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"Then you love somebody " By an almost superhuman effort Pollyanna choked off the "else" before it left her delighted lips. "Love somebody! Haven't I just been telling you I did?" laughed John Pendleton, half vexedly. "What I want to know is can she be made to love me? That's where I was sort of of counting on your help, Pollyanna. You see, she's a dear friend of yours."
Miss Polly asked the question as if in spite of some force within her that was urging her not to ask it. "He didn't say anything for a minute; then he said very low that you couldn't always get 'em for the asking." There was a brief silence. Miss Polly's eyes had turned again to the window. Her cheeks were still unnaturally pink. Pollyanna sighed.
"That's why he took to you in the first place. Oh, Miss Pollyanna! Why, that's just like a book I've read lots of 'em; 'Lady Maud's Secret, and 'The Lost Heir, and 'Hidden for Years' all of 'em had mysteries and things just like this. My stars and stockings! Just think of havin' a book lived right under yer nose like this an' me not knowin' it all this time!
And I've hunted and hunted for him, ever and ever so many days. Honest and truly, Mrs. Carew, I've just GOT to see him," almost sobbed Pollyanna. "I can't lose him again!" An angry color flamed into Mrs. Carew's cheeks. "Pollyanna, this is sheer nonsense. I am surprised. I am amazed at you for insisting upon doing something you know I disapprove of. I CAN NOT allow you to go with this boy.
Clearly Pollyanna was not herself at all. In a most unPollyanna-like spirit she moped about the house, finding apparently no interest anywhere. "Oh, no, I'm not sick," she would answer, when remonstrated with, and questioned. "But what IS the trouble?" "Why, nothing.
And folks did sleep out of doors. Joel Hartley at home, who was so sick with the consumption, HAD to sleep out of doors. Suddenly Pollyanna remembered that she had seen near this attic window a row of long white bags hanging from nails. Nancy had said that they contained the winter clothing, put away for the summer.
I've been thinking. I believe I'll write stories." Jamie turned with a start. "You'll what?" he demanded. "Write stories to sell, you know. You needn't look so surprised! Lots of folks do that. I knew two girls in Germany who did." "Did you ever try it?" Jamie still spoke a little queerly. "N-no; not yet," admitted Pollyanna.
Now we're gettin' there," crowed the boy. "What'd I tell ye? We'll just cut through here to the Avenue, an' then it'll be up ter you ter find the house." "Oh, I can find the house," exulted Pollyanna, with all the confidence of one who has reached familiar ground. It was quite dark when Pollyanna led the way up the broad Carew steps.
"But there were mostly things for boys and older folks in the last two or three barrels; and did you ever have a missionary barrel, Aunt Polly?" At her aunt's look of shocked anger, Pollyanna corrected herself at once. "Why, no, of course you didn't, Aunt Polly!" she hurried on, with a hot blush. "I forgot; rich folks never have to have them.
Wednesday and Saturday forenoons, after half-past nine, you will spend with Nancy in the kitchen, learning to cook. Other mornings you will sew with me. That will leave the afternoons for your music. I shall, of course, procure a teacher at once for you," she finished decisively, as she arose from her chair. Pollyanna cried out in dismay.
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