THROUGH AN OPEN WINDOW
One by one the short winter days came and went--but they were not
short to Pollyanna. They were long, and sometimes full of pain.
Very resolutely, these days, however, Pollyanna was turning a
cheerful face toward whatever came. Was she not specially bound
to play the game, now that Aunt Polly was playing it, too? And
Aunt Polly found so many things to be glad about! It was Aunt
Polly, too, who discovered the story one day about the two poor
little waifs in a snow-storm who found a blown-down door to crawl
under, and who wondered what poor folks did that didn't have any
door! And it was Aunt Polly who brought home the other story that
she had heard about the poor old lady who had only two teeth, but
who was so glad that those two teeth "hit"!
Pollyanna now, like Mrs. Snow, was knitting wonderful things out
of bright colored worsteds that trailed their cheery lengths
across the white spread, and made Pollyanna--again like Mrs.
Snow--so glad she had her hands and arms, anyway.
Pollyanna saw people now, occasionally, and always there were the
loving messages from those she could not see; and always they
brought her something new to think about--and Pollyanna needed
new things to think about.
Once she had seen John Pendleton, and twice she had seen Jimmy
Bean. John Pendleton had told her what a fine boy Jimmy was
getting to be, and how well he was doing. Jimmy had told her what
a first-rate home he had, and what bang-up "folks" Mr. Pendleton
made; and both had said that it was all owing to her.
"Which makes me all the gladder, you know, that I HAVE had my
legs," Pollyanna confided to her aunt afterwards.
The winter passed, and spring came. The anxious watchers over
Pollyanna's condition could see little change wrought by the
prescribed treatment. There seemed every reason to believe,
indeed, that Dr. Mead's worst fears would be realized--that
Pollyanna would never walk again.
Beldingsville, of course, kept itself informed concerning
Pollyanna; and of Beldingsville, one man in particular fumed and
fretted himself into a fever of anxiety over the daily bulletins
which he managed in some way to procure from the bed of
suffering. As the days passed, however, and the news came to be
no better, but rather worse, something besides anxiety began to
show in the man's face: despair, and a very dogged
determination, each fighting for the mastery. In the end, the
dogged determination won; and it was then that Mr. John
Pendleton, somewhat to his surprise, received one Saturday
morning a call from Dr. Thomas Chilton.
"Pendleton," began the doctor, abruptly, "I've come to you
because you, better than any one else in town, know something of
my relations with Miss Polly Harrington."
John Pendleton was conscious that he must have started
visibly--he did know something of the affair between Polly
Harrington and Thomas Chilton, but the matter had not been
mentioned between them for fifteen years, or more.
"Yes," he said, trying to make his voice sound concerned enough
for sympathy, and not eager enough for curiosity. In a moment he
saw that he need not have worried, however: the doctor was quite
too intent on his errand to notice how that errand was received.
"Pendleton, I want to see that child. I want to make an
examination. I MUST make an examination."
"Well--can't you?"
"CAN'T I! Pendleton, you know very well I haven't been inside
that door for more than fifteen years. You don't know--but I will
tell you--that the mistress of that house told me that the NEXT
time she ASKED me to enter it, I might take it that she was
begging my pardon, and that all would be as before--which meant
that she'd marry me. Perhaps you see her summoning me now--but I
don't!"
"But couldn't you go--without a summons?"
The doctor frowned.
"Well, hardly. _I_ have some pride, you know."
"But if you're so anxious--couldn't you swallow your pride and
forget the quarrel--"
"Forget the quarrel!" interrupted the doctor, savagely. "I'm not
talking of that kind of pride. So far as THAT is concerned, I'd
go from here there on my knees--or on my head--if that would do
any good. It's PROFESSIONAL pride I'm talking about. It's a case
of sickness, and I'm a doctor. I can't butt in and say, 'Here,
take me!'can I?"
"Chilton, what was the quarrel?" demanded Pendleton.
The doctor made an impatient gesture, and got to his feet.
"What was it? What's any lovers' quarrel after it's over?" he
snarled, pacing the room angrily. "A silly wrangle over the size
of the moon or the depth of a river, maybe--it might as well be,
so far as its having any real significance compared to the years
of misery that follow them! Never mind the quarrel! So far as I
am concerned, I am willing to say there was no quarrel.
Pendleton, I must see that child. It may mean life or death. It
will mean--I honestly believe--nine chances out of ten that
Pollyanna Whittier will walk again!"
The words were spoken clearly, impressively; and they were spoken
just as the one who uttered them had almost reached the open
window near John Pendleton's chair. Thus it happened that very
distinctly they reached the ears of a small boy kneeling beneath
the window on the ground outside.
Jimmy Bean, at his Saturday morning task of pulling up the first
little green weeds of the flowerbeds, sat up with ears and eyes
wide open.
"Walk! Pollyanna!" John Pendleton was saying. "What do you
mean?"
I mean that from what I can hear and learn--a mile from her
bedside--that her case is very much like one that a college
friend of mine has just helped. For years he's been making this
sort of thing a special study. I've kept in touch with him, and
studied, too, in a way. And from what I hear--but I want to SEE
the girl!"
John Pendleton came erect in his chair.
"You must see her, man! Couldn't you--say, through Dr. Warren?"
The other shook his head.
"I'm afraid not. Warren has been very decent, though. He told me
himself that he suggested consultation with me at the first,
but--Miss Harrington said no so decisively that he didn't dare
venture it again, even though he knew of my desire to see the
child. Lately, some of his best patients have come over to me--so
of course that ties my hands still more effectually. But,
Pendleton, I've got to see that child! Think of what it may mean
to her--if I do!"
"Yes, and think of what it will mean--if you don't!" retorted
Pendleton.
"But how can I--without a direct request from her aunt?--which
I'll never get!"
"She must be made to ask you!"
"How?"
"I don't know."
"No, I guess you don't--nor anybody else. She's too proud and too
angry to ask me--after what she said years ago it would mean if
she did ask me. But when I think of that child, doomed to
lifelong misery, and when I think that maybe in my hands lies a
chance of escape, but for that confounded nonsense we call pride
and professional etiquette, I--" He did not finish his sentence,
but with his hands thrust deep into his pockets, he turned and
began to tramp up and down the room again, angrily.
"But if she could be made to see--to understand," urged John
Pendleton.
"Yes; and who's going to do it?" demanded the doctor, with a
savage turn.
"I don't know, I don't know," groaned the other, miserably.
Outside the window Jimmy Bean stirred suddenly. Up to now he had
scarcely breathed, so intently had he listened to every word.
"Well, by Jinks, I know!" he whispered, exultingly. "I'M a-goin'
ter do it!" And forthwith he rose to his feet, crept stealthily
around the corner of the house, and ran with all his might down
Pendleton Hill.