|
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 25
"With you?--in your bed?" she cried rapturously. "Oh, Aunt Polly,
Aunt Polly, how perfectly lovely of you! And when I've so wanted
to sleep with some one sometime--some one that belonged to me,
you know; not a Ladies' Aider. I've HAD them. My! I reckon I am
glad now those screens didn't come! Wouldn't you be?"
There was no reply. Miss Polly was stalking on ahead. Miss Polly,
to tell the truth, was feeling curiously helpless. For the third
time since Pollyanna's arrival, Miss Polly was punishing
Pollyanna--and for the third time she was being confronted with
the amazing fact that her punishment was being taken as a special
reward of merit. No wonder Miss Polly was feeling curiously
helpless.
CHAPTER VIII. 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.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|