Pollyanna Grows Up | Page 7

into his head to
ask for--for YOU, my love," murmured the husband-of-a-year, with a
whimsical smile. But his wife only gave him a deservedly scornful
glance, and said:
"You may write Dr. Ames that we'll send Pollyanna; and ask him to tell
Miss Wetherby to give us full instructions. It must be sometime before
the tenth of next month, of course, for you sail then; and I want to see
the child properly established myself before I leave, naturally."
"When will you tell Pollyanna?"
"To-morrow, probably."
"What will you tell her?"
"I don't know--exactly; but not any more than I can't help, certainly.
Whatever happens, Thomas, we don't want to spoil Pollyanna; and no
child could help being spoiled if she once got it into her head that she
was a sort of--of--"
"Of medicine bottle with a label of full instructions for taking?"
interpolated the doctor, with a smile.

"Yes," sighed Mrs. Chilton. "It's her unconsciousness that saves the
whole thing. YOU know that, dear."
"Yes, I know," nodded the man.
"She knows, of course, that you and I, and half the town are playing the
game with her, and that we--we are wonderfully happier because we
ARE playing it." Mrs. Chilton's voice shook a little, then went on more
steadily." But if, consciously, she should begin to be anything but her
own natural, sunny, happy little self, playing the game that her father
taught her, she would be--just what that nurse said she sounded
like--'impossible.' So, whatever I tell her, I sha'n't tell her that she's
going down to Mrs. Carew's to cheer her up," concluded Mrs. Chilton,
rising to her feet with decision, and putting away her work.
"Which is where I think you're wise," approved the doctor.
Pollyanna was told the next day; and this was the manner of it.
"My dear," began her aunt, when the two were alone together that
morning, "how would you like to spend next winter in Boston?"
"With you?"
"No; I have decided to go with your uncle to Germany. But Mrs. Carew,
a dear friend of Dr. Ames, has asked you to come and stay with her for
the winter, and I think I shall let you go."
Pollyanna's face fell.
"But in Boston I won't have Jimmy, or Mr. Pendleton, or Mrs. Snow, or
anybody that I know, Aunt Polly."
"No, dear; but you didn't have them when you came here--till you
found them."
Pollyanna gave a sudden smile.
"Why, Aunt Polly, so I didn't! And that means that down to Boston

there are some Jimmys and Mr. Pendletons and Mrs. Snows waiting for
me that I don't know, doesn't it?"
"Yes, dear."
"Then I can be glad of that. I believe now, Aunt Polly, you know how
to play the game better than I do. I never thought of the folks down
there waiting for me to know them. And there's such a lot of 'em, too! I
saw some of them when I was there two years ago with Mrs. Gray. We
were there two whole hours, you know, on my way here from out West.
"There was a man in the station--a perfectly lovely man who told me
where to get a drink of water. Do you suppose he's there now? I'd like
to know him. And there was a nice lady with a little girl. They live in
Boston. They said they did. The little girl's name was Susie Smith.
Perhaps I could get to know them. Do you suppose I could? And there
was a boy, and another lady with a baby--only they lived in Honolulu,
so probably I couldn't find them there now. But there'd be Mrs. Carew,
anyway. Who is Mrs. Carew, Aunt Polly? Is she a relation?"
"Dear me, Pollyanna!" exclaimed Mrs. Chilton, half-laughingly,
half-despairingly. "How do you expect anybody to keep up with your
tongue, much less your thoughts, when they skip to Honolulu and back
again in two seconds! No, Mrs. Carew isn't any relation to us. She's
Miss Della Wetherby's sister. Do you remember Miss Wetherby at the
Sanatorium?"
Pollyanna clapped her hands.
"HER sister? Miss Wetherby's sister? Oh, then she'll be lovely, I know.
Miss Wetherby was. I loved Miss Wetherby. She had little
smile-wrinkles all around her eyes and mouth, and she knew the
NICEST stories. I only had her two months, though, because she only
got there a little while before I came away. At first I was sorry that I
hadn't had her ALL the time, but afterwards I was glad; for you see if I
HAD had her all the time, it would have been harder to say good-by
than 'twas when I'd only had her a little while. And now it'll seem as if I
had her again, 'cause I'm going to have