Pollyanna | Page 9

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.

CHAPTER IV.
THE LITTLE ATTIC ROOM
Miss Polly Harrington did not rise to meet her niece. She looked up
from her book, it is true, as Nancy and the little girl appeared in the
sitting-room doorway, and she held out a hand with "duty" written
large on every coldly extended finger.
"How do you do, Pollyanna? I--" She had no chance to say more.
Pollyanna, had fairly flown across the room and flung herself into her
aunt's scandalized, unyielding lap.
"Oh, Aunt Polly, Aunt Polly, I don't know how to be glad enough that
you let me come to live with you," she was sobbing. "You don't know
how perfectly lovely it is to have you and Nancy and all this after
you've had just the Ladies' Aid!"
"Very likely--though I've not had the pleasure of the Ladies' Aid's
acquaintance," rejoined Miss Polly, stiffly, trying to unclasp the small,
clinging fingers, and turning frowning eyes on Nancy in the doorway.
"Nancy, that will do. You may go. Pollyanna, be good enough, please,
to stand erect in a proper manner. I don't know yet what you look like."
Pollyanna drew back at once, laughing a little hysterically.
"No, I suppose you don't; but you see I'm not very much to took at,
anyway, on account of the freckles. Oh, and I ought to explain about
the red gingham and the black velvet basque with white spots on the
elbows. I told Nancy how father said--"
"Yes; well, never mind now what your father said," interrupted Miss
Polly, crisply. "You had a trunk, I presume?"
"Oh, yes, indeed, Aunt Polly. I've got a beautiful trunk that the Ladies'
Aid gave me. I haven't got so very much in it--of my own, I mean. The
barrels haven't had many clothes for little girls in them lately; but there
were all father's books, and Mrs. White said she thought I ought to have

those. You see, father--"
"Pollyanna," interrupted her aunt again, sharply, "there is one thing that
might just as well be understood right away at once; and that is, I do
not care to have you keep talking of your father to me."
The little girl drew in her breath tremulously.
"Why, Aunt Polly, you--you mean--" She hesitated, and her aunt filled
the pause.
"We will go up-stairs to your room. Your trunk is already there, I
presume. I told Timothy to take it up--if you had one. You may follow
me, Pollyanna."
Without speaking, Pollyanna turned and followed her aunt from the
room. Her eyes were brimming with tears, but her chin was bravely
high.
"After all, I--I reckon I'm glad she doesn't want me to talk about
father," Pollyanna was thinking. "It'll be easier, maybe--if I don't talk
about him. Probably, anyhow, that is why she told me not to talk about
him." And Pollyanna, convinced anew of her aunt's "kindness," blinked
off the tears and looked eagerly about her.
She was on the stairway now. just ahead, her aunt's black silk skirt
rustled luxuriously. Behind her an open door allowed a glimpse of
soft-tinted rugs and satin-covered chairs. Beneath her feet a marvellous
carpet was like green moss to the tread. On every side the gilt of picture
frames or the glint of sunlight through the filmy mesh of lace curtains
flashed in her eyes.
"Oh, Aunt Polly, Aunt Polly," breathed the little girl, rapturously;
"what a perfectly lovely, lovely house! How awfully glad you must be
you're so rich!"
"PollyANNA!" ejaculated her aunt, turning sharply about as she
reached the head of the stairs. "I'm surprised at you--making a speech

like that to me!"
"Why, Aunt Polly, AREN'T you?" queried Pollyanna, in frank wonder.
"Certainly not, Pollyanna. I hope I could not so far forget myself as to
be sinfully proud of any gift the Lord has seen fit to bestow upon me,"
declared the lady; "certainly not, of RICHES!"
Miss Polly turned and walked down the hall toward the attic stairway
door. She was glad, now, that she had put the child in the attic room.
Her idea at first had