POLLYANNA PAYS A VISIT
It was not long before life at the Harrington homestead settled
into something like order--though not exactly the order that Miss
Polly had at first prescribed. Pollyanna sewed, practised, read
aloud, and studied cooking in the kitchen, it is true; but she
did not give to any of these things quite so much time as had
first been planned. She had more time, also, to "just live," as
she expressed it, for almost all of every afternoon from two
until six o'clock was hers to do with as she liked--provided she
did not "like" to do certain things already prohibited by Aunt
Polly.
It is a question, perhaps, whether all this leisure time was
given to the child as a relief to Pollyanna from work--or as a
relief to Aunt Polly from Pollyanna. Certainly, as those first
July days passed, Miss Polly found occasion many times to
ejaculate "What an extraordinary child!" and certainly the
reading and sewing lessons found her at their conclusion each day
somewhat dazed and wholly exhausted.
Nancy, in the kitchen, fared better. She was not dazed nor
exhausted. Wednesdays and Saturdays came to be, indeed,
red-letter days to her.
There were no children in the immediate neighborhood of the
Harrington homestead for Pollyanna to play with. The house itself
was on the outskirts of the village, and though there were other
houses not far away, they did not chance to contain any boys or
girls near Pollyanna's age. This, however, did not seem to
disturb Pollyanna in the least.
"Oh, no, I don't mind it at all," she explained to Nancy. "I'm
happy just to walk around and see the streets and the houses and
watch the people. I just love people. Don't you, Nancy?"
"Well, I can't say I do--all of 'em," retorted Nancy, tersely.
Almost every pleasant afternoon found Pollyanna begging for "an
errand to run," so that she might be off for a walk in one
direction or another; and it was on these walks that frequently
she met the Man. To herself Pollyanna always called him "the
Man," no matter if she met a dozen other men the same day.
The Man often wore a long black coat and a high silk hat--two
things that the "just men" never wore. His face was clean shaven
and rather pale, and his hair, showing below his hat, was
somewhat gray. He walked erect, and rather rapidly, and he was
always alone, which made Pollyanna vaguely sorry for him. Perhaps
it was because of this that she one day spoke to him.
"How do you do, sir? Isn't this a nice day?" she called cheerily,
as she approached him.
The man threw a hurried glance about him, then stopped
uncertainly.
"Did you speak--to me?" he asked in a sharp voice.
"Yes, sir," beamed Pollyanna. "I say, it's a nice day, isn't it?"
"Eh? Oh! Humph!" he grunted; and strode on again.
Pollyanna laughed. He was such a funny man, she thought.
The next day she saw him again.
" 'Tisn't quite so nice as yesterday, but it's pretty nice," she
called out cheerfully.
"Eh? Oh! Humph!" grunted the man as before; and once again
Pollyanna laughed happily.
When for the third time Pollyanna accosted him in much the same
manner, the man stopped abruptly.
"See here, child, who are you, and why are you speaking to me
every day?"
"I'm Pollyanna Whittier, and I thought you looked lonesome. I'm
so glad you stopped. Now we're introduced--only I don't know your
name yet."
"Well, of all the--" The man did not finish his sentence, but
strode on faster than ever.
Pollyanna looked after him with a disappointed droop to her
usually smiling lips.
"Maybe he didn't understand--but that was only half an
introduction. I don't know HIS name, yet," she murmured, as she
proceeded on her way.
Pollyanna was carrying calf's-foot jelly to Mrs. Snow to-day.
Miss Polly Harrington always sent something to Mrs. Snow once a
week. She said she thought that it was her duty, inasmuch as Mrs.
Snow was poor, sick, and a member of her church--it was the duty
of all the church members to look out for her, of course. Miss
Polly did her duty by Mrs. Snow usually on Thursday
afternoons--not personally, but through Nancy. To-day Pollyanna
had begged the privilege, and Nancy had promptly given it to her
in accordance with Miss Polly's orders.
"And it's glad that I am ter get rid of it," Nancy had declared
in private afterwards to Pollyanna; "though it's a shame ter be
tuckin' the job off on ter you, poor lamb, so it is, it is!"
"But I'd love to do it, Nancy."
"Well, you won't--after you've done it once," predicted Nancy,
sourly.
"Why not?"
"Because nobody does. If folks wa'n't sorry for her there
wouldn't a soul go near her from mornin' till night, she's that
cantankerous. All is, I pity her daughter what HAS ter take care
of her."
"But, why, Nancy?"
Nancy shrugged her shoulders.
"Well, in plain words, it's just that nothin' what ever has
happened, has happened right in Mis' Snow's eyes. Even the days
of the week ain't run ter her mind. If it's Monday she's bound
ter say she wished 'twas Sunday; and if you take her jelly you're
pretty sure ter hear she wanted chicken--but if you DID bring her
chicken, she'd be jest hankerin' for lamb broth!"
"Why, what a funny woman," laughed Pollyanna. "I think I shall
like to go to see her. She must be so surprising and--and
different. I love DIFFERENT folks."
"Humph! Well, Mis' Snow's 'different,' all right--I hope, for the
sake of the rest of us!" Nancy had finished grimly.
Pollyanna was thinking of these remarks to-day as she turned in
at the gate of the shabby little cottage. Her eyes were quite
sparkling, indeed, at the prospect of meeting this "different"
Mrs. Snow.
A pale-faced, tired-looking young girl answered her knock at the
door.
"How do you do?" began Pollyanna politely. "I'm from Miss Polly
Harrington, and I'd like to see Mrs. Snow, please."
"Well, if you would, you're the first one that ever 'liked' to
see her," muttered the girl under her breath; but Pollyanna did
not hear this. The girl had turned and was leading the way
through the hall to a door at the end of it.
In the sick-room, after the girl had ushered her in and closed
the door, Pollyanna blinked a little before she could accustom
her eyes to the gloom. Then she saw, dimly outlined, a woman
half-sitting up in the bed across the room. Pollyanna advanced at
once.
"How do you do, Mrs. Snow? Aunt Polly says she hopes you are
comfortable to-day, and she's sent you some calf's-foot jelly."
"Dear me! jelly?" murmured a fretful voice,
"Of course I'm very much obliged, but I was hoping 'twould be
lamb broth to-day."
Pollyanna frowned a little.
"Why, I thought it was CHICKEN you wanted when folks brought you
jelly," she said.
"What?" The sick woman turned sharply.
"Why, nothing, much," apologized Pollyanna, hurriedly; "and of
course it doesn't really make any difference. It's only that
Nancy said it was chicken you wanted when we brought jelly, and
lamb broth when we brought chicken--but maybe 'twas the other
way, and Nancy forgot."
The sick woman pulled herself up till she sat erect in the bed--a
most unusual thing for her to do, though Pollyanna did not know
this.
"Well, Miss Impertinence, who are you?" she demanded.
Pollyanna laughed gleefully.
"Oh, THAT isn't my name, Mrs. Snow--and I'm so glad 'tisn't, too!
That would be worse than 'Hephzibah,' wouldn't it? I'm Pollyanna
Whittier, Miss Polly Harrington's niece, and I've come to live
with her. That's why I'm here with the jelly this morning."
All through the first part of this sentence, the sick woman had
sat interestedly erect; but at the reference to the jelly she
fell back on her pillow listlessly.
"Very well; thank you. Your aunt is very kind, of course, but my
appetite isn't very good this morning, and I was wanting lamb--"
She stopped suddenly, then went on with an abrupt change of
subject. "I never slept a wink last night--not a wink!"
"O dear, I wish _I_ didn't," sighed Pollyanna, placing the jelly
on the little stand and seating herself comfortably in the
nearest chair. "You lose such a lot of time just sleeping! Don't
you think so?"
"Lose time--sleeping!" exclaimed the sick woman.
"Yes, when you might be just living, you know. It seems such a
pity we can't live nights, too."
Once again the woman pulled herself erect in her bed.
"Well, if you ain't the amazing young one!" she cried. "Here! do
you go to that window and pull up the curtain," she directed. "I
should like to know what you look like!"
Pollyanna rose to her feet, but she laughed a little ruefully.
"O dear! then you'll see my freckles, won't you?" she sighed, as
she went to the window; "--and just when I was being so glad it
was dark and you couldn't see 'em. There! Now you can--oh!" she
broke off excitedly, as she turned back to the bed; "I'm so glad
you wanted to see me, because now I can see you! They didn't tell
me you were so pretty!"
"Me!--pretty!" scoffed the woman, bitterly.
"Why, yes. Didn't you know it?" cried Pollyanna.
"Well, no, I didn't," retorted Mrs. Snow, dryly. Mrs. Snow had
lived forty years, and for fifteen of those years she had been
too busy wishing things were different to find much time to enjoy
things as they were.
"Oh, but your eyes are so big and dark, and your hair's all dark,
too, and curly," cooed Pollyanna. "I love black curls. (That's
one of the things I'm going to have when I get to Heaven.) And
you've got two little red spots in your cheeks. Why, Mrs. Snow,
you ARE pretty! I should think you'd know it when you looked at
yourself in the glass."
"The glass!" snapped the sick woman, falling back on her pillow.
"Yes, well, I hain't done much prinkin' before the mirror these
days--and you wouldn't, if you was flat on your back as I am!"
"Why, no, of course not," agreed Pollyanna, sympathetically. "But
wait--just let me show you," she exclaimed, skipping over to the
bureau and picking up a small hand-glass.
On the way back to the bed she stopped, eyeing the sick woman
with a critical gaze.
"I reckon maybe, if you don't mind, I'd like to fix your hair
just a little before I let you see it," she proposed. "May I fix
your hair, please?"
"Why, I--suppose so, if you want to," permitted Mrs. Snow,
grudgingly; "but 'twon't stay, you know."
"Oh, thank you. I love to fix people's hair," exulted Pollyanna,
carefully laying down the hand-glass and reaching for a comb. "I
sha'n't do much to-day, of course--I'm in such a hurry for you to
see how pretty you are; but some day I'm going to take it all
down and have a perfectly lovely time with it, she cried,
touching with soft fingers the waving hair above the sick woman's
forehead.
For five minutes Pollyanna worked swiftly, deftly, combing a
refractory curl into fluffiness, perking up a drooping ruffle at
the neck, or shaking a pillow into plumpness so that the head
might have a better pose. Meanwhile the sick woman, frowning
prodigiously, and openly scoffing at the whole procedure, was, in
spite of herself, beginning to tingle with a feeling perilously
near to excitement.
"There!" panted Pollyanna, hastily plucking a pink from a vase
near by and tucking it into the dark hair where it would give the
best effect. "Now I reckon we're ready to be looked at!" And she
held out the mirror in triumph.
"Humph!" grunted the sick woman, eyeing her reflection severely.
"I like red pinks better than pink ones; but then, it'll fade,
anyhow, before night, so what's the difference!"
"But I should think you'd be glad they did fade," laughed
Pollyanna, " 'cause then you can have the fun of getting some
more. I just love your hair fluffed out like that," she finished
with a satisfied gaze. "Don't you?"
"Hm-m; maybe. Still--'twon't last, with me tossing back and forth
on the pillow as I do."
"Of course not--and I'm glad, too," nodded Pollyanna, cheerfully,
"because then I can fix it again. Anyhow, I should think you'd be
glad it's black--black shows up so much nicer on a pillow than
yellow hair like mine does."
"Maybe; but I never did set much store by black hair--shows gray
too soon," retorted Mrs. Snow. She spoke fretfully, but she still
held the mirror before her face.
"Oh, I love black hair! I should be so glad if I only had it,"
sighed Pollyanna.
Mrs. Snow dropped the mirror and turned irritably.
"Well, you wouldn't!--not if you were me. You wouldn't be glad
for black hair nor anything else--if you had to lie here all day
as I do!"
Pollyanna bent her brows in a thoughtful frown.
"Why, 'twould be kind of hard--to do it then, wouldn't it?" she
mused aloud.
"Do what?"
"Be glad about things."
"Be glad about things--when you're sick in bed all your days?
Well, I should say it would," retorted Mrs. Snow. "If you don't
think so, just tell me something to be glad about; that's all!"
To Mrs. Snow's unbounded amazement, Pollyanna sprang to her feet
and clapped her hands.
"Oh, goody! That'll be a hard one--won't it? I've got to go, now,
but I'll think and think all the way home; and maybe the next
time I come I can tell it to you. Good-by. I've had a lovely
time! Good-by," she called again, as she tripped through the
doorway.
"Well, I never! Now, what does she mean by that?" ejaculated Mrs.
Snow, staring after her visitor. By and by she turned her head
and picked up the mirror, eyeing her reflection critically.
"That little thing HAS got a knack with hair and no mistake," she
muttered under her breath. "I declare, I didn't know it could
look so pretty. But then, what's the use?" she sighed, dropping
the little glass into the bedclothes, and rolling her head on the
pillow fretfully.
A little later, when Milly, Mrs. Snow's daughter, came in, the
mirror still lay among the bedclothes it had been carefully
hidden from sight.
"Why, mother--the curtain is up!" cried Milly, dividing her
amazed stare between the window and the pink in her mother's
hair.
"Well, what if it is?" snapped the sick woman. "I needn't stay in
the dark all my life, if I am sick, need I?"
"Why, n-no, of course not," rejoined Milly, in hasty
conciliation, as she reached for the medicine bottle. "It's
only--well, you know very well that I've tried to get you to have
a lighter room for ages and you wouldn't."
There was no reply to this. Mrs. Snow was picking at the lace on
her nightgown. At last she spoke fretfully.
"I should think SOMEBODY might give me a new nightdress--instead
of lamb broth, for a change!
"Why--mother!"
No wonder Milly quite gasped aloud with bewilderment. In the
drawer behind her at that moment lay two new nightdresses that
Milly for months had been vainly urging her mother to wear.