Pollyanna
“I call that a pretty slick compliment,” he said. “Why don't you thank
the little lady?”
“I--I was thinkin' about--Miss Polly,” faltered Nancy.
Pollyanna sighed contentedly.
“I was, too. I'm so interested in her. You know she's all the aunt I've
got, and I didn't know I had her for ever so long. Then father told me.
He said she lived in a lovely great big house 'way on top of a hill.”
“She does. You can see it now,” said Nancy.
“It's that big white one with the green blinds, 'way ahead.”
“Oh, how pretty!--and what a lot of trees and grass all around it! I
never saw such a lot of green grass, seems so, all at once. Is my Aunt
Polly rich, Nancy?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“I'm so glad. It must be perfectly lovely to have lots of money. I never
knew any one that did have, only the Whites--they're some rich. They
have carpets in every room and ice-cream Sundays. Does Aunt Polly have
ice-cream Sundays?”
Nancy shook her head. Her lips twitched. She threw a merry look into
Timothy's eyes.
“No, Miss. Your aunt don't like ice-cream, I guess; leastways I never
saw it on her table.”
Pollyanna's face fell.
“Oh, doesn't she? I'm so sorry! I don't see how she can help liking
ice-cream. But--anyhow, I can be kinder glad about that, 'cause the
ice-cream you don't eat can't make your stomach ache like Mrs. White's
did--that is, I ate hers, you know, lots of it. Maybe Aunt Polly has got
the carpets, though.”
“Yes, she's got the carpets.”
“In every room?”
“Well, in almost every room,” answered Nancy, frowning suddenly at the
thought of that bare little attic room where there was no carpet.
“Oh, I'm so glad,” exulted Pollyanna. “I love carpets. We didn't have
any, only two little rugs that came in a missionary barrel, and one
of those had ink spots on it. Mrs. White had pictures, too, perfectly
beautiful ones of roses and little girls kneeling and a kitty and some
lambs and a lion--not together, you know--the lambs and the lion. Oh, of
course the Bible says they will sometime, but they haven't yet--that is,
I mean Mrs. White's haven't. Don't you just love pictures?”
“I--I don't know,” answered Nancy in a half-stifled voice.
“I do. We didn't have any pictures. They don't come in the barrels much,
you know. There did two come once, though. But one was so good father
sold it to get money to buy me some shoes with; and the other was so bad
it fell to pieces just as soon as we hung it up. Glass--it broke, you
know. And I cried. But I'm glad now we didn't have any of those nice
things, 'cause I shall like Aunt Polly's all the better--not being used
to 'em, you see. Just as it is when the PRETTY hair-ribbons come in
the barrels after a lot of faded-out brown ones. My! but isn't this a
perfectly beautiful house?” she broke off fervently, as they turned into
the wide driveway.
It was when Timothy was unloading the trunk that Nancy found an
opportunity to mutter low in his ear:
“Don't you never say nothin' ter me again about leavin', Timothy Durgin.
You couldn't HIRE me ter leave!”
“Leave! I should say not,” grinned the youth.
“You couldn't drag me away. It'll be more fun here now, with that kid
'round, than movin'-picture shows, every day!”
“Fun!--fun!” repeated Nancy, indignantly, “I guess it'll be somethin'
more than fun for that blessed child--when them two tries ter live
tergether; and I guess she'll be a-needin' some rock ter fly to for
refuge. Well, I'm a-goin' ter be that rock, Timothy; I am, I am!” she
vowed, as she turned and led Pollyanna up the broad steps.
CHAPTER IV. THE LITTLE ATTIC ROOM
Miss Polly Harrington did not rise to meet her niece. She looked up
from her book, it is true, as Nancy and the little girl appeared in the
sitting-room doorway, and she held out a hand with “duty” written large
on every coldly extended finger.
“How do you do, Pollyanna? I--” She had no chance to say more.
Pollyanna, had fairly flown across the room and flung herself into her
aunt's scandalized, unyielding lap.
“Oh, Aunt Polly, Aunt Polly, I don't know how to be glad enough that
you let me come to live with you,” she was sobbing. “You don't know how
perfectly lovely it is to have you and Nancy and all this after you've
had just the Ladies' Aid!”
“Very likely--though I've not had the pleasure of the Ladies' Aid's
acquaintance,” rejoined Miss Polly, stiffly, trying to unclasp the
small, clinging fingers, and turning frowning eyes on Nancy in the
doorway. “Nancy, that will do. You may go. Pollyanna, be good enough,
please, to stand erect in a proper manner. I don't know yet what you
look like.”
Pollyanna drew back at once, laughing a little hysterically.
“No, I suppose you don't; but you see I'm not very much to look at,
anyway, on account of the freckles. Oh, and I ought to explain about the
red gingham and the black velvet basque with white spots on the elbows.
I told Nancy how father said--”
“Yes; well, never mind now what your father said,” interrupted Miss
Polly, crisply. “You had a trunk, I presume?”
“Oh, yes, indeed, Aunt Polly. I've got a beautiful trunk that the
Ladies' Aid gave me. I haven't got so very much in it--of my own, I
mean. The barrels haven't had many clothes for little girls in them
lately; but there were all father's books, and Mrs. White said she
thought I ought to have those. You see, father--”
“Pollyanna,” interrupted her aunt again, sharply, “there is one thing
that might just as well be understood right away at once; and that is, I
do not care to have you keep talking of your father to me.”
The little girl drew in her breath tremulously.
“Why, Aunt Polly, you--you mean--” She hesitated, and her aunt filled
the pause.
“We will go up-stairs to your room. Your trunk is already there, I
presume. I told Timothy to take it up--if you had one. You may follow
me, Pollyanna.”
Without speaking, Pollyanna turned and followed her aunt from the room.
Her eyes were brimming with tears, but her chin was bravely high.
“After all, I--I reckon I'm glad she doesn't want me to talk about
father,” Pollyanna was thinking. “It'll be easier, maybe--if I don't
talk about him. Probably, anyhow, that is why she told me not to talk
about him.” And Pollyanna, convinced anew of her aunt's “kindness,”
blinked off the tears and looked eagerly about her.
She was on the stairway now. Just ahead, her aunt's black silk skirt
rustled luxuriously. Behind her an open door allowed a glimpse of
soft-tinted rugs and satin-covered chairs. Beneath her feet a marvellous
carpet was like green moss to the tread. On every side the gilt of
picture frames or the glint of sunlight through the filmy mesh of lace
curtains flashed in her eyes.
“Oh, Aunt Polly, Aunt Polly,” breathed the little girl, rapturously;
“what a perfectly lovely, lovely house! How awfully glad you must be
you're so rich!”
“PollyANNA!” ejaculated her aunt, turning sharply about as she reached
the head of the stairs. “I'm surprised at you--making a speech like that
to me!”
“Why, Aunt Polly, AREN'T you?” queried Pollyanna, in frank wonder.
“Certainly not, Pollyanna. I hope I could not so far forget myself as to
be sinfully proud of any gift the Lord has seen fit to bestow upon me,”
declared the lady; “certainly not, of RICHES!”
Miss Polly turned and walked down the hall toward the attic stairway
door. She was glad, now, that she had put the child in the attic room.
Her idea at first had been to get her niece as far away as possible from
herself, and at the same time place her where her childish heedlessness
would not destroy valuable furnishings. Now--with this evident strain of
vanity showing thus early--it was all the more fortunate that the room
planned for her was plain and sensible, thought Miss Polly.
Eagerly Pollyanna's small feet pattered behind her aunt. Still more
eagerly her big blue eyes tried to look in all directions at once, that
no thing of beauty or interest in this wonderful house might be passed
unseen. Most eagerly of all her mind turned to the wondrously exciting
problem about to be solved: behind which of all these fascinating doors
was waiting now her room--the dear, beautiful room full of curtains,
rugs, and pictures, that was to be her very own? Then, abruptly, her
aunt opened a door and ascended another stairway.
There was little to be seen here. A bare wall rose on either side. At
the top of the stairs, wide reaches of shadowy space led to far corners
where the roof came almost down to the floor, and where were
stacked innumerable trunks and boxes. It was hot and stifling, too.
Unconsciously Pollyanna lifted her head higher--it seemed so hard to
breathe. Then she saw that her aunt had thrown open a door at the right.
“There, Pollyanna, here is your room, and your trunk is here, I see.
Have you your key?”
Pollyanna nodded dumbly. Her eyes were a little wide and frightened.
Her aunt frowned.
“When I ask a question, Pollyanna, I prefer that you should answer aloud
not merely with your head.”
“Yes, Aunt Polly.”
“Thank you; that is better. I believe you have everything that you
need here,” she added, glancing at the well-filled towel rack and water
pitcher. “I will send Nancy up to help you unpack. Supper is at six
o'clock,” she finished, as she left the room and swept down-stairs.
For a moment after she had gone Pollyanna stood quite still, looking
after her. Then she turned her wide eyes to the bare wall, the bare
floor, the bare windows. She turned them last to the little trunk that
had stood not so long before in her own little room in the far-away
Western home. The next moment she stumbled blindly toward it and fell on
her knees at its side, covering her face with her hands.
Nancy found her there when she came up a few minutes later.
“There, there, you poor lamb,” she crooned, dropping to the floor and
drawing the little girl into her arms. “I was just a-fearin! I'd find
you like this, like this.”
Pollyanna shook her head.
“But I'm bad and wicked, Nancy--awful wicked,” she sobbed. “I just can't
make myself understand that God and the angels needed my father more
than I did.”
“No more they did, neither,” declared Nancy, stoutly.
“Oh-h!--NANCY!” The burning horror in Pollyanna's eyes dried the tears.
Nancy gave a shamefaced smile and rubbed her own eyes vigorously.
“There, there, child, I didn't mean it, of course,” she cried briskly.
“Come, let's have your key and we'll get inside this trunk and take out
your dresses in no time, no time.”
Somewhat tearfully Pollyanna produced the key.
“There aren't very many there, anyway,” she faltered.
“Then they're all the sooner unpacked,” declared Nancy.
Pollyanna gave a sudden radiant smile.
“That's so! I can be glad of that, can't I?” she cried.
Nancy stared.
“Why, of--course,” she answered a little uncertainly.
Nancy's capable hands made short work of unpacking the books, the
patched undergarments, and the few pitifully unattractive dresses.
Pollyanna, smiling bravely now, flew about, hanging the dresses in
the closet, stacking the books on the table, and putting away the
undergarments in the bureau drawers.
“I'm sure it--it's going to be a very nice room. Don't you think so?”
she stammered, after a while.
There was no answer. Nancy was very busy, apparently, with her head in
the trunk. Pollyanna, standing at the bureau, gazed a little wistfully
at the bare wall above.
“And I can be glad there isn't any looking-glass here, too, 'cause where
there ISN'T any glass I can't see my freckles.”
Nancy made a sudden queer little sound with her mouth--but when
Pollyanna turned, her head was in the trunk again. At one of the
windows, a few minutes later, Pollyanna gave a glad cry and clapped her
hands joyously.