Pollyanna by Eleanor H. Porter (books to read fiction .TXT) 📕

glad they were sick, but⁠—You do play the game so funny, sometimes Nancy,” she sighed, as she went into the house.

Pollyanna found her aunt in the sitting room.

“Who was that man⁠—the one who drove into the yard, Pollyanna?” questioned the lady a little sharply.

“Why, Aunt Polly, that was Dr. Chilton! Don’t you know him?”

“Dr. Chilton! What was he doing⁠—here?”

“He drove me home. Oh, and I gave the jelly to Mr. Pendleton, and⁠—”

Miss Polly lifted her head quickly.

“Pollyanna, he did not think I sent it?”

“Oh, no, Aunt Polly. I told him you didn’t.”

Miss Polly grew a sudden vivid pink.

“You told him I didn’t!”

Pollyanna opened wide her eyes at the remonstrative dismay in her aunt’s voice.

“Why, Aunt Polly, you said to!”

Aunt Polly sighed.

“I said, Pollyanna, that I did not send it, and for you to be very sure that he did not think I did!⁠—which is a very different matter from telling him outright that I did not send it.” And she turned vexedly away.

“Dear me! Well, I don’t see where the difference is,” sighed Pollyanna, as she went to hang her hat on the one particular hook in the house upon which Aunt Polly had said that it must be hung.

XVI A Red Rose and a Lace Shawl

It was on a rainy day about a week after Pollyanna’s visit to Mr. John Pendleton, that Miss Polly was driven by Timothy to an early afternoon committee meeting of the Ladies’ Aid Society. When she returned at three o’clock, her cheeks were a bright, pretty pink, and her hair, blown by the damp wind, had fluffed into kinks and curls wherever the loosened pins had given leave.

Pollyanna had never before seen her aunt look like this.

“Oh⁠—oh⁠—oh! Why, Aunt Polly, you’ve got ’em, too,” she cried rapturously, dancing round and round her aunt, as that lady entered the sitting room.

“Got what, you impossible child?”

Pollyanna was still revolving round and round her aunt.

“And I never knew you had ’em! Can folks have ’em when you don’t know they’ve got ’em? Do you suppose I could?⁠—’fore I get to Heaven, I mean,” she cried, pulling out with eager fingers the straight locks above her ears. “But then, they wouldn’t be black, if they did come. You can’t hide the black part.”

“Pollyanna, what does all this mean?” demanded Aunt Polly, hurriedly removing her hat, and trying to smooth back her disordered hair.

“No, no⁠—please, Aunt Polly!” Pollyanna’s jubilant voice turned to one of distressed appeal. “Don’t smooth ’em out! It’s those that I’m talking about⁠—those darling little black curls. Oh, Aunt Polly, they’re so pretty!”

“Nonsense! What do you mean, Pollyanna, by going to the Ladies’ Aid the other day in that absurd fashion about that beggar boy?”

“But it isn’t nonsense,” urged Pollyanna, answering only the first of her aunt’s remarks. “You don’t know how pretty you look with your hair like that! Oh, Aunt Polly, please, mayn’t I do your hair like I did Mrs. Snow’s, and put in a flower? I’d so love to see you that way! Why, you’d be ever so much prettier than she was!”

“Pollyanna!” (Miss Polly spoke very sharply⁠—all the more sharply because Pollyanna’s words had given her an odd throb of joy: when before had anybody cared how she, or her hair looked? When before had anybody “loved” to see her “pretty”?) “Pollyanna, you did not answer my question. Why did you go to the Ladies’ Aid in that absurd fashion?”

“Yes’m, I know; but, please, I didn’t know it was absurd until I went and found out they’d rather see their report grow than Jimmy. So then I wrote to my Ladies’ Aiders⁠—‘cause Jimmy is far away from them, you know; and I thought maybe he could be their little India boy same as⁠—Aunt Polly, was I your little India girl? And, Aunt Polly, you will let me do your hair, won’t you?”

Aunt Polly put her hand to her throat⁠—the old, helpless feeling was upon her, she knew.

“But, Pollyanna, when the ladies told me this afternoon how you came to them, I was so ashamed! I⁠—”

Pollyanna began to dance up and down lightly on her toes.

“You didn’t!⁠—You didn’t say I couldn’t do your hair,” she crowed triumphantly; “and so I’m sure it means just the other way ’round, sort of⁠—like it did the other day about Mr. Pendleton’s jelly that you didn’t send, but didn’t want me to say you didn’t send, you know. Now wait just where you are. I’ll get a comb.”

“But Pollyanna, Pollyanna,” remonstrated Aunt Polly, following the little girl from the room and panting upstairs after her.

“Oh, did you come up here?” Pollyanna greeted her at the door of Miss Polly’s own room. “That’ll be nicer yet! I’ve got the comb. Now sit down, please, right here. Oh, I’m so glad you let me do it!”

“But, Pollyanna, I⁠—I⁠—”

Miss Polly did not finish her sentence. To her helpless amazement she found herself in the low chair before the dressing table, with her hair already tumbling about her ears under ten eager, but very gentle fingers.

“Oh, my! what pretty hair you’ve got,” prattled Pollyanna; “and there’s so much more of it than Mrs. Snow has, too! But, of course, you need more, anyhow, because you’re well and can go to places where folks can see it. My! I reckon folks’ll be glad when they do see it⁠—and surprised, too, ’cause you’ve hid it so long. Why, Aunt Polly, I’ll make you so pretty everybody’ll just love to look at you!”

“Pollyanna!” gasped a stifled but shocked voice from a veil of hair. “I⁠—I’m sure I don’t know why I’m letting you do this silly thing.”

“Why, Aunt Polly, I should think you’d be glad to have folks like to look at you! Don’t you like to look at pretty things? I’m ever so much happier when I look at pretty folks, ’cause when I look at the other kind I’m so sorry for them.”

“But⁠—but⁠—”

“And I just love to do folks’ hair,” purred Pollyanna, contentedly. “I did quite a lot of the Ladies’ Aiders’⁠—but