“Here, Gladys, Gladys, come away with me. Hasn’t mama told you not to talk to strange children?”
“But I’m not strange children,” explained Pollyanna in eager defense. “I live right here in Boston, now, and —” But the young woman and the little girl dragging the doll carriage were already far down the path; and with a half-stifled sigh Pollyanna fell back. For a moment she stood silent, plainly disappointed; then resolutely she lifted her chin and went forward.
“Well, anyhow, I can be glad for that,” she nodded to herself, “for now maybe I’ll find somebody even nicer – Susie Smith, perhaps, or even Mrs. Carew’s Jamie. Anyhow, I can IMAGINE I’m going to find them; and if I don’t find THEM, I can find SOMEBODY!” she finished, her wistful eyes on the self-absorbed people all about her.
Undeniably Pollyanna was lonesome. Brought up by her father and the Ladies’ Aid Society in a small Western town, she had counted every house in the village her home, and every man, woman, and child her friend. Coming to her aunt in Vermont at eleven years of age, she had promptly assumed that conditions would differ only in that the homes and the friends would be new, and therefore even more delightful, possibly, for they would be “different” – and Pollyanna did so love “different” things and people! Her first and always her supreme delight in Beldingsville, therefore, had been her long rambles about the town and the charming visits with the new friends she had made. Quite naturally, in consequence, Boston, as she first saw it, seemed to Pollyanna even more delightfully promising in its possibilities.
Thus far, however, Pollyanna had to admit that in one respect, at least, it had been disappointing: she had been here nearly two weeks and she did not yet know the people who lived across the street, or even next door. More inexplicable still, Mrs. Carew herself did not know many of them, and not any of them well. She seemed, indeed, utterly indifferent to her neighbors, which was most amazing from Pollyanna’s point of view; but nothing she could say appeared to change Mrs. Carew’s attitude in the matter at all.
“They do not interest me, Pollyanna,” was all she would say; and with this, Pollyanna – whom they did interest very much – was forced to be content.
To-day, on her walk, however, Pollyanna had started out with high hopes, yet thus far she seemed destined to be disappointed. Here all about her were people who were doubtless most delightful – if she only knew them. But she did not know them. Worse yet, there seemed to be no prospect that she would know them, for they did not, apparently, wish to know her: Pollyanna was still smarting under the nurse’s sharp warning concerning “strange children.”
“Well, I reckon I’ll just have to show ’em that I’m not strange children,” she said at last to herself, moving confidently forward again.
Pursuant of this idea Pollyanna smiled sweetly into the eyes of the next person she met, and said blithely:
“It’s a nice day, isn’t it?”
“Er – what? Oh, y-yes, it is,” murmured the lady addressed, as she hastened on a little faster.
Twice again Pollyanna tried the same experiment, but with like disappointing results. Soon she came upon the little pond that she had seen sparkling in the sunlight through the trees. It was a beautiful pond, and on it were several pretty little boats full of laughing children. As she watched them, Pollyanna felt more and more dissatisfied to remain by herself. It was then that, spying a man sitting alone not far away, she advanced slowly toward him and sat down on the other end of the bench. Once Pollyanna would have danced unhesitatingly to the man’s side and suggested acquaintanceship with a cheery confidence that had no doubt of a welcome; but recent rebuffs had filled her with unaccustomed diffidence. Covertly she looked at the man now.
He was not very good to look at. His garments, though new, were dusty, and plainly showed lack of care. They were of the cut and style (though Pollyanna of course did not know this) that the State gives its prisoners as a freedom suit. His face was a pasty white, and was adorned with a week’s beard. His hat was pulled far down over his eyes. With his hands in his pockets he sat idly staring at the ground.
For a long minute Pollyanna said nothing; then hopefully she began:
“It IS a nice day, isn’t it?”
The man turned his head with a start.
“Eh? Oh – er – what did you say?” he questioned, with a curiously frightened look around to make sure the remark was addressed to him.
“I said ’twas a nice day,” explained Pollyanna in hurried earnestness; “but I don’t care about that especially. That is, of course I’m glad it’s a nice day, but I said it just as a beginning to things[27], and I’d just as soon talk about something else – anything else. It’s only that I wanted you to talk – about something, you see.”
The man gave a low laugh. Even to Pollyanna the laugh sounded a little queer, though she did not know (as did the man) that a laugh to his lips had been a stranger for many months.
“So you want me to talk, do you?” he said a little sadly. “Well, I don’t see but what I shall have to do it, then. Still, I should think a nice little lady like you might find lots nicer people to talk to than an old duffer like me.”
“Oh, but I like old duffers,” exclaimed Pollyanna quickly; “that is, I like the OLD part, and I don’t know what a duffer is, so I can’t dislike that. Besides, if you are a duffer, I reckon I like duffers. Anyhow, I like you,” she finished, with a contented little settling of herself in her seat that carried conviction.
“Humph! Well, I’m sure I’m flattered,” smiled the man, ironically. Though his face and words expressed polite doubt, it might have been noticed that he sat a little straighter on the bench. “And, pray, what shall we talk about?”
“It’s – it’s infinitesimal to me. That means I don’t care, doesn’t it?” asked Pollyanna, with a beaming smile. “Aunt Polly says that, whatever I talk about, anyhow, I always bring up at the Ladies’ Aiders. But I reckon that’s because they brought me up first, don’t you? We might talk about the party. I think it’s a perfectly beautiful party – now that I know some one.”
“P-party?”
“Yes – this, you know – all these people here to-day. It IS a party, isn’t it? The lady said it was for everybody, so I stayed – though I haven’t got to where the house is, yet, that’s giving the party.”
The man’s lips twitched.
“Well, little lady, perhaps it is a party, in a way,” he smiled; “but the ‘house’ that’s giving it is the city of Boston. This is the Public Garden – a public park, you understand, for everybody.”
“Is it? Always? And I may come here any time I want to? Oh, how perfectly lovely! That’s even nicer than I thought it could be. I’d worried for fear I couldn’t ever come again, after to-day, you see. I’m glad now, though, that I didn’t know it just at the first, for it’s all the nicer now. Nice things are nicer when you’ve been worrying for fear they won’t be nice, aren’t they?”
“Perhaps they are – if they ever turn out to be nice at all,” conceded the man, a little gloomily.
“Yes, I think so,” nodded Pollyanna, not noticing the gloom. “But isn’t it beautiful – here?” she gloried. “I wonder if Mrs. Carew knows about it – that it’s for anybody, so. Why, I should think everybody would want to come here all the time, and just stay and look around.”
The man’s face hardened.
“Well, there are a few people in the world who have got a job – who’ve got something to do besides just to come here and stay and look around; but I don’t happen to be one of them.”
“Don’t you? Then you can be glad for that, can’t you?” sighed Pollyanna, her eyes delightedly following a passing boat.
The man’s lips parted indignantly, but no words came. Pollyanna was still talking.