"Yes. I had not meant to tell you, but perhaps it's better, after
all, that I do--now." John Pendleton's face had grown very
white. He was speaking with evident difficulty. Pollyanna, her
eyes wide and frightened, and her lips parted, was gazing at him
fixedly. "I loved your mother; but she--didn't love me. And after
a time she went away with--your father. I did not know until then
how much I did--care. The whole world suddenly seemed to turn
black under my fingers, and--But, never mind. For long years I
have been a cross, crabbed, unlovable, unloved old man--though
I'm not nearly sixty, yet, Pollyanna. Then, One day, like one of
the prisms that you love so well, little girl, you danced into my
life, and flecked my dreary old world with dashes of the purple
and gold and scarlet of your own bright cheeriness. I found out,
after a time, who you were, and--and I thought then I never
wanted to see you again. I didn't want to be reminded of--your
mother. But--you know how that came out. I just had to have you
come. And now I want you always. Pollyanna, won't you come NOW?"
"But, Mr. Pendleton, I--There's Aunt Polly!" Pollyanna's eyes
were blurred with tears.
The man made an impatient gesture.
"What about me? How do you suppose I'm going to be 'glad' about
anything--without you? Why, Pollyanna, it's only since you came
that I've been even half glad to live! But if I had you for my
own little girl, I'd be glad for--anything; and I'd try to make
you glad, too, my dear. You shouldn't have a wish ungratified.
All my money, to the last cent, should go to make you happy."
Pollyanna looked shocked.
"Why, Mr. Pendleton, as if I'd let you spend it on me--all that
money you've saved for the heathen!"
A dull red came to the man's face. He started to speak, but
Pollyanna was still talking.
"Besides, anybody with such a lot of money as you have doesn't
need me to make you glad about things. You're making other folks
so glad giving them things that you just can't help being glad
yourself! Why, look at those prisms you gave Mrs. Snow and me,
and the gold piece you gave Nancy on her birthday, and--"
"Yes, yes--never mind about all that," interrupted the man. His
face was very, very red now--and no wonder, perhaps: it was not
for "giving things" that John Pendleton had been best known in
the past. "That's all nonsense. 'Twasn't much, anyhow--but what
there was, was because of you. YOU gave those things; not I! Yes,
you did," he repeated, in answer to the shocked denial in her
face. "And that only goes to prove all the more how I need you,
little girl," he added, his voice softening into tender pleading
once more. "If ever, ever I am to play the 'glad game,'
Pollyanna, you'll have to come and play it with me."
The little girl's forehead puckered into a wistful frown.