Produced by Charles Keller for Tina
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!