Pollyanna
herself was hurrying into dressing gown and slippers, her face white and
frightened. A minute before she had been telephoning in a shaking voice
to Timothy:
“Come up quick!--you and your father. Bring lanterns. Somebody is on
the roof of the sun parlor. He must have climbed up the rose-trellis
or somewhere, and of course he can get right into the house through the
east window in the attic. I have locked the attic door down here--but
hurry, quick!”
Some time later, Pollyanna, just dropping off to sleep, was startled by
a lantern flash, and a trio of amazed ejaculations. She opened her eyes
to find Timothy at the top of a ladder near her, Old Tom just getting
through the window, and her aunt peering out at her from behind him.
“Pollyanna, what does this mean?” cried Aunt Polly then.
Pollyanna blinked sleepy eyes and sat up.
“Why, Mr. Tom--Aunt Polly!” she stammered. “Don't look so scared! It
isn't that I've got the consumption, you know, like Joel Hartley. It's
only that I was so hot--in there. But I shut the window, Aunt Polly, so
the flies couldn't carry those germ-things in.”
Timothy disappeared suddenly down the ladder. Old Tom, with almost equal
precipitation, handed his lantern to Miss Polly, and followed his son.
Miss Polly bit her lip hard--until the men were gone; then she said
sternly:
“Pollyanna, hand those things to me at once and come in here. Of all
the extraordinary children!” she ejaculated a little later, as, with
Pollyanna by her side, and the lantern in her hand, she turned back into
the attic.
To Pollyanna the air was all the more stifling after that cool breath
of the out of doors; but she did not complain. She only drew a long
quivering sigh.
At the top of the stairs Miss Polly jerked out crisply:
“For the rest of the night, Pollyanna, you are to sleep in my bed with
me. The screens will be here to-morrow, but until then I consider it my
duty to keep you where I know where you are.”
Pollyanna drew in her breath.
“With you?--in your bed?” she cried rapturously. “Oh, Aunt Polly, Aunt
Polly, how perfectly lovely of you! And when I've so wanted to sleep
with some one sometime--some one that belonged to me, you know; not a
Ladies' Aider. I've HAD them. My! I reckon I am glad now those screens
didn't come! Wouldn't you be?”
There was no reply. Miss Polly was stalking on ahead. Miss Polly, to
tell the truth, was feeling curiously helpless. For the third time since
Pollyanna's arrival, Miss Polly was punishing Pollyanna--and for the
third time she was being confronted with the amazing fact that her
punishment was being taken as a special reward of merit. No wonder Miss
Polly was feeling curiously helpless.
CHAPTER VIII. POLLYANNA PAYS A VISIT
It was not long before life at the Harrington homestead settled into
something like order--though not exactly the order that Miss Polly had
at first prescribed. Pollyanna sewed, practised, read aloud, and studied
cooking in the kitchen, it is true; but she did not give to any of these
things quite so much time as had first been planned. She had more time,
also, to “just live,” as she expressed it, for almost all of every
afternoon from two until six o'clock was hers to do with as she
liked--provided she did not “like” to do certain things already
prohibited by Aunt Polly.
It is a question, perhaps, whether all this leisure time was given to
the child as a relief to Pollyanna from work--or as a relief to Aunt
Polly from Pollyanna. Certainly, as those first July days passed, Miss
Polly found occasion many times to ejaculate “What an extraordinary
child!” and certainly the reading and sewing lessons found her at their
conclusion each day somewhat dazed and wholly exhausted.
Nancy, in the kitchen, fared better. She was not dazed nor exhausted.
Wednesdays and Saturdays came to be, indeed, red-letter days to her.
There were no children in the immediate neighborhood of the Harrington
homestead for Pollyanna to play with. The house itself was on the
outskirts of the village, and though there were other houses not far
away, they did not chance to contain any boys or girls near Pollyanna's
age. This, however, did not seem to disturb Pollyanna in the least.
“Oh, no, I don't mind it at all,” she explained to Nancy. “I'm happy
just to walk around and see the streets and the houses and watch the
people. I just love people. Don't you, Nancy?”
“Well, I can't say I do--all of 'em,” retorted Nancy, tersely.
Almost every pleasant afternoon found Pollyanna begging for “an errand
to run,” so that she might be off for a walk in one direction or
another; and it was on these walks that frequently she met the Man. To
herself Pollyanna always called him “the Man,” no matter if she met a
dozen other men the same day.
The Man often wore a long black coat and a high silk hat--two things
that the “just men” never wore. His face was clean shaven and rather
pale, and his hair, showing below his hat, was somewhat gray. He walked
erect, and rather rapidly, and he was always alone, which made Pollyanna
vaguely sorry for him. Perhaps it was because of this that she one day
spoke to him.
“How do you do, sir? Isn't this a nice day?” she called cheerily, as she
approached him.
The man threw a hurried glance about him, then stopped uncertainly.
“Did you speak--to me?” he asked in a sharp voice.
“Yes, sir,” beamed Pollyanna. “I say, it's a nice day, isn't it?”
“Eh? Oh! Humph!” he grunted; and strode on again.
Pollyanna laughed. He was such a funny man, she thought.
The next day she saw him again.
“'Tisn't quite so nice as yesterday, but it's pretty nice,” she called
out cheerfully.
“Eh? Oh! Humph!” grunted the man as before; and once again Pollyanna
laughed happily.
When for the third time Pollyanna accosted him in much the same manner,
the man stopped abruptly.
“See here, child, who are you, and why are you speaking to me every
day?”
“I'm Pollyanna Whittier, and I thought you looked lonesome. I'm so glad
you stopped. Now we're introduced--only I don't know your name yet.”
“Well, of all the--” The man did not finish his sentence, but strode on
faster than ever.
Pollyanna looked after him with a disappointed droop to her usually
smiling lips.
“Maybe he didn't understand--but that was only half an introduction. I
don't know HIS name, yet,” she murmured, as she proceeded on her way.
Pollyanna was carrying calf's-foot jelly to Mrs. Snow to-day. Miss Polly
Harrington always sent something to Mrs. Snow once a week. She said she
thought that it was her duty, inasmuch as Mrs. Snow was poor, sick, and
a member of her church--it was the duty of all the church members
to look out for her, of course. Miss Polly did her duty by Mrs. Snow
usually on Thursday afternoons--not personally, but through Nancy.
To-day Pollyanna had begged the privilege, and Nancy had promptly given
it to her in accordance with Miss Polly's orders.
“And it's glad that I am ter get rid of it,” Nancy had declared in
private afterwards to Pollyanna; “though it's a shame ter be tuckin' the
job off on ter you, poor lamb, so it is, it is!”
“But I'd love to do it, Nancy.”
“Well, you won't--after you've done it once,” predicted Nancy, sourly.
“Why not?”
“Because nobody does. If folks wa'n't sorry for her there wouldn't a
soul go near her from mornin' till night, she's that cantankerous. All
is, I pity her daughter what HAS ter take care of her.”
“But, why, Nancy?”
Nancy shrugged her shoulders.
“Well, in plain words, it's just that nothin' what ever has happened,
has happened right in Mis' Snow's eyes. Even the days of the week ain't
run ter her mind. If it's Monday she's bound ter say she wished 'twas
Sunday; and if you take her jelly you're pretty sure ter hear she wanted
chicken--but if you DID bring her chicken, she'd be jest hankerin' for
lamb broth!”
“Why, what a funny woman,” laughed Pollyanna. “I think I shall like
to go to see her. She must be so surprising and--and different. I love
DIFFERENT folks.”
“Humph! Well, Mis' Snow's 'different,' all right--I hope, for the sake
of the rest of us!” Nancy had finished grimly.
Pollyanna was thinking of these remarks to-day as she turned in at
the gate of the shabby little cottage. Her eyes were quite sparkling,
indeed, at the prospect of meeting this “different” Mrs. Snow.
A pale-faced, tired-looking young girl answered her knock at the door.
“How do you do?” began Pollyanna politely. “I'm from Miss Polly
Harrington, and I'd like to see Mrs. Snow, please.”
“Well, if you would, you're the first one that ever 'liked' to see her,”
muttered the girl under her breath; but Pollyanna did not hear this. The
girl had turned and was leading the way through the hall to a door at
the end of it.
In the sick-room, after the girl had ushered her in and closed the door,
Pollyanna blinked a little before she could accustom her eyes to the
gloom. Then she saw, dimly outlined, a woman half-sitting up in the bed
across the room. Pollyanna advanced at once.
“How do you do, Mrs. Snow? Aunt Polly says she hopes you are comfortable
to-day, and she's sent you some calf's-foot jelly.”
“Dear me! Jelly?” murmured a fretful voice. “Of course I'm very much
obliged, but I was hoping 'twould be lamb broth to-day.”
Pollyanna frowned a little.
“Why, I thought it was CHICKEN you wanted when folks brought you jelly,”
she said.
“What?” The sick woman turned sharply.
“Why, nothing, much,” apologized Pollyanna, hurriedly; “and of course
it doesn't really make any difference. It's only that Nancy said it was
chicken you wanted when we brought jelly, and lamb broth when we brought
chicken--but maybe 'twas the other way, and Nancy forgot.”
The sick woman pulled herself up till she sat erect in the bed--a most
unusual thing for her to do, though Pollyanna did not know this.
“Well, Miss Impertinence, who are you?” she demanded.
Pollyanna laughed gleefully.
“Oh, THAT isn't my name, Mrs. Snow--and I'm so glad 'tisn't, too! That
would be worse than 'Hephzibah,' wouldn't it? I'm Pollyanna Whittier,
Miss Polly Harrington's niece, and I've come to live with her. That's
why I'm here with the jelly this morning.”
All through the first part of this sentence, the sick woman had sat
interestedly erect; but at the reference to the jelly she fell back on
her pillow listlessly.
“Very well; thank you. Your aunt is very kind, of course, but my
appetite isn't very good this morning, and I was wanting lamb--” She
stopped suddenly, then went on with an abrupt change of subject. “I
never slept a wink last night--not a wink!”
“O dear, I wish _I_ didn't,” sighed Pollyanna, placing the jelly on the
little stand and seating herself comfortably in the nearest chair. “You
lose such a lot of time just sleeping! Don't you think so?”
“Lose time--sleeping!” exclaimed the sick woman.
“Yes, when you might be just living, you know. It seems such a pity we
can't live nights, too.”
Once again the woman pulled herself erect in her bed.
“Well, if you ain't the amazing young one!” she cried. “Here! do you go
to that window and pull up the curtain,” she directed. “I should like to
know what you look like!”
Pollyanna rose to her feet, but she laughed a little ruefully.
“O dear! then you'll see my freckles, won't you?” she sighed, as she
went to the window; “--and just when I was being so glad it was dark and
you couldn't see 'em. There! Now you can--oh!” she broke off excitedly,
as she turned back to the bed; “I'm so glad you wanted to see me,
because now I can see you! They didn't tell me you were so pretty!”
“Me!--pretty!” scoffed the woman, bitterly.
“Why, yes. Didn't you know it?” cried Pollyanna.
“Well, no, I didn't,” retorted Mrs. Snow, dryly. Mrs. Snow had lived