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Page 8
Miss Polly killed the fly, swept it through the window (raising
the sash an inch for the purpose), straightened a chair, frowned
again, and left the room.
"Nancy," she said a few minutes later, at the kitchen door, "I
found a fly up-stairs in Miss Pollyanna's room. The window must
have been raised at some time. I have ordered screens, but until
they come I shall expect you to see that the windows remain
closed. My niece will arrive to-morrow at four o'clock. I desire
you to meet her at the station. Timothy will take the open buggy
and drive you over. The telegram says 'light hair, red-checked
gingham dress, and straw hat.' That is all I know, but I think it
is sufficient for your purpose."
"Yes, ma'am; but--you--"
Miss Polly evidently read the pause aright, for she frowned and
said crisply:
"No, I shall not go. It is not necessary that I should, I think.
That is all." And she turned away--Miss Polly's arrangements for
the comfort of her niece, Pollyanna, were complete.
In the kitchen, Nancy sent her flatiron with a vicious dig across
the dish-towel she was ironing.
" 'Light hair, red-checked gingham dress, and straw hat'--all she
knows, indeed! Well, I'd be ashamed ter own it up, that I would,
I would--and her my onliest niece what was a-comin' from 'way
across the continent!"
Promptly at twenty minutes to four the next afternoon Timothy and
Nancy drove off in the open buggy to meet the expected guest.
Timothy was Old Tom's son. It was sometimes said in the town that
if Old Tom was Miss Polly's right-hand man, Timothy was her left.
Timothy was a good-natured youth, and a good-looking one, as
well. Short as had been Nancy's stay at the house, the two were
already good friends. To-day, however, Nancy was too full of her
mission to be her usual talkative self; and almost in silence she
took the drive to the station and alighted to wait for the train.
Over and over in her mind she was saying it "light hair,
red-checked dress, straw hat." Over and over again she was
wondering just what sort of child this Pollyanna was, anyway.
"I hope for her sake she's quiet and sensible, and don't drop
knives nor bang doors," she sighed to Timothy, who had sauntered
up to her.
"Well, if she ain't, nobody knows what'll become of the rest of
us," grinned Timothy. "Imagine Miss Polly and a NOISY kid! Gorry!
there goes the whistle now!"
"Oh, Timothy, I--I think it was mean ter send me," chattered the
suddenly frightened Nancy, as she turned and hurried to a point
where she could best watch the passengers alight at the little
station.
It was not long before Nancy saw her--the slender little girl in
the red-checked gingham with two fat braids of flaxen hair
hanging down her back. Beneath the straw hat, an eager, freckled
little face turned to the right and to the left, plainly
searching for some one.
Nancy knew the child at once, but not for some time could she
control her shaking knees sufficiently to go to her. The little
girl was standing quite by herself when Nancy finally did
approach her.
"Are you Miss--Pollyanna?" she faltered. The next moment she
found herself half smothered in the clasp of two gingham-clad
arms.
"Oh, I'm so glad, GLAD, GLAD to see you," cried an eager voice in
her ear. "Of course I'm Pollyanna, and I'm so glad you came to
meet me! I hoped you would."
"You--you did?" stammered Nancy, vaguely wondering how Pollyanna
could possibly have known her--and wanted her. "You--you did?" she
repeated, trying to straighten her hat.
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