One by one the short winter days came and went--but they were not
short to Pollyanna. They were long, and sometimes full of pain. Very
resolutely, these days, however, Pollyanna was turning a cheerful face
toward whatever came. Was she not specially bound to play the game, now
that Aunt Polly was playing it, too? And Aunt Polly found so many things
to be glad about! It was Aunt Polly, too, who discovered the story
one day about the two poor little waifs in a snow-storm who found a
blown-down door to crawl under, and who wondered what poor folks did
that didn't have any door! And it was Aunt Polly who brought home the
other story that she had heard about the poor old lady who had only two
teeth, but who was so glad that those two teeth “hit”!
Pollyanna now, like Mrs. Snow, was knitting wonderful things out of
bright colored worsteds that trailed their cheery lengths across the
white spread, and made Pollyanna--again like Mrs. Snow--so glad she had
her hands and arms, anyway.
Pollyanna saw people now, occasionally, and always there were the loving
messages from those she could not see; and always they brought her
something new to think about--and Pollyanna needed new things to think
about.
Once she had seen John Pendleton, and twice she had seen Jimmy Bean.
John Pendleton had told her what a fine boy Jimmy was getting to be, and
how well he was doing. Jimmy had told her what a first-rate home he had,
and what bang-up “folks” Mr. Pendleton made; and both had said that it
was all owing to her.
“Which makes me all the gladder, you know, that I HAVE had my legs,”
Pollyanna confided to her aunt afterwards.
The winter passed, and spring came. The anxious watchers over
Pollyanna's condition could see little change wrought by the prescribed
treatment. There seemed every reason to believe, indeed, that Dr. Mead's
worst fears would be realized--that Pollyanna would never walk again.
Beldingsville, of course, kept itself informed concerning Pollyanna; and
of Beldingsville, one man in particular fumed and fretted himself into
a fever of anxiety over the daily bulletins which he managed in some way
to procure from the bed of suffering. As the days passed, however,
and the news came to be no better, but rather worse, something besides
anxiety began to show in the man's face: despair, and a very dogged
determination, each fighting for the mastery. In the end, the dogged
determination won; and it was then that Mr. John Pendleton, somewhat
to his surprise, received one Saturday morning a call from Dr. Thomas
Chilton.
“Pendleton,” began the doctor, abruptly, “I've come to you because you,
better than any one else in town, know something of my relations with
Miss Polly Harrington.”
John Pendleton was conscious that he must have started visibly--he
did know something of the affair between Polly Harrington and Thomas
Chilton, but the matter had not been mentioned between them for fifteen
years, or more.
“Yes,” he said, trying to make his voice sound concerned enough for
sympathy, and not eager enough for curiosity. In a moment he saw that he
need not have worried, however: the doctor was quite too intent on his
errand to notice how that errand was received.
“Pendleton, I want to see that child. I want to make an examination. I
MUST make an examination.”
“Well--can't you?”
“CAN'T I! Pendleton, you know very well I haven't been inside that door
for more than fifteen years. You don't know--but I will tell you--that
the mistress of that house told me that the NEXT time she ASKED me to
enter it, I might take it that she was begging my pardon, and that all
would be as before--which meant that she'd marry me. Perhaps you see her
summoning me now--but I don't!”
“But couldn't you go--without a summons?”
The doctor frowned.
“Well, hardly. _I_ have some pride, you know.”
“But if you're so anxious--couldn't you swallow your pride and forget
the quarrel--”
“Forget the quarrel!” interrupted the doctor, savagely. “I'm not talking
of that kind of pride. So far as THAT is concerned, I'd go from here
there on my knees--or on my head--if that would do any good. It's
PROFESSIONAL pride I'm talking about. It's a case of sickness, and I'm a
doctor. I can't butt in and say, 'Here, take me! can I?”
“Chilton, what was the quarrel?” demanded Pendleton.
The doctor made an impatient gesture, and got to his feet.
“What was it? What's any lovers' quarrel after it's over?” he snarled,
pacing the room angrily. “A silly wrangle over the size of the moon or
the depth of a river, maybe--it might as well be, so far as its having
any real significance compared to the years of misery that follow them!
Never mind the quarrel! So far as I am concerned, I am willing to say
there was no quarrel. Pendleton, I must see that child. It may mean life
or death. It will mean--I honestly believe--nine chances out of ten that
Pollyanna Whittier will walk again!”
The words were spoken clearly, impressively; and they were spoken just
as the one who uttered them had almost reached the open window near John
Pendleton's chair. Thus it happened that very distinctly they reached
the ears of a small boy kneeling beneath the window on the ground
outside.
Jimmy Bean, at his Saturday morning task of pulling up the first little
green weeds of the flowerbeds, sat up with ears and eyes wide open.
“Walk! Pollyanna!” John Pendleton was saying. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that from what I can hear and learn--a mile from her
bedside--that her case is very much like one that a college friend of
mine has just helped. For years he's been making this sort of thing a
special study. I've kept in touch with him, and studied, too, in a way.
And from what I hear--but I want to SEE the girl!”
John Pendleton came erect in his chair.
“You must see her, man! Couldn't you--say, through Dr. Warren?”
The other shook his head.
“I'm afraid not. Warren has been very decent, though. He told me
himself that he suggested consultation with me at the first, but--Miss
Harrington said no so decisively that he didn't dare venture it again,
even though he knew of my desire to see the child. Lately, some of his
best patients have come over to me--so of course that ties my hands
still more effectually. But, Pendleton, I've got to see that child!
Think of what it may mean to her--if I do!”
“Yes, and think of what it will mean--if you don't!” retorted Pendleton.
“But how can I--without a direct request from her aunt?--which I'll
never get!”
“She must be made to ask you!”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
“No, I guess you don't--nor anybody else. She's too proud and too angry
to ask me--after what she said years ago it would mean if she did ask
me. But when I think of that child, doomed to lifelong misery, and when
I think that maybe in my hands lies a chance of escape, but for that
confounded nonsense we call pride and professional etiquette, I--” He
did not finish his sentence, but with his hands thrust deep into his
pockets, he turned and began to tramp up and down the room again,
angrily.
“But if she could be made to see--to understand,” urged John Pendleton.
“Yes; and who's going to do it?” demanded the doctor, with a savage
turn.
“I don't know, I don't know,” groaned the other, miserably.
Outside the window Jimmy Bean stirred suddenly. Up to now he had
scarcely breathed, so intently had he listened to every word.
“Well, by Jinks, I know!” he whispered, exultingly. “I'M a-goin' ter
do it!” And forthwith he rose to his feet, crept stealthily around the
corner of the house, and ran with all his might down Pendleton Hill.