Pollyanna Eleanor H. Porter (classic english novels txt) đ
- Author: Eleanor H. Porter
Book online «Pollyanna Eleanor H. Porter (classic english novels txt) đ». Author Eleanor H. Porter
In her own room, Miss Polly took out once more the letter which she had received two days before from the faraway 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:
âDear Madam:â âI 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 meager salary.
âI believe he was your deceased sisterâs husband, but he gave me to understand the families were not on the best of terms. He thought, however, that for your sisterâs 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.
âThe 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.
âHoping to hear favorably from you soon, I remain,
âRespectfully yours,
âJeremiah O. White.â
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!â âdisagreeable 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 childâs mother, and to the time when Jennie, as a girl of twenty, had insisted upon marrying the young minister, in spite of her familyâs remonstrances. There had been a man of wealth who had wanted herâ âand 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 youthâs ideals and enthusiasm, and a heart full of love. Jennie had preferred theseâ âquite naturally, perhaps; so she had married the minister, and had gone south with him as a home missionaryâs 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 missionaryâs wife. To be sure, Jennie herself had written, for a time, and had named her last baby âPollyannaâ for her two sisters, Polly and Annaâ âthe 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 heartbroken 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, sistersâ âall 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 nowâ â
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. Butâ âPollyanna!â âwhat a ridiculous name!
II Old Tom and NancyIn 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 dirtâ âNancy, in spite of her frightened submission to her mistress, was no saint.
âIâ âjustâ âwishâ âI couldâ âdigâ âoutâ âthe cornersâ âofâ âherâ âsoul!â she muttered jerkily, punctuating her words with murderous jabs of her pointed cleaning-stick. âThereâs plenty of âem needs cleaninâ all right, all right! The idea of stickinâ that blessed child âway off up here in this hot little roomâ âwith no fire in the winter, too, and all this big house ter pick and choose from! Unnecessary children, indeed! Humph!â snapped Nancy, wringing her rag so hard her fingers ached from the strain; âI guess it ainât children what is most unnecessary just now, just now!â
For some time she worked in silence; then, her task finished, she looked about the bare little room in plain disgust.
âWell, itâs doneâ âmy part, anyhow,â she sighed. âThere ainât no dirt hereâ âand thereâs mighty little else. Poor little soul!â âa pretty place this is ter put a homesick, lonesome child into!â she finished, going out and closing the door with a bang, âOh!â she ejaculated, biting her lip. Then, doggedly: âWell, I donât care. I hope she did hear the bangâ âI do, I do!â
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.
âMr. Tom,â began Nancy, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure she was unobserved; âdid you know a little girl was cominâ here ter live with Miss Polly?â
âAâ âwhat?â demanded
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