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

“OBJECTS to YOU!” John Pendleton’s eyes flashed angrily.

“Yes. I found out why when – when Pollyanna begged if I couldn’t tell her aunt something about – about my father and my people.”

“Shucks! I thought Polly Chilton had more sense – still, it’s just like her, after all. The Harringtons have always been inordinately proud of race and family,” snapped John Pendleton. “Well, could you?”

“COULD I ! It was on the end of my tongue to tell Pollyanna that there couldn’t have been a better father than mine was; then, suddenly, I remembered – the packet, and what it said. And I was afraid. I didn’t dare say a word till I knew what was inside that packet. There’s something dad didn’t want me to know till I was thirty years old – when I would be a man grown, and could stand anything. See? There’s a secret somewhere in our lives. I’ve got to know that secret, and I’ve got to know it now.”

“But, Jimmy, lad, don’t look so tragic. It may be a good secret. Perhaps it’ll be something you’ll LIKE to know.”

“Perhaps. But if it had been, would he have been apt to keep it from me till I was thirty years old? No! Uncle John, it was something he was trying to save me from till I was old enough to stand it and not flinch [156] to stand it and not flinch – ( разг. ) выдержать, не моргнув глазом . Understand, I’m not blaming dad. Whatever it was, it was something he couldn’t help, I’ll warrant. But WHAT it was I’ve got to know. Will you get it, please? It’s in your safe, you know.”

John Pendleton rose at once.

“I’ll get it,” he said. Three minutes later it lay in Jimmy’s hand; but Jimmy held it out at once.

“I would rather you read it, sir, please. Then tell me.”

“But, Jimmy, I – very well.” With a decisive gesture John Pendleton picked up a paper-cutter, opened the envelope, and pulled out the contents. There was a package of several papers tied together, and one folded sheet alone, apparently a letter. This John Pendleton opened and read first. And as he read, Jimmy, tense and breathless, watched his face. He saw, therefore, the look of amazement, joy, and something else he could not name, that leaped into John Pendleton’s countenance.

“Uncle John, what is it? What is it?” he demanded.

“Read it – for yourself,” answered the man, thrusting the letter into Jimmy’s outstretched hand. And Jimmy read this:

“The enclosed papers are the legal proof that my boy Jimmy is really James Kent, son of John Kent, who married Doris Wetherby, daughter of William Wetherby of Boston. There is also a letter in which I explain to my boy why I have kept him from his mother’s family all these years. If this packet is opened by him at thirty years of age, he will read this letter, and I hope will forgive a father who feared to lose his boy entirely, so took this drastic course to keep him to himself. If it is opened by strangers, because of his death, I request that his mother’s people in Boston be notified at once, and the inclosed package of papers be given, intact, into their hands.

“JOHN KENT.”

Jimmy was pale and shaken when he looked up to meet John Pendleton’s eyes.

“Am I – the lost – Jamie?” he faltered.

“That letter says you have documents there to prove it,” nodded the other.

“Mrs. Carew’s nephew?”

“Of course.”

“But, why – what – I can’t realize it!” There was a moment’s pause before into Jimmy’s face flashed a new joy. “Then, surely now I know who I am! I can tell – Mrs. Chilton SOMETHING of my people.”

“I should say you could,” retorted John Pendleton, dryly. “The Boston Wetherbys can trace straight back to the Crusades [157] can trace straight back to the Crusades – ( разг. ) прослеживают (считают) свою родословную до крестовых походов (XI–XIII вв.) , and I don’t know but to the year one. That ought to satisfy her. As for your father – he came of good stock, too, Mrs. Carew told me, though he was rather eccentric, and not pleasing to the family, as you know, of course.”

“Yes. Poor dad! And what a life he must have lived with me all those years – always dreading pursuit. I can understand – lots of things, now, that used to puzzle me. A woman called me ‘Jamie,’ once. Jove! how angry he was! I know now why he hurried me away that night without even waiting for supper. Poor dad! It was right after that he was taken sick. He couldn’t use his hands or his feet, and very soon he couldn’t talk straight. Something ailed his speech. I remember when he died he was trying to tell me something about this packet. I believe now he was telling me to open it, and go to my mother’s people; but I thought then he was just telling me to keep it safe. So that’s what I promised him. But it didn’t comfort him any. It only seemed to worry him more. You see, I didn’t understand. Poor dad!”

“Suppose we take a look at these papers,” suggested John Pendleton. “Besides, there’s a letter from your father to you, I understand. Don’t you want to read it?”

“Yes, of course. And then —” the young fellow laughed shame-facedly and glanced at the clock – “I was wondering just how soon I could go back – to Pollyanna.”

A thoughtful frown came to John Pendleton’s face. He glanced at Jimmy, hesitated, then spoke.

“I know you want to see Pollyanna, lad, and I don’t blame you; but it strikes me that, under the circumstances, you should go first to – Mrs. Carew, and take these.” He tapped the papers before him.

Jimmy drew his brows together and pondered.

“All right, sir, I will,” he agreed resignedly.

“And if you don’t mind, I’d like to go with you,” further suggested John Pendleton, a little diffidently. “I – I have a little matter of my own that I’d like to see – your aunt about. Suppose we go down today on the three o’clock [158] on the three o’clock – ( разг. ) трехчасовым поездом ?”

“Good! We will, sir. Gorry! And so I’m Jamie! I can’t grasp it yet!” exclaimed the young man, springing to his feet, and restlessly moving about the room. “I wonder, now,” he stopped, and colored boyishly, “do you think – Aunt Ruth – will mind – very much?”

John Pendleton shook his head. A hint of the old somberness came into his eyes.

“Hardly, my boy. But – I’m thinking of myself. How about it? When you’re her boy, where am I coming in?”

“You! Do you think ANYTHING could put you one side?” scoffed Jimmy, fervently. “You needn’t worry about that. And SHE won’t mind. She has Jamie, you know, and – ” He stopped short, a dawning dismay in his eyes. “By George! Uncle John, I forgot – Jamie. This is going to be tough on – Jamie!”

“Yes, I’d thought of that. Still, he’s legally adopted, isn’t he?”

“Oh, yes; it isn’t that. It’s the fact that he isn’t the real Jamie himself – and he with his two poor useless legs! Why, Uncle John, it’ll just about kill him [159] it’ll just about kill him – ( разг. ) его это просто убьет . I’ve heard him talk. I know. Besides, Pollyanna and Mrs. Carew both have told me how he feels, how SURE he is, and how happy he is. Great Scott! I can’t take away from him this – But what CAN I do?”

“I don’t know, my boy. I don’t see as there’s anything you can do, but what you are doing.”

There was a long silence. Jimmy had resumed his nervous pacing up and down the room. Suddenly he wheeled, his face alight.

“There IS a way, and I’ll do it. I KNOW Mrs. Carew will agree. WE WON’t TELL! We won’t tell anybody but Mrs. Carew herself, and – and Pollyanna and her aunt. I’ll HAVE to tell them,” he added defensively.