Pollyanna Grows Up
Copyright© 2025 by Eleanor H. Porter
Chapter 31: After Long Years
Pollyanna was so happy that night after she had sent her letter to Jimmy that she could not quite keep it to herself. Always before going to bed she stepped into her aunt’s room to see if anything were needed. To-night, after the usual questions, she had turned to put out the light when a sudden impulse sent her back to her aunt’s bedside. A little breathlessly she dropped on her knees.
“Aunt Polly, I’m so happy I just had to tell some one. I WANT to tell you. May I?”
“Tell me? Tell me what, child? Of course you may tell me. You mean, it’s good news—for ME?”
“Why, yes, dear; I hope so,” blushed Pollyanna. “I hope it will make you—GLAD, a little, for me, you know. Of course Jimmy will tell you himself all properly some day. But I wanted to tell you first.”
“Jimmy!” Mrs. Chilton’s face changed perceptibly.
“Yes, when—when he—he asks you for me,” stammered Pollyanna, with a radiant flood of color. “Oh, I—I’m so happy, I HAD to tell you!”
“Asks me for you! Pollyanna!” Mrs. Chilton pulled herself up in bed.
“You don’t mean to say there’s anything SERIOUS between you and—Jimmy
Bean!”
Pollyanna fell back in dismay.
“Why, auntie, I thought you LIKED Jimmy!”
“So I do—in his place. But that place isn’t the husband of my niece.”
“AUNT POLLY!”
“Come, come, child, don’t look so shocked. This is all sheer nonsense, and I’m glad I’ve been able to stop it before it’s gone any further.”
“But, Aunt Polly, it HAS gone further,” quavered Pollyanna. “Why, I—I already have learned to lo— —c-care for him—dearly.”
“Then you’ll have to unlearn it, Pollyanna, for never, never will I give my consent to your marrying Jimmy Bean.”
“But—w-why, auntie?”
“First and foremost because we know nothing about him.”
“Why, Aunt Polly, we’ve always known him, ever since I was a little girl!”
“Yes, and what was he? A rough little runaway urchin from an Orphans’
Home! We know nothing whatever about his people, and his pedigree.”
“But I’m not marrying his p-people and his p-pedigree!”
With an impatient groan Aunt Polly fell back on her pillow.
“Pollyanna, you’re making me positively ill. My heart is going like a trip hammer. I sha’n’t sleep a wink to-night. CAN’T you let this thing rest till morning?”
Pollyanna was on her feet instantly, her face all contrition.
“Why, yes—yes, indeed; of course, Aunt Polly! And to-morrow you’ll feel different, I’m sure. I’m sure you will,” reiterated the girl, her voice quivering with hope again, as she turned to extinguish the light.
But Aunt Polly did not “feel different” in the morning. If anything, her opposition to the marriage was even more determined. In vain Pollyanna pleaded and argued. In vain she showed how deeply her happiness was concerned. Aunt Polly was obdurate. She would have none of the idea. She sternly admonished Pollyanna as to the possible evils of heredity, and warned her of the dangers of marrying into she knew not what sort of family. She even appealed at last to her sense of duty and gratitude toward herself, and reminded Pollyanna of the long years of loving care that had been hers in the home of her aunt, and she begged her piteously not to break her heart by this marriage as had her mother years before by HER marriage.
When Jimmy himself, radiant-faced and glowing-eyed, came at ten o’clock, he was met by a frightened, sob-shaken little Pollyanna that tried ineffectually to hold him back with two trembling hands. With whitening cheeks, but with defiantly tender arms that held her close, he demanded an explanation.
“Pollyanna, dearest, what in the world is the meaning of this?”
“Oh, Jimmy, Jimmy, why did you come, why did you come? I was going to write and tell you straight away,” moaned Pollyanna.
“But you did write me, dear. I got it yesterday afternoon, just in time to catch my train.”
“No, no;—AGAIN, I mean. I didn’t know then that I—I couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t! Pollyanna,”—his eyes flamed into stern wrath, —”you don’t mean to tell me there’s anybody ELSE’S love you think you’ve got to keep me waiting for?” he demanded, holding her at arm’s length.
“No, no, Jimmy! Don’t look at me like that. I can’t bear it!”
“Then what is it? What is it you can’t do?”
“I can’t—marry you.”
“Pollyanna, do you love me?”
“Yes. Oh, y-yes.”
“Then you shall marry me,” triumphed Jimmy, his arms enfolding her again.
“No, no, Jimmy, you don’t understand. It’s—Aunt Polly,” struggled
Pollyanna.
{5}”AUNT POLLY!”
“Yes. She—won’t let me.”
“Ho!” Jimmy tossed his head with a light laugh. “We’ll fix Aunt Polly. She thinks she’s going to lose you, but we’ll just remind her that she—she’s going to gain a—a new nephew!” he finished in mock importance.
But Pollyanna did not smile. She turned her head hopelessly from side to side.
“No, no, Jimmy, you don’t understand! She—she—oh, how can I tell you?—she objects to—to YOU—for—ME.”
Jimmy’s arms relaxed a little. His eyes sobered.
“Oh, well, I suppose I can’t blame her for that. I’m no—wonder, of course,” he admitted constrainedly. “Still,”—he turned loving eyes upon her—”I’d try to make you—happy, dear.”
“Indeed you would! I know you would,” protested Pollyanna, tearfully.
“Then why not—give me a chance to try, Pollyanna, even if she—doesn’t quite approve, at first. Maybe in time, after we were married, we could win her over.”
“Oh, but I couldn’t—I couldn’t do that,” moaned Pollyanna, “after what she’s said. I couldn’t—without her consent. You see, she’s done so much for me, and she’s so dependent on me. She isn’t well a bit, now, Jimmy. And, really, lately she’s been so—so loving, and she’s been trying so hard to—to play the game, you know, in spite of all her troubles. And she—she cried, Jimmy, and begged me not to break her heart as—as mother did long ago. And—and Jimmy, I—I just couldn’t, after all she’s done for me.”
There was a moment’s pause; then, with a vivid red mounting to her forehead, Pollyanna spoke again, brokenly.
“Jimmy, if you—if you could only tell Aunt Polly something about—about your father, and your people, and—”
Jimmy’s arms dropped suddenly. He stepped back a little. The color drained from his face.
“Is—that—it?” he asked.
“Yes.” Pollyanna came nearer, and touched his arm timidly. “Don’t think—It isn’t for me, Jimmy. I don’t care. Besides, I KNOW that your father and your people were all—all fine and noble, because YOU are so fine and noble. But she—Jimmy, don’t look at me like that!”
But Jimmy, with a low moan had turned quite away from her. A minute later, with only a few choking words, which she could not understand, he had left the house.
From the Harrington homestead Jimmy went straight home and sought out John Pendleton. He found him in the great crimson-hung library where, some years before, Pollyanna had looked fearfully about for the “skeleton in John Pendleton’s closet.”
“Uncle John, do you remember that packet father gave me?” demanded
Jimmy.
“Why, yes. What’s the matter, son?” John Pendleton had given a start of surprise at sight of Jimmy’s face.
“That packet has got to be opened, sir.”
“But—the conditions!”
“I can’t help it. It’s got to be. That’s all. Will you do it?”
“Why, y-yes, my boy, of course, if you insist; but—” he paused helplessly.
“Uncle John, as perhaps you have guessed, I love Pollyanna. I asked her to be my wife, and she consented.” The elder man made a delighted exclamation, but the other did not pause, or change his sternly intent expression. “She says now she can’t—marry me. Mrs. Chilton objects. She objects to ME.”
“OBJECTS to YOU!” John Pendleton’s eyes flashed angrily.
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