Pollyanna, Eleanor H. Porter [the top 100 crime novels of all time txt] 📗

Pollyanna

By Eleanor H. Porter.

Table of Contents Titlepage Imprint Dedication Pollyanna 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 Colophon Uncopyright Imprint

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To
My Cousin Belle

Pollyanna 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 today 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,