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

Restless days for Jimmy followed. To stay away from the Harrington homestead entirely he did not dare, lest his secret be suspected. To be with Pollyanna at all now was torture. Even to be with Sadie Dean was unpleasant, for he could not forget that it was Sadie Dean who had finally opened his eyes. Jamie, certainly, was no haven of refuge, under the circumstances; and that left only Mrs. Carew. Mrs. Carew, however, was a host in herself, and Jimmy found his only comfort these days in her society. Gay or grave, she always seemed to know how to fit his mood exactly; and it was wonderful how much she knew about bridges – the kind of bridges he was going to build. She was so wise, too, and so sympathetic, knowing always just the right word to say. He even one day almost told her about “The Packet”; but John Pendleton interrupted them at just the wrong moment, so the story was not told. John Pendleton was always interrupting them at just the wrong moment, Jimmy thought vexedly, sometimes. Then, when he remembered what John Pendleton had done for him, he was ashamed.

“The Packet” was a thing that dated back to Jimmy’s boyhood, and had never been mentioned to any one save to John Pendleton, and that only once, at the time of his adoption. “The Packet” was nothing but rather a large white envelope, worn with time, and plump with mystery behind a huge red seal. It had been given him by his father, and it bore the following instructions in his father’s hand:

“To my boy, Jimmy. Not to be opened until his thirtieth birthday except in case of his death, when it shall be opened at once.”

There were times when Jimmy speculated a good deal as to the contents of that envelope. There were other times when he forgot its existence. In the old days, at the Orphans’ Home, his chief terror had been that it should be discovered and taken away from him. In those days he wore it always hidden in the lining of his coat [126] in the lining of his coat – ( разг. ) за подкладкой пальто . Of late years, at John Pendleton’s suggestion, it had been tucked away in the Pendleton safe.

“For there’s no knowing how valuable it may be,” John Pendleton had said, with a smile. “And, anyway, your father evidently wanted you to have it, and we wouldn’t want to run the risk of losing it.”

“No, I wouldn’t want to lose it, of course,” Jimmy had smiled back, a little soberly. “But I’m not counting on its being real valuable, sir. Poor dad didn’t have anything that was very valuable about him, as I remember.”

It was this Packet that Jimmy came so near mentioning to Mrs. Carew one day, – if only John Pendleton had not interrupted them.

“Still, maybe it’s just as well I didn’t tell her about it,” Jimmy reflected afterwards, on his way home. “She might have thought dad had something in his life that wasn’t quite – right. And I wouldn’t have wanted her to think that – of dad.”

Before the middle of September the Carews and Sadie Dean said good-by and went back to Boston. Much as she knew she would miss them, Pollyanna drew an actual sigh of relief as the train bearing them away rolled out of the Beldingsville station. Pollyanna would not have admitted having this feeling of relief to any one else, and even to herself she apologized in her thoughts.

“It isn’t that I don’t love them dearly, every one of them,” she sighed, watching the train disappear around the curve far down the track. “It’s only that – that I’m so sorry for poor Jamie all the time; and – and – I am tired. I shall be glad, for a while, just to go back to the old quiet days with Jimmy.”

Pollyanna, however, did not go back to the old quiet days with Jimmy. The days that immediately followed the going of the Carews were quiet, certainly, but they were not passed “with Jimmy.” Jimmy rarely came near the house now, and when he did call, he was not the old Jimmy that she used to know. He was moody, restless, and silent, or else very gay and talkative in a nervous fashion that was most puzzling and annoying. Before long, too, he himself went to Boston; and then of course she did not see him at all.

Pollyanna was surprised then to see how much she missed him. Even to know that he was in town, and that there was a chance that he might come over, was better than the dreary emptiness of certain absence; and even his puzzling moods of alternating gloominess and gayety were preferable to this utter silence of nothingness. Then, one day, suddenly she pulled herself up with hot cheeks and shamed eyes.

“Well, Pollyanna Whittier,” she upbraided herself sharply, “one would think you were in LOVE with Jimmy Bean Pendleton! Can’t you think of ANYTHING but him?”

Whereupon, forthwith, she bestirred herself to be very gay and lively indeed, and to put this Jimmy Bean Pendleton out of her thoughts. As it happened [127] As it happened – ( разг. ) На самом деле; так уж случилось , Aunt Polly, though unwittingly, helped her to this.

With the going of the Carews had gone also their chief source of immediate income, and Aunt Polly was beginning to worry again, audibly, about the state of their finances.

“I don’t know, really, Pollyanna, what IS going to become of us,” she would moan frequently. “Of course we are a little ahead now from this summer’s work, and we have a small sum from the estate right along; but I never know how soon that’s going to stop, like all the rest. If only we could do something to bring in some ready cash!”

It was after one of these moaning lamentations one day that Pollyanna’s eyes chanced to fall on a prize-story contest offer. It was a most alluring one. The prizes were large and numerous. The conditions were set forth in glowing terms. To read it, one would think that to win out were the easiest thing in the world. It contained even a special appeal that might have been framed for Pollyanna herself.

“This is for you – you who read this,” it ran. “What if you never have written a story before! That is no sign you cannot write one. Try it. That’s all. Wouldn’t YOU like three thousand dollars? Two thousand? One thousand? Five hundred, or even one hundred? Then why not go after it?”

“The very thing! [128] The very thing! – ( разг. ) То, что надо! ” cried Pollyanna, clapping her hands. “I’m so glad I saw it! And it says I can do it, too. I thought I could, if I’d just try. I’ll go tell auntie, so she needn’t worry any more.”

Pollyanna was on her feet and half way to the door when a second thought brought her steps to a pause.

“Come to think of it, I reckon I won’t, after all. It’ll be all the nicer to surprise her; and if I SHOULD get the first one – !”

Pollyanna went to sleep that night planning what she COULD do with that three thousand dollars.

Pollyanna began her story the next day. That is, she, with a very important air, got out a quantity of paper, sharpened up half-a-dozen pencils, and established herself at the big old-fashioned Harrington desk in the living-room. After biting restlessly at the ends of two of her pencils, she wrote down three words on the fair white page before her. Then she drew a long sigh, threw aside the second ruined pencil, and picked up a slender green one with a beautiful point. This point she eyed with a meditative frown.

“O dear! I wonder WHERE they get their titles,” she despaired. “Maybe, though, I ought to decide on the story first, and then make a title to fit. Anyhow, I’m going to do it.” And forthwith she drew a black line through the three words and poised the pencil for a fresh start.