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

“Never mind, Nancy! Let it go at whatever comes handiest,” he chuckled. “I’ve found out what I wanted to know: Mrs. Chilton and her niece really are expected to-morrow.”

“Yes, sir, they be, sir,” courtesied Nancy, “ – more’s the pity! Not but that I shall be glad enough ter see ’em, you understand, but it’s the WAY they’re a-comin’.”

“Yes, I know. I understand,” nodded the youth, gravely, his eyes sweeping the fine old house before him. “Well, I suppose that part can’t be helped. But I’m glad you’re doing – just what you are doing. That WILL help a whole lot,” he finished with a bright smile, as he wheeled about and rode rapidly down the driveway.

Back on the steps Nancy wagged her head wisely.

“I ain’t surprised, Master Jimmy,” she declared aloud, her admiring eyes following the handsome figures of horse and man. “I ain’t surprised that you ain’t lettin’ no grass grow under your feet [91] you ain’t lettin’ no grass grow under your feet – ( разг. ) вы не теряете время попусту (не ждете у моря погоды) ’bout inquirin’ for Miss Pollyanna. I said long ago ’twould come sometime, an’ it’s bound to – what with your growin’ so handsome and tall. An’ I hope ’twill; I do, I do. It’ll be just like a book, what with her a-findin’ you an’ gettin’ you into that grand home with Mr. Pendleton. My, but who’d ever take you now for that little Jimmy Bean that used to be! I never did see such a change in anybody – I didn’t, I didn’t!” she answered, with one last look at the rapidly disappearing figures far down the road.

Something of the same thought must have been in the mind of John Pendleton some time later that same morning, for, from the veranda of his big gray house on Pendleton Hill, John Pendleton was watching the rapid approach of that same horse and rider; and in his eyes was an expression very like the one that had been in Mrs. Nancy Durgin’s. On his lips, too, was an admiring “Jove! what a handsome pair!” as the two dashed by on the way to the stable.

Five minutes later the youth came around the corner of the house and slowly ascended the veranda steps.

“Well, my boy, is it true? Are they coming?” asked the man, with visible eagerness.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“To-morrow.” The young fellow dropped himself into a chair.

At the crisp terseness of the answer, John Pendleton frowned. He threw a quick look into the young man’s face. For a moment he hesitated; then, a little abruptly, he asked:

“Why, son, what’s the matter?”

“Matter? Nothing, sir.”

“Nonsense! I know better. You left here an hour ago so eager to be off that wild horses could not have held you. Now you sit humped up in that chair and look as if wild horses couldn’t drag you out of it. If I didn’t know better I’d think you weren’t glad that our friends are coming.”

He paused, evidently for a reply. But he did not get it.

“Why, Jim, AREN’t you glad they’re coming?”

The young fellow laughed and stirred restlessly.

“Why, yes, of course.”

“Humph! You act like it.”

The youth laughed again. A boyish red flamed into his face.

“Well, it’s only that I was thinking – of Pollyanna.”

“Pollyanna! Why, man alive, you’ve done nothing but prattle of Pollyanna ever since you came home from Boston and found she was expected. I thought you were dying to see Pollyanna.”

The other leaned forward with curious intentness.

“That’s exactly it! See? You said it a minute ago. It’s just as if yesterday wild horses couldn’t keep me from seeing Pollyanna; and now, to-day, when I know she’s coming – they couldn’t drag me to see her.”

“Why, JIM!”

At the shocked incredulity on John Pendleton’s face, the younger man fell back in his chair with an embarrassed laugh.

“Yes, I know. It sounds nutty, and I don’t expect I can make you understand. But, somehow, I don’t think – I ever wanted Pollyanna to grow up. She was such a dear [92] was such a dear – ( разг. ) была такая лапочка (милая, душечка) , just as she was. I like to think of her as I saw her last, her earnest, freckled little face, her yellow pigtails, her tearful: ‘Oh, yes, I’m glad I’m going; but I think I shall be a little gladder when I come back.’ That’s the last time I saw her. You know we were in Egypt that time she was here four years ago.”

“I know. I see exactly what you mean, too. I think I felt the same way – till I saw her last winter in Rome.”

The other turned eagerly.

“Sure enough, you have seen her! Tell me about her.”

A shrewd twinkle came into John Pendleton’s eyes.

“Oh, but I thought you didn’t want to know Pollyanna – grown-up.”

With a grimace the young fellow tossed this aside.

“Is she pretty?”

“Oh, ye young men!” shrugged John Pendleton, in mock despair. “Always the first question – ‘Is she pretty?’!”

“Well, is she?” insisted the youth.

“I’ll let you judge for yourself. If you – On second thoughts, though, I believe I won’t. You might be too disappointed. Pollyanna isn’t pretty, so far as regular features, curls, and dimples go. In fact, to my certain knowledge the great cross in Pollyanna’s life thus far is that she is so sure she isn’t pretty. Long ago she told me that black curls were one of the things she was going to have when she got to Heaven; and last year in Rome she said something else. It wasn’t much, perhaps, so far as words went, but I detected the longing beneath. She said she did wish that sometime some one would write a novel with a heroine who had straight hair and a freckle on her nose; but that she supposed she ought to be glad girls in books didn’t have to have them.”

“That sounds like the old Pollyanna.”

“Oh, you’ll still find her – Pollyanna,” smiled the man, quizzically. “Besides, I think she’s pretty. Her eyes are lovely. She is the picture of health. She carries herself with all the joyous springiness of youth, and her whole face lights up so wonderfully when she talks that you quite forget whether her features are regular or not.”

“Does she still – play the game?”

John Pendleton smiled fondly.

“I imagine she plays it, but she doesn’t say much about it now, I fancy. Anyhow, she didn’t to me, the two or three times I saw her.”

There was a short silence; then, a little slowly, young Pendleton said:

“I think that was one of the things that was worrying me. That game has been so much to so many people. It has meant so much everywhere, all through the town! I couldn’t bear to think of her giving it up and NOT playing it. At the same time I couldn’t fancy a grownup Pollyanna perpetually admonishing people to be glad for something. Someway, I – well, as I said, I – I just didn’t want Pollyanna to grow up, anyhow.”

“Well, I wouldn’t worry,” shrugged the elder man, with a peculiar smile. “Always, with Pollyanna, you know, it was the ‘clearing-up shower,’ both literally and figuratively; and I think you’ll find she lives up to the same principle [93] lives up to the same principle – ( разг. ) придерживается тех же принципов now – though perhaps not quite in the same way. Poor child, I fear she’ll need some kind of game to make existence endurable, for a while, at least.”

“Do you mean because Mrs. Chilton has lost her money? Are they so very poor, then?”

“I suspect they are. In fact, they are in rather bad shape, so far as money matters go [94] so far as money matters go – ( разг. ) в том, что касается денег , as I happen to know. Mrs. Chilton’s own fortune has shrunk unbelievably, and poor Tom’s estate is very small, and hopelessly full of bad debts – professional services never paid for, and that never will be paid for. Tom could never say no when his help was needed, and all the dead beats in town knew it and imposed on him accordingly. Expenses have been heavy with him lately. Besides, he expected great things when he should have completed this special work in Germany. Naturally he supposed his wife and Pollyanna were more than amply provided for through the Harrington estate; so he had no worry in that direction.”