Pollyanna Eleanor H. Porter (classic english novels txt) đ
- Author: Eleanor H. Porter
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âYou have been to school, of course, Pollyanna?â
âOh, yes, Aunt Polly. Besides, fathâ âI mean, I was taught at home some, too.â
Miss Polly frowned.
âVery good. In the fall you will enter school here, of course. Mr. Hall, the principal, will doubtless settle in which grade you belong. Meanwhile, I suppose I ought to hear you read aloud half an hour each day.â
âI love to read; but if you donât want to hear me Iâd be just glad to read to myselfâ âtruly, Aunt Polly. And I wouldnât have to half try to be glad, either, for I like best to read to myselfâ âon account of the big words, you know.â
âI donât doubt it,â rejoined Miss Polly, grimly. âHave you studied music?â
âNot much. I donât like my musicâ âI like other peopleâs, though. I learned to play on the piano a little. Miss Grayâ âshe plays for churchâ âshe taught me. But Iâd just as soon let that go as not, Aunt Polly. Iâd rather, truly.â
âVery likely,â observed Aunt Polly, with slightly uplifted eyebrows. âNevertheless I think it is my duty to see that you are properly instructed in at least the rudiments of music. You sew, of course.â
âYes, maâam.â Pollyanna sighed. âThe Ladiesâ Aid taught me that. But I had an awful time. Mrs. Jones didnât believe in holding your needle like the rest of âem did on buttonholing, and Mrs. White thought backstitching ought to be taught you before hemming (or else the other way), and Mrs. Harriman didnât believe in putting you on patchwork ever, at all.â
âWell, there will be no difficulty of that kind any longer, Pollyanna. I shall teach you sewing myself, of course. You do not know how to cook, I presume.â
Pollyanna laughed suddenly.
âThey were just beginning to teach me that this summer, but I hadnât got far. They were more divided up on that than they were on the sewing. They were going to begin on bread; but there wasnât two of âem that made it alike, so after arguing it all one sewing-meeting, they decided to take turns at me one forenoon a weekâ âin their own kitchens, you know. Iâd only learned chocolate fudge and fig cake, though, whenâ âwhen I had to stop.â Her voice broke.
âChocolate fudge and fig cake, indeed!â scorned Miss Polly. âI think we can remedy that very soon.â She paused in thought for a minute, then went on slowly: âAt nine oâclock every morning you will read aloud one half-hour to me. Before that you will use the time to put this room in order. Wednesday and Saturday forenoons, after half-past nine, you will spend with Nancy in the kitchen, learning to cook. Other mornings you will sew with me. That will leave the afternoons for your music. I shall, of course, procure a teacher at once for you,â she finished decisively, as she arose from her chair.
Pollyanna cried out in dismay.
âOh, but Aunt Polly, Aunt Polly, you havenât left me any time at all just toâ âto live.â
âTo live, child! What do you mean? As if you werenât living all the time!â
âOh, of course Iâd be breathing all the time I was doing those things, Aunt Polly, but I wouldnât be living. You breathe all the time youâre asleep, but you arenât living. I mean livingâ âdoing the things you want to do: playing outdoors, reading (to myself, of course), climbing hills, talking to Mr. Tom in the garden, and Nancy, and finding out all about the houses and the people and everything everywhere all through the perfectly lovely streets I came through yesterday. Thatâs what I call living, Aunt Polly. Just breathing isnât living!â
Miss Polly lifted her head irritably.
âPollyanna, you are the most extraordinary child! You will be allowed a proper amount of playtime, of course. But, surely, it seems to me if I am willing to do my duty in seeing that you have proper care and instruction, you ought to be willing to do yours by seeing that that care and instruction are not ungratefully wasted.â
Pollyanna looked shocked.
âOh, Aunt Polly, as if I ever could be ungratefulâ âto you! Why, I love youâ âand you arenât even a Ladiesâ Aider; youâre an aunt!â
âVery well; then see that you donât act ungrateful,â vouchsafed Miss Polly, as she turned toward the door.
She had gone halfway down the stairs when a small, unsteady voice called after her:
âPlease, Aunt Polly, you didnât tell me which of my things you wanted toâ âto give away.â
Aunt Polly emitted a tired sighâ âa sigh that ascended straight to Pollyannaâs ears.
âOh, I forgot to tell you, Pollyanna. Timothy will drive us into town at half-past one this afternoon. Not one of your garments is fit for my niece to wear. Certainly I should be very far from doing my duty by you if I should let you appear out in any one of them.â
Pollyanna sighed nowâ âshe believed she was going to hate that wordâ âduty.
âAunt Polly, please,â she called wistfully, âisnât there any way you can be glad about all thatâ âduty business?â
âWhat?â Miss Polly looked up in dazed surprise; then, suddenly, with very red cheeks, she turned and swept angrily down the stairs. âDonât be impertinent, Pollyanna!â
In the hot little attic room Pollyanna dropped herself on to one of the straight-backed chairs. To her, existence loomed ahead one endless round of duty.
âI donât see, really, what there was impertinent about that,â she sighed. âI was only asking her if she couldnât tell me something to be glad about in all that duty business.â
For several minutes Pollyanna sat in silence, her rueful eyes fixed on the forlorn heap of garments on the bed. Then, slowly, she rose and began to put away the dresses.
âThere just isnât anything to be glad about, that I can see,â she said aloud; âunlessâ âitâs to be glad when the dutyâs done!â Whereupon she laughed suddenly.
VII Pollyanna and PunishmentsAt half-past one oâclock Timothy drove Miss Polly and her niece to the four or five principal dry goods stores, which
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