It was towards the latter part of June that the letter came to Pollyanna from Della Wetherby.
I am writing to ask you a favor [Miss Wetherby wrote] I am hoping you can tell me of some quiet private family in Beldingsville that will be willing to take my sister to board for the summer. There would be three of them, Mrs Carew, her secretary, and her adopted son, Jamie. (You remember Jamie, don’t you?) They do not like to go to an ordinary hotel or boarding-house. My sister is very tired, and the doctor has advised her to go into the country for a complete rest and change. He suggested Vermont or New Hampshire. We immediately thought of Beldingsville and you; and we wondered if you couldn’t recommend just the right place to us. I told Ruth I would write you. They would like to go right away, early in July, if possible. Would it be asking too much to request you to let us know as soon as you conveniently can if you do know of a place? Please address me here. My sister is with us here at the Sanatorium for a few weeks’ treatment.
Hoping for a favorable reply, I am,
Most cordially yours,
Della Wetherby
For the first few minutes after the letter was finished, Pollyanna sat with frowning brow, mentally searching the homes of Beldingsville for a possible boarding-house for her old friends. Then a sudden something gave her thoughts a new turn, and with a joyous exclamation she hurried to her aunt in the living-room.
“Auntie, Auntie,” she panted; “I’ve got just the loveliest idea. I told you something would happen, and that I’d develop that wonderful talent some time. Well, I have. I have right now. Listen! I’ve had a letter from Miss Wetherby, Mrs Carew’s sister – where I stayed that winter in Boston, you know – and they want to come into the country to board for the summer, and Miss Wetherby’s written to see if I didn’t know a place for them. They don’t want a hotel or an ordinary boarding-house, you see. And at first I didn’t know of one; but now I do. I do, Aunt Polly! Just guess where ’tis.”
“Dear me, child,” ejaculated Mrs Chilton, “how you do run on! I should think you were a dozen years old instead of a woman grown. Now what are you talking about?”
“About a boarding-place for Mrs Carew and Jamie. I’ve found it,” babbled Pollyanna.
“Indeed! Well, what of it? Of what possible interest can that be to me, child?” murmured Mrs Chilton, drearily.