|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 20
"Oh, Aunt Polly, I never saw anything so perfectly lovely and
interesting in my life. I'm so glad you gave me that book to
read! Why, I didn't suppose flies could carry such a lot of
things on their feet, and--"
"That will do," observed Aunt Polly, with dignity. "Pollyanna,
you may bring out your clothes now, and I will look them over.
What are not suitable for you I shall give to the Sullivans, of
course."
With visible reluctance Pollyanna laid down the pamphlet and
turned toward the closet.
"I'm afraid you'll think they're worse than the Ladies' Aid
did--and THEY said they were shameful," she sighed. "But there
were mostly things for boys and older folks in the last two or
three barrels; and--did you ever have a missionary barrel, Aunt
Polly?"
At her aunt's look of shocked anger, Pollyanna corrected herself
at once.
"Why, no, of course you didn't, Aunt Polly!" she hurried on, with
a hot blush. "I forgot; rich folks never have to have them. But
you see sometimes I kind of forget that you are rich--up here in
this room, you know."
Miss Polly's lips parted indignantly, but no words came.
Pollyanna, plainly unaware that she had said anything in the
least unpleasant, was hurrying on.
"Well, as I was going to say, you can't tell a thing about
missionary barrels--except that you won't find in 'em what you
think you're going to--even when you think you won't. It was the
barrels every time, too, that were hardest to play the game on,
for father and--"
Just in time Pollyanna remembered that she was not to talk of her
father to her aunt. She dived into her closet then, hurriedly,
and brought out all the poor little dresses in both her arms.
"They aren't nice, at all," she choked, "and they'd been black if
it hadn't been for the red carpet for the church; but they're all
I've got."
With the tips of her fingers Miss Polly turned over the
conglomerate garments, so obviously made for anybody but
Pollyanna. Next she bestowed frowning attention on the patched
undergarments in the bureau drawers.
"I've got the best ones on," confessed Pollyanna, anxiously. "The
Ladies' Aid bought me one set straight through all whole. Mrs.
Jones--she's the president--told 'em I should have that if they
had to clatter down bare aisles themselves the rest of their
days. But they won't. Mr. White doesn't like the noise. He's got
nerves, his wife says; but he's got money, too, and they expect
he'll give a lot toward the carpet--on account of the nerves, you
know. I should think he'd be glad that if he did have the nerves
he'd got money, too; shouldn't you?"
Miss Polly did not seem to hear. Her scrutiny of the
undergarments finished, she turned to Pollyanna somewhat
abruptly.
"You have been to school, of course, Pollyanna?"
"Oh, yes, Aunt Polly. Besides, fath--I mean, I was taught at home
some, too."
Miss Polly frowned.
"Very good. In the fall you will enter school here, of course.
Mr. Hall, the principal, will doubtless settle in which grade you
belong. Meanwhile, I suppose I ought to hear you read aloud half
an hour each day."
"I love to read; but if you don't want to hear me I'd be just
glad to read to myself--truly, Aunt Polly. And I wouldn't have to
half try to be glad, either, for I like best to read to
myself--on account of the big words, you know."
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|