Элинор Портер - Pollyanna / Поллианна. Книга для чтения на английском языке

The minister dropped the paper and lifted his chin. In a moment he was on his feet, tramping the narrow room back and forth, back and forth. Later, some time later, he drew a long breath, and dropped himself in the chair at his desk.

“God helping me, I’ll do it!” he cried softly. “I’ll tell all my Toms I KNOW they’ll be glad to fill that wood-box! I’ll give them work to do, and I’ll make them so full of the very joy of doing it that they won’t have TIME to look at their neighbors’ woodboxes!” And he picked up his sermon notes, tore straight through the sheets, and cast them from him, so that on one side of his chair lay “But woe unto you,” and on the other, “scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!” while across the smooth white paper before him his pencil fairly flew – after first drawing one black line through Matthew, twenty-third; 13–14 and 23.

Thus it happened that the Rev. Paul Ford’s sermon the next Sunday was a veritable bugle-call to the best that was in every man and woman and child that heard it; and its text was one of Pollyanna’s shining eight hundred:

“Be glad in the Lord and rejoice, ye righteous, and shout for joy all ye that are upright in heart.”

At Mrs. Snow’s request, Pollyanna went one day to Dr. Chilton’s office to get the name of a medicine which Mrs. Snow had forgotten. As it chanced, Pollyanna had never before seen the inside of Dr. Chilton’s office.

“I’ve never been to your home before! This IS your home, isn’t it?” she said, looking interestedly about her.

The doctor smiled a little sadly.

“Yes – such as ’tis,” he answered, as he wrote something on the pad of paper in his hand; “but it’s a pretty poor apology for a home [156] it’s a pretty poor apology for a home – ( разг. ) убогое жилище , Pollyanna. They’re just rooms, that’s all – not a home.”

Pollyanna nodded her head wisely. Her eyes glowed with sympathetic understanding.

“I know. It takes a woman’s hand and heart, or a child’s presence to make a home,” she said.

“Eh?” The doctor wheeled about abruptly.

“Mr. Pendleton told me,” nodded Pollyanna, again; “about the woman’s hand and heart, or the child’s presence, you know. Why don’t you get a woman’s hand and heart, Dr. Chilton? Or maybe you’d take Jimmy Bean – if Mr. Pendleton doesn’t want him.”

Dr. Chilton laughed a little constrainedly.

“So Mr. Pendleton says it takes a woman’s hand and heart to make a home, does he?” he asked evasively.

“Yes. He says his is just a house, too. Why don’t you, Dr. Chilton?”

“Why don’t I – what?” The doctor had turned back to his desk.

“Get a woman’s hand and heart. Oh – and I forgot.” Pollyanna’s face showed suddenly a painful color. “I suppose I ought to tell you. It wasn’t Aunt Polly that Mr. Pendleton loved long ago; and so we – we aren’t going there to live. You see, I told you it was – but I made a mistake. I hope YOU didn’t tell any one,” she finished anxiously.

“No – I didn’t tell any one, Pollyanna,” replied the doctor, a little queerly.

“Oh, that’s all right, then,” sighed Pollyanna in relief. “You see you’re the only one I told, and I thought Mr. Pendleton looked sort of funny when I said I’d told YOU.”

“Did he?” The doctor’s lips twitched.

“Yes. And of course he wouldn’t want many people to know it – when ’twasn’t true. But why don’t you get a woman’s hand and heart, Dr. Chilton?”

There was a moment’s silence; then very gravely the doctor said:

“They’re not always to be had – for the asking [157] They’re not always to be had – for the asking – ( разг. ) Это не всегда можно просто получить , little girl.”

Pollyanna frowned thoughtfully.

“But I should think you could get ’em,” she argued.

The flattering emphasis was unmistakable.

“Thank you,” laughed the doctor, with uplifted eyebrows. Then, gravely again: “I’m afraid some of your older sisters would not be quite so – confident. At least, they – they haven’t shown themselves to be so – obliging,” he observed.

Pollyanna frowned again. Then her eyes widened in surprise.

“Why, Dr. Chilton, you don’t mean – you didn’t try to get somebody’s hand and heart once, like Mr. Pendleton, and – and couldn’t, did you?”

The doctor got to his feet a little abruptly.

“There, there, Pollyanna, never mind about that now. Don’t let other people’s troubles worry your little head. Suppose you run back now to Mrs. Snow. I’ve written down the name of the medicine, and the directions how she is to take it. Was there anything else?”

Pollyanna shook her head.

“No, Sir; thank you, Sir,” she murmured soberly, as she turned toward the door. From the little hallway she called back, her face suddenly alight: “Anyhow, I’m glad ’twasn’t my mother’s hand and heart that you wanted and couldn’t get, Dr. Chilton. Good-by!”

It was on the last day of October that the accident occurred. Pollyanna, hurrying home from school, crossed the road at an apparently safe distance in front of a swiftly approaching motor car.

Just what happened, no one could seem to tell afterward. Neither was there any one found who could tell why it happened or who was to blame that it did happen [158] who was to blame that it did happen – ( разг. ) кто виноват в том, что случилось . Pollyanna, however, at five o’clock, was borne, limp and unconscious, into the little room that was so dear to her. There, by a white-faced Aunt Polly and a weeping Nancy she was undressed tenderly and put to bed, while from the village, hastily summoned by telephone, Dr. Warren was hurrying as fast as another motor car could bring him.

“And ye didn’t need ter more’n look at her aunt’s face,” Nancy was sobbing to Old Tom in the garden, after the doctor had arrived and was closeted in the hushed room; “ye didn’t need ter more’n look at her aunt’s face ter see that ’twa’n’t no duty that was eatin’ her. Yer hands don’t shake, and yer eyes don’t look as if ye was tryin’ ter hold back the Angel o’ Death himself, when you’re jest doin’ yer DUTY, Mr. Tom they don’t, they don’t!”

“Is she hurt – bad?” The old man’s voice shook.

“There ain’t no tellin’ [159] There ain’t no tellin’ – ( искаж. ) Никто не знает ,” sobbed Nancy. “She lay back that white an’ still she might easy be dead; but Miss Polly said she wa’n’t dead – an’ Miss Polly had oughter know, if any one would – she kept up such a listenin’ an’ a feelin’ for her heartbeats an’ her breath!”

“Couldn’t ye tell anythin’ what it done to her? – that – that – ” Old Tom’s face worked convulsively.

Nancy’s lips relaxed a little.

“I wish ye WOULD call it somethin’, Mr. Tom an’ somethin’ good an’ strong, too. Drat it! Ter think of its runnin’ down our little girl! I always hated the evil-smellin’ things, anyhow – I did, I did!”

“But where is she hurt?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” moaned Nancy. “There’s a little cut on her blessed head, but ’tain’t bad – that ain’t – Miss Polly says. She says she’s afraid it’s infernally she’s hurt.”

A faint flicker came into Old Tom’s eyes.

“I guess you mean internally, Nancy,” he said dryly. “She’s hurt infernally, all right – plague take that autymobile! – but I don’t guess Miss Polly’d be usin’ that word, all the same.”