FROM BEHIND A COUNTER
Mrs. Carew was very angry. To have brought herself to the point where
she was willing to take this lame boy into her home, and then to have
the lad calmly refuse to come, was unbearable. Mrs. Carew was not in
the habit of having her invitations ignored, or her wishes scorned.
Furthermore, now that she could not have the boy, she was conscious of
an almost frantic terror lest he were, after all, the real Jamie. She
knew then that her true reason for wanting him had been--not because
she cared for him, not even because she wished to help him and make
him happy--but because she hoped, by taking him, that she would ease
her own mind, and forever silence that awful eternal questioning on
her part: "What if he WERE her own Jamie?"
It certainly had not helped matters any that the boy had divined her
state of mind, and had given as the reason for his refusal that she
"did not care." To be sure, Mrs. Carew now very proudly told herself
that she did not indeed "care," that he was NOT her sister's boy, and
that she would "forget all about it."
But she did not forget all about it. However insistently she might
disclaim responsibility and relationship, just as insistently
responsibility and relationship thrust themselves upon her in the
shape of panicky doubts; and however resolutely she turned her
thoughts to other matters, just so resolutely visions of a
wistful-eyed boy in a poverty-stricken room loomed always before her.
Then, too, there was Pollyanna. 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. It--it's only that I was thinking of Jamie, you
know,--how HE hasn't got all these beautiful things--carpets, and
pictures, and curtains."
It was the same with her food. Pollyanna was actually losing her
appetite; but here again she disclaimed sickness.
"Oh, no," she would sigh mournfully. "It's just that I don't seem
hungry. Some way, just as soon as I begin to eat, I think of Jamie,
and how HE doesn't have only old doughnuts and dry rolls; and then
I--I don't want anything."
Mrs. Carew, spurred by a feeling that she herself only dimly
understood, and recklessly determined to bring about some change in
Pollyanna at all costs, ordered a huge tree, two dozen wreaths, and
quantities of holly and Christmas baubles. For the first time in many
years the house was aflame and aglitter with scarlet and tinsel. There
was even to be a Christmas party, for Mrs. Carew had told Pollyanna to
invite half a dozen of her schoolgirl friends for the tree on
Christmas Eve.
But even here Mrs. Carew met with disappointment; for, though
Pollyanna was always grateful, and at times interested and even
excited, she still carried frequently a sober little face. And in the
end the Christmas party was more of a sorrow than a joy; for the first
glimpse of the glittering tree sent her into a storm of sobs.
"Why, Pollyanna!" ejaculated Mrs. Carew. "What in the world is the
matter now?"
"N-n-nothing," wept Pollyanna. "It's only that it's so perfectly,
perfectly beautiful that I just had to cry. I was thinking how Jamie
would love to see it."
It was then that Mrs. Carew's patience snapped.
"'Jamie, Jamie, Jamie'!" she exclaimed. "Pollyanna, CAN'T you stop
talking about that boy? You know perfectly well that it is not my
fault that he is not here. I asked him to come here to live. Besides,
where is that glad game of yours? I think it would be an excellent
idea if you would play it on this."
"I AM playing it," quavered Pollyanna. "And that's what I don't
understand. I never knew it to act so funny. Why, before, when I've
been glad about things, I've been happy. But now, about Jamie--I'm so
glad I've got carpets and pictures and nice things to eat, and that I
can walk and run, and go to school, and all that; but the harder I'm
glad for myself, the sorrier I am for him. I never knew the game to
act so funny, and I don't know what ails it. Do you?"
But Mrs. Carew, with a despairing gesture, merely turned away without
a word.
It was the day after Christmas that something so wonderful happened
that Pollyanna, for a time, almost forgot Jamie. Mrs. Carew had taken
her shopping, and it was while Mrs. Carew was trying to decide between
a duchesse-lace and a point-lace collar, that Pollyanna chanced to spy
farther down the counter a face that looked vaguely familiar. For a
moment she regarded it frowningly; then, with a little cry, she ran
down the aisle.
"Oh, it's you--it IS you!" she exclaimed joyously to a girl who was
putting into the show case a tray of pink bows. "I'm so glad to see
you!"
The girl behind the counter lifted her head and stared at Pollyanna in
amazement. But almost immediately her dark, somber face lighted with a
smile of glad recognition.
"Well, well, if it isn't my little Public Garden kiddie!" she
ejaculated.
"Yes. I'm so glad you remembered," beamed Pollyanna. "But you never
came again. I looked for you lots of times."
"I couldn't. I had to work. That was our last half-holiday, and--Fifty
cents, madam," she broke off, in answer to a sweet-faced old lady's
question as to the price of a black-and-white bow on the counter.
"Fifty cents? Hm-m!" The old lady fingered the bow, hesitated, then
laid it down with a sigh. "Hm, yes; well, it's very pretty, I'm sure,
my dear," she said, as she passed on.
Immediately behind her came two bright-faced girls who, with much
giggling and bantering, picked out a jeweled creation of scarlet
velvet, and a fairy-like structure of tulle and pink buds. As the
girls turned chattering away Pollyanna drew an ecstatic sigh.
"Is this what you do all day? My, how glad you must be you chose
this!"
"GLAD!"
"Yes. It must be such fun--such lots of folks, you know, and all
different! And you can talk to 'em. You HAVE to talk to 'em--it's your
business. I should love that. I think I'll do this when I grow up. It
must be such fun to see what they all buy!"
"Fun! Glad!" bristled the girl behind the counter. "Well, child, I
guess if you knew half--That's a dollar, madam," she interrupted
herself hastily, in answer to a young woman's sharp question as to the
price of a flaring yellow bow of beaded velvet in the show case.
"Well, I should think 'twas time you told me," snapped the young
woman. "I had to ask you twice."
The girl behind the counter bit her lip.
"I didn't hear you, madam."
"I can't help that. It is your business TO hear. You are paid for it,
aren't you? How much is that black one?"
"Fifty cents."
"And that blue one?"
"One dollar."
"No impudence, miss! You needn't be so short about it, or I shall
report you. Let me see that tray of pink ones."
The salesgirl's lips opened, then closed in a thin, straight line.
Obediently she reached into the show case and took out the tray of
pink bows; but her eyes flashed, and her hands shook visibly as she
set the tray down on the counter. The young woman whom she was serving
picked up five bows, asked the price of four of them, then turned away
with a brief:
"I see nothing I care for."
"Well," said the girl behind the counter, in a shaking voice, to the
wide-eyed Pollyanna, "what do you think of my business now? Anything
to be glad about there?"
Pollyanna giggled a little hysterically.
"My, wasn't she cross? But she was kind of funny, too--don't you
think? Anyhow, you can be glad that--that they aren't ALL like HER,
can't you?"
"I suppose so," said the girl, with a faint smile, "But I can tell you
right now, kiddie, that glad game of yours you was tellin' me about
that day in the Garden may be all very well for you; but--" Once more
she stopped with a tired: "Fifty cents, madam," in answer to a
question from the other side of the counter.
"Are you as lonesome as ever?" asked Pollyanna wistfully, when the
salesgirl was at liberty again.
"Well, I can't say I've given more'n five parties, nor been to more'n
seven, since I saw you," replied the girl so bitterly that Pollyanna
detected the sarcasm.
"Oh, but you did something nice Christmas, didn't you?"
"Oh, yes. I stayed in bed all day with my feet done up in rags and
read four newspapers and one magazine. Then at night I hobbled out to
a restaurant where I had to blow in thirty-five cents for chicken pie
instead of a quarter."
"But what ailed your feet?"
"Blistered. Standin' on 'em--Christmas rush."
"Oh!" shuddered Pollyanna, sympathetically. "And you didn't have any
tree, or party, or anything?" she cried, distressed and shocked.
"Well, hardly!"
"O dear! How I wish you could have seen mine!" sighed the little girl.
"It was just lovely, and--But, oh, say!" she exclaimed joyously. "You
can see it, after all. It isn't gone yet. Now, can't you come out
to-night, or to-morrow night, and--"
"PollyANNA!" interrupted Mrs. Carew in her chilliest accents. "What in
the world does this mean? Where have you been? I have looked
everywhere for you. I even went 'way back to the suit department."
Pollyanna turned with a happy little cry.
"Oh, Mrs. Carew, I'm so glad you've come," she rejoiced. "This
is--well, I don't know her name yet, but I know HER, so it's all
right. I met her in the Public Garden ever so long ago. And she's
lonesome, and doesn't know anybody. And her father was a minister like
mine, only he's alive. And she didn't have any Christmas tree only
blistered feet and chicken pie; and I want her to see mine, you
know--the tree, I mean," plunged on Pollyanna, breathlessly. "I've
asked her to come out to-night, or to-morrow night. And you'll let me
have it all lighted up again, won't you?"
[Illustration: "'I don't know her name yet, but I know HER, so it's
all right'"]
"Well, really, Pollyanna," began Mrs. Carew, in cold disapproval. But
the girl behind the counter interrupted with a voice quite as cold,
and even more disapproving.
"Don't worry, madam. I've no notion of goin'."
"Oh, but PLEASE," begged Pollyanna. "You don't know how I want you,
and--"
"I notice the lady ain't doin' any askin'," interrupted the salesgirl,
a little maliciously.
Mrs. Carew flushed an angry red, and turned as if to go; but Pollyanna
caught her arm and held it, talking meanwhile almost frenziedly to the
girl behind the counter, who happened, at the moment, to be free from
customers.
"Oh, but she will, she will," Pollyanna was saying. "She wants you to
come--I know she does. Why, you don't know how good she is, and how
much money she gives to--to charitable 'sociations and everything."
"PollyANNA!" remonstrated Mrs. Carew, sharply. Once more she would
have gone, but this time she was held spellbound by the ringing scorn
in the low, tense voice of the salesgirl.
"Oh, yes, I know! There's lots of 'em that'll give to RESCUE work.
There's always plenty of helpin' hands stretched out to them that has
gone wrong. And that's all right. I ain't findin' no fault with that.
Only sometimes I wonder there don't some of 'em think of helpin' the
girls BEFORE they go wrong. Why don't they give GOOD girls pretty
homes with books and pictures and soft carpets and music, and somebody
'round 'em to care? Maybe then there wouldn't be so many--Good
heavens, what am I sayin'?" she broke off, under her breath. Then,
with the old weariness, she turned to a young woman who had stopped
before her and picked up a blue bow.
"That's fifty cents, madam," Mrs. Carew heard, as she hurried
Pollyanna away.