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

there wasn’t any of them so nice as yours. Mrs. White’s was pretty nice, though, and she looked just lovely one day when I dressed her up in⁠—Oh, Aunt Polly, I’ve just happened to think of something! But it’s a secret, and I shan’t tell. Now your hair is almost done, and pretty quick I’m going to leave you just a minute; and you must promise⁠—promise⁠—promise not to stir nor peek, even, till I come back. Now remember!” she finished, as she ran from the room.

Aloud Miss Polly said nothing. To herself she said that of course she should at once undo the absurd work of her niece’s fingers, and put her hair up properly again. As for “peeking” just as if she cared how⁠—

At that moment⁠—unaccountably⁠—Miss Polly caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror of the dressing table. And what she saw sent such a flush of rosy color to her cheeks that⁠—she only flushed the more at the sight.

She saw a face⁠—not young, it is true⁠—but just now alight with excitement and surprise. The cheeks were a pretty pink. The eyes sparkled. The hair, dark, and still damp from the outdoor air, lay in loose waves about the forehead and curved back over the ears in wonderfully becoming lines, with softening little curls here and there.

So amazed and so absorbed was Miss Polly with what she saw in the glass that she quite forgot her determination to do over her hair, until she heard Pollyanna enter the room again. Before she could move, then, she felt a folded something slipped across her eyes and tied in the back.

“Pollyanna, Pollyanna! What are you doing?” she cried.

Pollyanna chuckled.

“That’s just what I don’t want you to know, Aunt Polly, and I was afraid you would peek, so I tied on the handkerchief. Now sit still. It won’t take but just a minute, then I’ll let you see.”

“But, Pollyanna,” began Miss Polly, struggling blindly to her feet, “you must take this off! You⁠—child, child! what are you doing?” she gasped, as she felt a soft something slipped about her shoulders.

Pollyanna only chuckled the more gleefully. With trembling fingers she was draping about her aunt’s shoulders the fleecy folds of a beautiful lace shawl, yellowed from long years of packing away, and fragrant with lavender. Pollyanna had found the shawl the week before when Nancy had been regulating the attic; and it had occurred to her today that there was no reason why her aunt, as well as Mrs. White of her Western home, should not be “dressed up.”

Her task completed, Pollyanna surveyed her work with eyes that approved, but that saw yet one touch wanting. Promptly, therefore, she pulled her aunt toward the sun parlor where she could see a belated red rose blooming on the trellis within reach of her hand.

“Pollyanna, what are you doing? Where are you taking me to?” recoiled Aunt Polly, vainly trying to hold herself back. “Pollyanna, I shall not⁠—”

“It’s just to the sun parlor⁠—only a minute! I’ll have you ready now quicker’n no time,” panted Pollyanna, reaching for the rose and thrusting it into the soft hair above Miss Polly’s left ear. “There!” she exulted, untying the knot of the handkerchief and flinging the bit of linen far from her. “Oh, Aunt Polly, now I reckon you’ll be glad I dressed you up!”

For one dazed moment Miss Polly looked at her bedecked self, and at her surroundings; then she gave a low cry and fled to her room. Pollyanna, following the direction of her aunt’s last dismayed gaze, saw, through the open windows of the sun parlor, the horse and gig turning into the driveway. She recognized at once the man who held the reins. Delightedly she leaned forward.

“Dr. Chilton, Dr. Chilton! Did you want to see me? I’m up here.”

“Yes,” smiled the doctor, a little gravely. “Will you come down, please?”

In the bedroom Pollyanna found a flushed-faced, angry-eyed woman plucking at the pins that held a lace shawl in place.

“Pollyanna, how could you?” moaned the woman. “To think of your rigging me up like this, and then letting me⁠—be seen!”

Pollyanna stopped in dismay.

“But you looked lovely⁠—perfectly lovely, Aunt Polly; and⁠—”

“ ‘Lovely’!” scorned the woman, flinging the shawl to one side and attacking her hair with shaking fingers.

“Oh, Aunt Polly, please, please let the hair stay!”

“Stay? Like this? As if I would!” And Miss Polly pulled the locks so tightly back that the last curl lay stretched dead at the ends of her fingers.

“O dear! And you did look so pretty,” almost sobbed Pollyanna, as she stumbled through the door.

Downstairs Pollyanna found the doctor waiting in his gig.

“I’ve prescribed you for a patient, and he’s sent me to get the prescription filled,” announced the doctor. “Will you go?”

“You mean⁠—an errand⁠—to the drug store?” asked Pollyanna, a little uncertainly. “I used to go some⁠—for the Ladies’ Aiders.”

The doctor shook his head with a smile.

“Not exactly. It’s Mr. John Pendleton. He would like to see you today, if you’ll be so good as to come. It’s stopped raining, so I drove down after you. Will you come? I’ll call for you and bring you back before six o’clock.”

“I’d love to!” exclaimed Pollyanna. “Let me ask Aunt Polly.”

In a few moments she returned, hat in hand, but with rather a sober face.

“Didn’t⁠—your aunt want you to go?” asked the doctor, a little diffidently, as they drove away.

“Y-yes,” sighed Pollyanna. “She⁠—she wanted me to go too much, I’m afraid.”

“Wanted you to go too much!”

Pollyanna sighed again.

“Yes. I reckon she meant she didn’t want me there. You see, she said: ‘Yes, yes, run along, run along⁠—do! I wish you’d gone before.’ ”

The doctor smiled⁠—but with his lips only. His eyes were very grave. For some time he said nothing; then, a little hesitatingly, he asked:

“Wasn’t it⁠—your aunt I saw with you a few minutes ago⁠—in the window of the sun parlor?”

Pollyanna drew a long breath.

“Yes; that’s what’s the whole trouble, I suppose. You see I’d dressed her up in a perfectly lovely lace shawl I found upstairs,