Project Gutenberg surfs with a modem donated by Supra.
E >>
Eleanor H. Porter >> Project Gutenberg surfs with a modem donated by Supra.
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 Pollyanna, by Eleanor H. Porter
Scanned by Charles Keller for Tina with OmniPage Professional OCR
POLLYANNA
By ELEANOR H. PORTER
Author of "Miss Billy," "Miss Billy's Decision,"
"Cross Currents," "The Turn of the Tides," etc.
TO
My Cousin Belle
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. MISS POLLY
II. OLD TOM AND NANCY
III. THE COMING OF POLLYANNA
IV. THE LITTLE ATTIC ROOM
V. THE GAME
VI. A QUESTION OF DUTY
VII. POLLYANNA AND PUNISHMENTS
VIII. POLLYANNA PAYS A VISIT
IX. WHICH TELLS OF THE MAN
X. A SURPRISE FOR MRS. SNOW
XI. INTRODUCING JIMMY
XII. BEFORE THE LADIES' AID
XIII. IN PENDLETON WOODS
XIV. JUST A MATTER OF JELLY
XV. DR. CHILTON
XVI. A RED ROSE AND A LACE: SHAWL
XVII. "JUST LIKE A BOOK"
XVIII. PRISMS
XIX. WHICH IS SOMEWHAT SURPRISING
XX. WHICH IS MORE SURPRISING
XXI. A QUESTION ANSWERED
XXII. SERMONS AND WOODBOXES
XXIII. AN ACCIDENT
XXIV. JOHN PENDLETON
XXV. A WAITING GAME
XXVI. A DOOR AJAR
XXVII. TWO VISITS
XXVIII. THE GAME AND ITS PLAYERS
XXIX. THROUGH AN OPEN WINDOW
XXX. JIMMY TAKES THE HELM
XXXI. A NEW UNCLE
XXXII. WHICH IS A LETTER FROM POLLYANNA
POLLYANNA
CHAPTER I. MISS POLLY
Miss Polly Harrington entered her kitchen a little hurriedly this
June morning. Miss Polly did not usually make hurried movements;
she specially prided herself on her repose of manner. But to-day
she was hurrying--actually hurrying.
Nancy, washing dishes at the sink, looked up in surprise. Nancy
had been working in Miss Polly's kitchen only two months, but
already she knew that her mistress did not usually hurry.
"Nancy!"
"Yes, ma'am." Nancy answered cheerfully, but she still continued
wiping the pitcher in her hand.
"Nancy,"--Miss Polly's voice was very stern now--"when I'm
talking to you, I wish you to stop your work and listen to what I
have to say."
Nancy flushed miserably. She set the pitcher down at once, with
the cloth still about it, thereby nearly tipping it over--which
did not add to her composure.
"Yes, ma'am; I will, ma'am," she stammered, righting the pitcher,
and turning hastily. "I was only keepin' on with my work 'cause
you specially told me this mornin' ter hurry with my dishes, ye
know."
Her mistress frowned.
"That will do, Nancy. I did not ask for explanations. I asked for
your attention."
"Yes, ma'am." Nancy stifled a sigh. She was wondering if ever in
any way she could please this woman. Nancy had never "worked out"
before; but a sick mother suddenly widowed and left with three
younger children besides Nancy herself, had forced the girl into
doing something toward their support, and she had been so pleased
when she found a place in the kitchen of the great house on the
hill--Nancy had come from "The Corners," six miles away, and she
knew Miss Polly Harrington only as the mistress of the old
Harrington homestead, and one of the wealthiest residents of the
town. That was two months before. She knew Miss Polly now as a
stern, severe-faced woman who frowned if a knife clattered to the
floor, or if a door banged--but who never thought to smile even
when knives and doors were still.
"When you've finished your morning work, Nancy," Miss Polly was
saying now, "you may clear the little room at the head of the
stairs in the attic, and make up the cot bed. Sweep the room and
clean it, of course, after you clear out the trunks and boxes."
"Yes, ma'am. And where shall I put the things, please, that I
take out?"
"In the front attic." Miss Polly hesitated, then went on: "I
suppose I may as well tell you now, Nancy. My niece, Miss
Pollyanna Whittier, is coming to live with me. She is eleven
years old, and will sleep in that room."
"A little girl--coming here, Miss Harrington? Oh, won't that be
nice!" cried Nancy, thinking of the sunshine her own little
sisters made in the home at "The Corners."
"Nice? Well, that isn't exactly the word I should use," rejoined
Miss Polly, stiffly. "However, I intend to make the best of it,
of course. I am a good woman, I hope; and I know my duty."
Nancy colored hotly.
"Of course, ma'am; it was only that I thought a little girl here
might--might brighten things up for you," she faltered.
"Thank you," rejoined the lady, dryly. "I can't say, however,
that I see any immediate need for that."
"But, of course, you--you'd want her, your sister's child,"
ventured Nancy, vaguely feeling that somehow she must prepare a
welcome for this lonely little stranger.
Miss Polly lifted her chin haughtily.
"Well, really, Nancy, just because I happened to have a sister
who was silly enough to marry and bring unnecessary children into
a world that was already quite full enough, I can't see how I
should particularly WANT to have the care of them myself.
However, as I said before, I hope I know my duty. See that you
clean the corners, Nancy," she finished sharply, as she left the
room.
"Yes, ma'am," sighed Nancy, picking up the half-dried
pitcher--now so cold it must be rinsed again.
In her own room, Miss Polly took out once more the letter which
she had received two days before from the far-away Western town,
and which had been so unpleasant a surprise to her. The letter
was addressed to Miss Polly Harrington, Beldingsville, Vermont;
and it read as follows:
"Dear Madam:--I regret to inform you that the Rev. John Whittier
died two weeks ago, leaving one child, a girl eleven years old.
He left practically nothing else save a few books; for, as you
doubtless know, he was the pastor of this small mission church,
and had a very meagre salary.
"I believe he was your deceased sister's husband, but he gave me
to understand the families were not on the best of terms. He
thought, however, that for your sister's sake you might wish to
take the child and bring her up among her own people in the East.
Hence I am writing to you.
"The little girl will be all ready to start by the time you get
this letter; and if you can take her, we would appreciate it very
much if you would write that she might come at once, as there is
a man and his wife here who are going East very soon, and they
would take her with them to Boston, and put her on the
Beldingsville train. Of course you would be notified what day and
train to expect Pollyanna on.
"Hoping to hear favorably from you soon, I remain,
"Respectfully yours,
"Jeremiah O. White."
With a frown Miss Polly folded the letter and tucked it into its
envelope. She had answered it the day before, and she had said
she would take the child, of course. She HOPED she knew her duty
well enough for that!--disagreeable as the task would be.
As she sat now, with the letter in her hands, her thoughts went
back to her sister, Jennie, who had been this child's mother, and
to the time when Jennie, as a girl of twenty, had insisted upon
marrying the young minister, in spite of her family's
remonstrances. There had been a man of wealth who had wanted
her--and the family had much preferred him to the minister; but
Jennie had not. The man of wealth had more years, as well as more
money, to his credit, while the minister had only a young head
full of youth's ideals and enthusiasm, and a heart full of love.
Jennie had preferred these--quite naturally, perhaps; so she had
married the minister, and had gone south with him as a home
missionary's wife.
The break had come then. Miss Polly remembered it well, though
she had been but a girl of fifteen, the youngest, at the time.
The family had had little more to do with the missionary's wife.
To be sure, Jennie herself had written, for a time, and had named
her last baby "Pollyanna" for her two sisters, Polly and
Anna--the other babies had all died. This had been the last time
that Jennie had written; and in a few years there had come the
news of her death, told in a short, but heart-broken little note
from the minister himself, dated at a little town in the West.
Meanwhile, time had not stood still for the occupants of the
great house on the hill. Miss Polly, looking out at the
far-reaching valley below, thought of the changes those
twenty-five years had brought to her.
She was forty now, and quite alone in the world. Father, mother,
sisters--all were dead. For years, now, she had been sole
mistress of the house and of the thousands left her by her
father. There were people who had openly pitied her lonely life,
and who had urged her to have some friend or companion to live
with her; but she had not welcomed either their sympathy or their
advice. She was not lonely, she said. She liked being by herself.
She preferred quiet. But now--
Miss Polly rose with frowning face and closely-shut lips. She was
glad, of course, that she was a good woman, and that she not only
knew her duty, but had sufficient strength of character to
perform it. But--POLLYANNA!--what a ridiculous name!
CHAPTER II. OLD TOM AND NANCY
In the little attic room Nancy swept and scrubbed vigorously,
paying particular attention to the corners. There were times,
indeed, when the vigor she put into her work was more of a relief
to her feelings than it was an ardor to efface dirt--Nancy, in
spite of her frightened submission to her mistress, was no saint.
"I--just--wish--I could--dig--out the corners--of--her--soul!"
she muttered jerkily, punctuating her words with murderous jabs
of her pointed cleaning-stick. "There's plenty of 'em needs
cleanin' all right, all right! The idea of stickin' that blessed
child 'way off up here in this hot little room--with no fire in
the winter, too, and all this big house ter pick and choose from!
Unnecessary children, indeed! Humph!" snapped Nancy, wringing her
rag so hard her fingers ached from the strain; "I guess it ain't
CHILDREN what is MOST unnecessary just now, just now!"
For some time she worked in silence; then, her task finished, she
looked about the bare little room in plain disgust.
"Well, it's done--my part, anyhow," she sighed. "There ain't no
dirt here--and there's mighty little else. Poor little soul!--a
pretty place this is ter put a homesick, lonesome child into!"
she finished, going out and closing the door with a bang, "Oh!"
she ejaculated, biting her lip. Then, doggedly: "Well, I don't
care. I hope she did hear the bang,--I do, I do!"
In the garden that afternoon, Nancy found a few minutes in which
to interview Old Tom, who had pulled the weeds and shovelled the
paths about the place for uncounted years.
"Mr. Tom," began Nancy, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder
to make sure she was unobserved; "did you know a little girl was
comin' here ter live with Miss Polly?"
"A--what?" demanded the old man, straightening his bent back with
difficulty.
"A little girl--to live with Miss Polly."
"Go on with yer jokin'," scoffed unbelieving Tom. "Why don't ye
tell me the sun is a-goin' ter set in the east ter-morrer?"
"But it's true. She told me so herself," maintained Nancy. "It's
her niece; and she's eleven years old."
The man's jaw fell.
"Sho!--I wonder, now," he muttered; then a tender light came into
his faded eyes. "It ain't--but it must be--Miss Jennie's little
gal! There wasn't none of the rest of 'em married. Why, Nancy, it
must be Miss Jennie's little gal. Glory be ter praise! ter think
of my old eyes a-seein' this!"
"Who was Miss Jennie?"
"She was an angel straight out of Heaven," breathed the man,
fervently; "but the old master and missus knew her as their
oldest daughter. She was twenty when she married and went away
from here long years ago. Her babies all died, I heard, except
the last one; and that must be the one what's a-comin'."
"She's eleven years old."
"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.
"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?"
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13