,” she said at last to herself, moving confidently forward again.

Pursuant of this idea Pollyanna smiled sweetly into the eyes of the next person she met, and said blithely:

“It’s a nice day, isn’t it?”