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?"
"I--I don't know," answered Nancy in a half-stifled voice.
"I do. We didn't have any pictures. They don't come in the
barrels much, you know. There did two come once, though. But one
was so good father sold it to get money to buy me some shoes
with; and the other was so bad it fell to pieces just as soon as
we hung it up. Glass--it broke, you know. And I cried. But I'm
glad now we didn't have any of those nice things, 'cause I shall
like Aunt Polly's all the better--not being used to 'em, you see.
Just as it is when the PRETTY hair-ribbons come in the barrels
after a lot of faded-out brown ones. My! but isn't this a
perfectly beautiful house?" she broke off fervently, as they
turned into the wide driveway.
It was when Timothy was unloading the trunk that Nancy found an
opportunity to mutter low in his ear:
"Don't you never say nothin' ter me again about leavin', Timothy
Durgin. You couldn't HIRE me ter leave!"
"Leave! I should say not," grinned the youth.
You couldn't drag me away. It'll be more fun here now, with that
kid 'round, than movin'-picture shows, every day!"
"Fun!--fun!" repeated Nancy, indignantly, "I guess it'll be
somethin' more than fun for that blessed child--when them two
tries ter live tergether; and I guess she'll be a-needin' some
rock ter fly to for refuge. Well, I'm a-goin' ter be that rock,
Timothy; I am, I am!" she vowed, as she turned and led Pollyanna
up the broad steps.