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Page 4
CHAPTER I. MISS POLLY
Miss Polly Harrington entered her kitchen a little hurriedly this
June morning. Miss Polly did not usually make hurried movements;
she specially prided herself on her repose of manner. But to-day
she was hurrying--actually hurrying.
Nancy, washing dishes at the sink, looked up in surprise. Nancy
had been working in Miss Polly's kitchen only two months, but
already she knew that her mistress did not usually hurry.
"Nancy!"
"Yes, ma'am." Nancy answered cheerfully, but she still continued
wiping the pitcher in her hand.
"Nancy,"--Miss Polly's voice was very stern now--"when I'm
talking to you, I wish you to stop your work and listen to what I
have to say."
Nancy flushed miserably. She set the pitcher down at once, with
the cloth still about it, thereby nearly tipping it over--which
did not add to her composure.
"Yes, ma'am; I will, ma'am," she stammered, righting the pitcher,
and turning hastily. "I was only keepin' on with my work 'cause
you specially told me this mornin' ter hurry with my dishes, ye
know."
Her mistress frowned.
"That will do, Nancy. I did not ask for explanations. I asked for
your attention."
"Yes, ma'am." Nancy stifled a sigh. She was wondering if ever in
any way she could please this woman. Nancy had never "worked out"
before; but a sick mother suddenly widowed and left with three
younger children besides Nancy herself, had forced the girl into
doing something toward their support, and she had been so pleased
when she found a place in the kitchen of the great house on the
hill--Nancy had come from "The Corners," six miles away, and she
knew Miss Polly Harrington only as the mistress of the old
Harrington homestead, and one of the wealthiest residents of the
town. That was two months before. She knew Miss Polly now as a
stern, severe-faced woman who frowned if a knife clattered to the
floor, or if a door banged--but who never thought to smile even
when knives and doors were still.
"When you've finished your morning work, Nancy," Miss Polly was
saying now, "you may clear the little room at the head of the
stairs in the attic, and make up the cot bed. Sweep the room and
clean it, of course, after you clear out the trunks and boxes."
"Yes, ma'am. And where shall I put the things, please, that I
take out?"
"In the front attic." Miss Polly hesitated, then went on: "I
suppose I may as well tell you now, Nancy. My niece, Miss
Pollyanna Whittier, is coming to live with me. She is eleven
years old, and will sleep in that room."
"A little girl--coming here, Miss Harrington? Oh, won't that be
nice!" cried Nancy, thinking of the sunshine her own little
sisters made in the home at "The Corners."
"Nice? Well, that isn't exactly the word I should use," rejoined
Miss Polly, stiffly. "However, I intend to make the best of it,
of course. I am a good woman, I hope; and I know my duty."
Nancy colored hotly.
"Of course, ma'am; it was only that I thought a little girl here
might--might brighten things up for you," she faltered.
"Thank you," rejoined the lady, dryly. "I can't say, however,
that I see any immediate need for that."
"But, of course, you--you'd want her, your sister's child,"
ventured Nancy, vaguely feeling that somehow she must prepare a
welcome for this lonely little stranger.
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