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Then suddenly she laughed. "Oh, Ruth, Ruth, I'd like to give you a dose of Pollyanna. I don't know any one who needs it more!" Mrs. Carew stiffened a little. "Well, what pollyanna may be I don't know, but whatever it is, I don't want it," she retorted sharply, nettled in her turn. "This isn't your beloved Sanatorium, and I'm not your patient to be dosed and bossed, please remember."
And to this Pollyanna could find no one who could give her a satisfactory answer. Especially she asked this question of Mrs. Carew; and Mrs. Carew, still haunted by the visions of the Jamie that was, and the Jamie that might be, grew only more restless, more wretched, and more utterly despairing. Nor was she helped any by the approach of Christmas.
Carew laughed suddenly. "Yes, my dear, I think I see," she answered demurely, though her eyes still carried for them a most unusual twinkle. "All right," sighed Pollyanna contentedly. "I thought you would; still, it did sound sort of mixed when I said it.
Carew found herself against an immovable, impassable barrier: the whole thing refused to be cast from her thoughts. Always before her eyes was the picture of that bare little room and the wistful-faced boy. Always in her ears was that heartbreaking "What if it WERE Jamie?" And always, too, there was Pollyanna; for even though Mrs. Twice again in desperation Mrs.
I like bread and milk, and Nancy, too. You mustn't feel bad about that one bit." Aunt Polly sat suddenly a little more erect in her chair. "Pollyanna, it's quite time you were in bed. You have had a hard day, and to-morrow we must plan your hours and go over your clothing to see what it is necessary to get for you. Nancy will give you a candle. Be careful how you handle it.
I'll make them a speech if they want me to, or head the procession with a banner if they are going to parade down the boardwalk. I'm for 'em, Father Abraham, a hundred thousand strong. And then a few! If you want my considered opinion, our old friend Goble has asked for it and got it. And I'm glad glad glad, if you don't mind my quoting Pollyanna for a moment. I hope it chokes him!"
"'He always does'! Goodness! Do you know who he is?" demanded Nancy. Pollyanna frowned and shook her head. "I reckon he forgot to tell me one day. You see, I did my part of the introducing, but he didn't." Nancy's eyes widened. "But he never speaks ter anybody, child he hain't for years, I guess, except when he just has to, for business, and all that. He's John Pendleton.
Aunt Polly was not playing it at all which certainly did not make it any the easier for Pollyanna to play it. Aunt Polly was blue and discouraged. She was not well, too, and she had plainly abandoned herself to utter gloom. Pollyanna still was counting on the prize contest.
But it's so, isn't it? How I would love to do it! Maybe I couldn't do all that. But I've read stories in the magazines, lots of them. Seems as if I could write some like those, anyway. I LOVE to tell stories. I'm always repeating those you tell, and I always laugh and cry, too, just as I do when YOU tell them." Jamie turned quickly. "DO they make you laugh and cry, Pollyanna really?"
From Jimmy himself Pollyanna heard very rarely; and for that she told herself mournfully that she COULD be GLAD. "For if he can't write about ANYTHING but Mrs. Carew and those girls, I'm glad he doesn't write very often!" she sighed. And so one by one the winter days passed.
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