Pollyanna
“Yes, she might be,” nodded the old man.
“And she's goin' ter sleep in the attic--more shame ter HER!” scolded
Nancy, with another glance over her shoulder toward the house behind
her.
Old Tom frowned. The next moment a curious smile curved his lips.
“I'm a-wonderin' what Miss Polly will do with a child in the house,” he
said.
“Humph! Well, I'm a-wonderin' what a child will do with Miss Polly in
the house!” snapped Nancy.
The old man laughed.
“I'm afraid you ain't fond of Miss Polly,” he grinned.
“As if ever anybody could be fond of her!” scorned Nancy.
Old Tom smiled oddly. He stooped and began to work again.
“I guess maybe you didn't know about Miss Polly's love affair,” he said
slowly.
“Love affair--HER! No!--and I guess nobody else didn't, neither.”
“Oh, yes they did,” nodded the old man. “And the feller's livin'
ter-day--right in this town, too.”
“Who is he?”
“I ain't a-tellin' that. It ain't fit that I should.” The old man drew
himself erect. In his dim blue eyes, as he faced the house, there was
the loyal servant's honest pride in the family he has served and loved
for long years.
“But it don't seem possible--her and a lover,” still maintained Nancy.
Old Tom shook his head.
“You didn't know Miss Polly as I did,” he argued. “She used ter be real
handsome--and she would be now, if she'd let herself be.”
“Handsome! Miss Polly!”
“Yes. If she'd just let that tight hair of hern all out loose and
careless-like, as it used ter be, and wear the sort of bunnits with
posies in 'em, and the kind o' dresses all lace and white things--you'd
see she'd be handsome! Miss Polly ain't old, Nancy.”
“Ain't she, though? Well, then she's got an awfully good imitation of
it--she has, she has!” sniffed Nancy.
“Yes, I know. It begun then--at the time of the trouble with her lover,”
nodded Old Tom; “and it seems as if she'd been feedin' on wormwood an'
thistles ever since--she's that bitter an' prickly ter deal with.”
“I should say she was,” declared Nancy, indignantly. “There's no
pleasin' her, nohow, no matter how you try! I wouldn't stay if 'twa'n't
for the wages and the folks at home what's needin' 'em. But some
day--some day I shall jest b'ile over; and when I do, of course it'll be
good-by Nancy for me. It will, it will.”
Old Tom shook his head.
“I know. I've felt it. It's nart'ral--but 'tain't best, child; 'tain't
best. Take my word for it, 'tain't best.” And again he bent his old head
to the work before him.
“Nancy!” called a sharp voice.
“Y-yes, ma'am,” stammered Nancy; and hurried toward the house.
CHAPTER III. THE COMING OF POLLYANNA
In due time came the telegram announcing that Pollyanna would arrive in
Beldingsville the next day, the twenty-fifth of June, at four o'clock.
Miss Polly read the telegram, frowned, then climbed the stairs to the
attic room. She still frowned as she looked about her.
The room contained a small bed, neatly made, two straight-backed chairs,
a washstand, a bureau--without any mirror--and a small table. There were
no drapery curtains at the dormer windows, no pictures on the wall. All
day the sun had been pouring down upon the roof, and the little room
was like an oven for heat. As there were no screens, the windows had not
been raised. A big fly was buzzing angrily at one of them now, up and
down, up and down, trying to get out.
Miss Polly killed the fly, swept it through the window (raising the sash
an inch for the purpose), straightened a chair, frowned again, and left
the room.
“Nancy,” she said a few minutes later, at the kitchen door, “I found a
fly up-stairs in Miss Pollyanna's room. The window must have been raised
at some time. I have ordered screens, but until they come I shall
expect you to see that the windows remain closed. My niece will arrive
to-morrow at four o'clock. I desire you to meet her at the station.
Timothy will take the open buggy and drive you over. The telegram says
'light hair, red-checked gingham dress, and straw hat.' That is all I
know, but I think it is sufficient for your purpose.”
“Yes, ma'am; but--you--”
Miss Polly evidently read the pause aright, for she frowned and said
crisply:
“No, I shall not go. It is not necessary that I should, I think. That is
all.” And she turned away--Miss Polly's arrangements for the comfort of
her niece, Pollyanna, were complete.
In the kitchen, Nancy sent her flatiron with a vicious dig across the
dish-towel she was ironing.
“'Light hair, red-checked gingham dress, and straw hat'--all she knows,
indeed! Well, I'd be ashamed ter own it up, that I would, I would--and
her my onliest niece what was a-comin' from 'way across the continent!”
Promptly at twenty minutes to four the next afternoon Timothy and Nancy
drove off in the open buggy to meet the expected guest. Timothy was Old
Tom's son. It was sometimes said in the town that if Old Tom was Miss
Polly's right-hand man, Timothy was her left.
Timothy was a good-natured youth, and a good-looking one, as well.
Short as had been Nancy's stay at the house, the two were already good
friends. To-day, however, Nancy was too full of her mission to be her
usual talkative self; and almost in silence she took the drive to the
station and alighted to wait for the train.
Over and over in her mind she was saying it “light hair, red-checked
dress, straw hat.” Over and over again she was wondering just what sort
of child this Pollyanna was, anyway.
“I hope for her sake she's quiet and sensible, and don't drop knives nor
bang doors,” she sighed to Timothy, who had sauntered up to her.
“Well, if she ain't, nobody knows what'll become of the rest of us,”
grinned Timothy. “Imagine Miss Polly and a NOISY kid! Gorry! there goes
the whistle now!”
“Oh, Timothy, I--I think it was mean ter send me,” chattered the
suddenly frightened Nancy, as she turned and hurried to a point where
she could best watch the passengers alight at the little station.
It was not long before Nancy saw her--the slender little girl in the
red-checked gingham with two fat braids of flaxen hair hanging down her
back. Beneath the straw hat, an eager, freckled little face turned to
the right and to the left, plainly searching for some one.
Nancy knew the child at once, but not for some time could she control
her shaking knees sufficiently to go to her. The little girl was
standing quite by herself when Nancy finally did approach her.
“Are you Miss--Pollyanna?” she faltered. The next moment she found
herself half smothered in the clasp of two gingham-clad arms.
“Oh, I'm so glad, GLAD, GLAD to see you,” cried an eager voice in her
ear. “Of course I'm Pollyanna, and I'm so glad you came to meet me! I
hoped you would.”
“You--you did?” stammered Nancy, vaguely wondering how Pollyanna could
possibly have known her--and wanted her. “You--you did?” she repeated,
trying to straighten her hat.
“Oh, yes; and I've been wondering all the way here what you looked
like,” cried the little girl, dancing on her toes, and sweeping the
embarrassed Nancy from head to foot, with her eyes. “And now I know, and
I'm glad you look just like you do look.”
Nancy was relieved just then to have Timothy come up. Pollyanna's words
had been most confusing.
“This is Timothy. Maybe you have a trunk,” she stammered.
“Yes, I have,” nodded Pollyanna, importantly. “I've got a brand-new one.
The Ladies' Aid bought it for me--and wasn't it lovely of them, when
they wanted the carpet so? Of course I don't know how much red carpet
a trunk could buy, but it ought to buy some, anyhow--much as half an
aisle, don't you think? I've got a little thing here in my bag that Mr.
Gray said was a check, and that I must give it to you before I could
get my trunk. Mr. Gray is Mrs. Gray's husband. They're cousins of Deacon
Carr's wife. I came East with them, and they're lovely! And--there, here
'tis,” she finished, producing the check after much fumbling in the bag
she carried.
Nancy drew a long breath. Instinctively she felt that some one had
to draw one--after that speech. Then she stole a glance at Timothy.
Timothy's eyes were studiously turned away.
The three were off at last, with Pollyanna's trunk in behind, and
Pollyanna herself snugly ensconced between Nancy and Timothy. During
the whole process of getting started, the little girl had kept up an
uninterrupted stream of comments and questions, until the somewhat dazed
Nancy found herself quite out of breath trying to keep up with her.
“There! Isn't this lovely? Is it far? I hope 'tis--I love to ride,”
sighed Pollyanna, as the wheels began to turn. “Of course, if 'tisn't
far, I sha'n't mind, though, 'cause I'll be glad to get there all the
sooner, you know. What a pretty street! I knew 'twas going to be pretty;
father told me--”
She stopped with a little choking breath. Nancy, looking at her
apprehensively, saw that her small chin was quivering, and that her eyes
were full of tears. In a moment, however, she hurried on, with a brave
lifting of her head.
“Father told me all about it. He remembered. And--and I ought to have
explained before. Mrs. Gray told me to, at once--about this red gingham
dress, you know, and why I'm not in black. She said you'd think 'twas
queer. But there weren't any black things in the last missionary
barrel, only a lady's velvet basque which Deacon Carr's wife said wasn't
suitable for me at all; besides, it had white spots--worn, you know--on
both elbows, and some other places. Part of the Ladies' Aid wanted to
buy me a black dress and hat, but the other part thought the money ought
to go toward the red carpet they're trying to get--for the church, you
know. Mrs. White said maybe it was just as well, anyway, for she didn't
like children in black--that is, I mean, she liked the children, of
course, but not the black part.”
Pollyanna paused for breath, and Nancy managed to stammer:
“Well, I'm sure it--it'll be all right.”
“I'm glad you feel that way. I do, too,” nodded Pollyanna, again with
that choking little breath. “Of course, 'twould have been a good deal
harder to be glad in black--”
“Glad!” gasped Nancy, surprised into an interruption.
“Yes--that father's gone to Heaven to be with mother and the rest of us,
you know. He said I must be glad. But it's been pretty hard to--to do
it, even in red gingham, because I--I wanted him, so; and I couldn't
help feeling I OUGHT to have him, specially as mother and the rest have
God and all the angels, while I didn't have anybody but the Ladies' Aid.
But now I'm sure it'll be easier because I've got you, Aunt Polly. I'm
so glad I've got you!”
Nancy's aching sympathy for the poor little forlornness beside her
turned suddenly into shocked terror.
“Oh, but--but you've made an awful mistake, d-dear,” she faltered. “I'm
only Nancy. I ain't your Aunt Polly, at all!”
“You--you AREN'T?” stammered the little girl, in plain dismay.
“No. I'm only Nancy. I never thought of your takin' me for her. We--we
ain't a bit alike we ain't, we ain't!”
Timothy chuckled softly; but Nancy was too disturbed to answer the merry
flash from his eyes.
“But who ARE you?” questioned Pollyanna. “You don't look a bit like a
Ladies' Aider!”
Timothy laughed outright this time.
“I'm Nancy, the hired girl. I do all the work except the washin' an'
hard ironin'. Mis' Durgin does that.”
“But there IS an Aunt Polly?” demanded the child, anxiously.
“You bet your life there is,” cut in Timothy.
Pollyanna relaxed visibly.
“Oh, that's all right, then.” There was a moment's silence, then she
went on brightly: “And do you know? I'm glad, after all, that she didn't
come to meet me; because now I've got HER still coming, and I've got you
besides.”
Nancy flushed. Timothy turned to her with a quizzical smile.