Chapter 1 of Pollyanna. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by The Story Girl. Pollyanna by Eleanor H. Porter. Chapter 1 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 today 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, writing the pitcher and turning hastily.  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 of 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 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 cockpit. 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 Polly Anna 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'm 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'd want her, your sister's child. Ventured Nancy, vaguely feeling that somehow she must prepare a welcome for this lonely little stranger. Miss Polly lifted her chin hotly. Well, really, Nancy. Just because I happened to have a sister who was silly enough to marry and bring unnecessary children into a world that was already quite full enough, I can't see how I should particularly want to have the care of them myself. However, as I said before, I hope I know my duty. See that you clean the corners, Nancy. She finished sharply as she left the room. Yes, ma'am, sighed Nancy, picking up the half-dried pitcher. Now so cold must be rinsed again. In her own room, Miss Polly took out once more the letter which she had received two days before, from the far away western town, and which had been so unpleasant a surprise to her. The letter was addressed to Miss Polly Harrington, Beldingsville, Vermont, and it read as follows. Dear madam, I regret to inform you that the Reverend John Whittier died two weeks ago, leaving one child, a girl, eleven years old. He left practically nothing else save a few books, for as you doubtless know, he was the pastor of this small mission church, and had a very meager salary. I believe he was your deceased sister's husband, but he gave me to understand the families were not on the best of terms. He thought, however, that for your sister's sake, you might wish to take the child and bring her up among her own people in the east. Hence, I'm writing to you. The little girl will be all ready to start by the time you get this letter, and if you can take her, we would appreciate it very much if you would write that she might come at once. Because there is a man and his wife here who are going east very soon, and they would take her with them to Boston and put her on the Beldingsville train. Of course you would be notified what day in train to expect Pollyanna on. Hoping to hear favorably from you soon, I remain respectfully yours, Jeremiah O. White. With a frown, Miss Polly folded the letter and tucked it into its envelope. She had answered it the day before, and she had said she would take the child, of course. She hoped she knew her duty well enough for that, disagreeable as the task would be. As she sat now with the letter in her hands, her thoughts went back to her sister, Jenny, who had been this child's mother. And at the time when Jenny, as a girl of twenty, had insisted upon marrying the young minister in spite of her family's remonstrances. There had been a man of wealth who had wanted her, and the family had much preferred him to the minister, but Jenny had not.  Jenny had preferred these, quite naturally, perhaps, so she had married the minister, and had gone south with him as a home missionary's wife. The break had come then. Miss Polly remembered it well, though she had been but a girl of fifteen, the youngest at the time. The family had had little more to do with the missionary's wife. To be sure, Jenny herself had ridden for a time and had named her last baby Polly Anna for her two sisters, Polly and Anna. The other babies had all died. This had been the last time that Jenny had ridden, and in a few years there had come the news of her death, told in a short but heartbroken little note from the minister himself, dated at a little town in the west. Meanwhile, time had not stood still for the occupants of the great house on the hill. Miss Polly, looking out at the far-reaching valley below, thought of the changes those twenty-five years had brought to her. She was forty now, and quite alone in the world. Father, mother, sisters, all were dead. For years now she had been so mistress of the house and of the thousands left her by her father. There were people who had openly pitied her lonely life and who had urged her to have some friend or companion to live with her, but she had not welcomed either their sympathy or their advice. She was not lonely, she said. She liked being by herself. She preferred quiet.  She was glad, of course, that she was a good woman and that she not only knew her duty but had sufficient strength of character to perform it. But Polly Anna.  End of Chapter 1, Recording by the Story Girl Chapter 2 of Polly Anna by Eleanor H. Porter This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by the Story Girl Chapter 2, Old Tom and Nancy In the little attic room, Nancy swept and scrubbed vigorously, paying particular attention to the corners. There were times, indeed, when the vigor she put into her work was more of a relief to her feelings than it was an ardor to efface dirt. Nancy, in spite of her frightened submission to her mistress, was no saint. I just wish I could dig out the corners of her soul, she muttered jerkily, punctuating her words with murderous jabs of her pointed cleaning stick. There's plenty of them needs cleaning all right, all right.  Unnecessary children indeed. Snapped Nancy, ringing her rags so hard her fingers ached from the strain. I guess it ain't children what is most unnecessary just now, just now. For some time she worked in silence. Then her task finished, she looked about the bare little room in plain disgust. Well, it's done. My part anyhow, she sighed.  Poor little soul. A pretty place this is to put a homesick, lonesome child into. She finished, going out and closing the door with a bang. She ejaculated, biting her lip. Then doggedly. Well, I don't care. I hope she did hear the bang. I do, I do. In the garden that afternoon, Nancy found a few minutes in which to interview old Tom, who had pulled the weeds and shoveled the pads about the place for uncounted years. Mr. Tom began Nancy, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure she was unobserved. Did you know a little girl was coming here to live with Miss Polly? Uh, what? Demanded the old man, straightening his bent back with difficulty. A little girl to live with Miss Polly. Go on with your joking. Scoffed unbelieving Tom. Why don't you tell me the sun is going to set in the east tomorrow? But it's true. She told me so herself, maintained Nancy.  The man's jaw fell. Sure. I wonder now, he muttered. Then a tender light came into his faded eyes. It ain't. But it must be. Miss Jenny's little gal. There weren't none of the rest of them married. Why, Nancy, it must be Miss Jenny's little gal. Glory be to praise to think of my old eyes seeing this. Who is Miss Jenny? She was an angel, straight out of heaven. Breathe the man fervently. But the old master and missus knew her as their oldest daughter. She was twenty when she married and went away from here long years ago. Her babies all died, I heard, except the last one. And that must be the one that's coming. She's eleven years old. Yes, she might be, nodded the old man. And she's going to sleep in the attic. More shame to her, scolded Nancy with another glance over her shoulder toward the house behind her. Old Tom frowned. The next moment a curious smile curved his lips. I'm a wondering what Miss Polly will do with a child in the house, he said. Well, I'm a wondering what a child will do with Miss Polly in the house, snapped Nancy. The old man laughed. I'm afraid you ain't fond of Miss Polly, he grinned. As if ever anybody could be fond of her, scorned Nancy. Tom smiled oddly. He stooped and began to work again. I guess maybe you didn't know about Miss Polly's love affair, he said slowly. Love affair? Her? No. And I guess nobody else didn't either. Oh yes, they did, nodded the old man. Tellers live in today, right in this town too. Who is he?  The old man drew himself erect. In his dim blue eyes as he faced the house, there was the loyal servant's honest pride in the family he has served and loved for long years. But it don't seem possible. Her and a lover still maintained Nancy. Old Tom shook his head. You didn't know Miss Polly as I did, he argued. She used to be real handsome, and she would be now if she'd let herself be. Handsome? Miss Polly? Yes, if she'd just let that tight hair of her and all out loose and careless like as it used to be, and wear the sort of bonnets with posies in them, and the kind of dresses all lace and white things. You'd see if she'd be handsome. Miss Polly ain't old, Nancy. Ain't she though? Well then she's got an awfully good imitation of it, she has, she has. Sniffed Nancy. Yes, I know. It begun then, at the time of the trouble with her lover. Not at old Tom. And it seems as if she'd been feeding on warm wood and thistles ever since. She's that bitter and prickly to deal with. I should say she was, declared Nancy indignantly. There's no please in her, no how, no matter how you try. I wouldn't stay if it went for the wages and the folks at home was needing them. But someday, someday I shall just boil over, and when I do, of course it'll be goodbye Nancy for me, it will, it will. Old Tom shook his head. I know, I've felt it. It's natural. But taint best child, taint best. Take my word for it, taint best. And again, he bent his old head to the work before him. Nancy? Called a sharp voice. Yes ma'am. Stammered Nancy and hurried toward the house. End of chapter two, recording by the Story Girl. Chapter three of Pollyanna by Eleanor H. Porter. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by the Story Girl. Chapter three, the coming of Pollyanna. In due time came the telegram announcing that Pollyanna would arrive in Beldingsville the next day, the 25th of June at four o'clock. Miss Polly read the telegram, frowned, then climbed the stairs to the attic room. She still frowned as she looked about her. The room contained a small bed, neatly made, two straight backed chairs, a wash stand, a bureau, without any mirror, and a small table. There were no drapery curtains at the dormer windows, no pictures on the wall. All day the sun had been pouring down upon the roof, and the little room was like an oven for heat. As there were no screens, the windows had not been raised. A big fly was buzzing angrily at one of them now, up and down, up and down trying to get out. 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 upstairs 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 tomorrow 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 paws a right, 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 flat iron with a vicious dig across the dish-towel she was ironing. Light hair, red checked gingham dress and straw hat. All she knows, indeed. I'd be ashamed to own it up, that I would, I would. And her, my onlyest niece, what was it coming from way across the continent? Promptly at twenty minutes before 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. Today, 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. Grin Timothy. Imagine Miss Polly and a noisy kid. Gory, there goes the whistle now. Oh, Timothy, I... I think it was me to send me. Chattered the suddenly frightened Nancy as she turned in hurry 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 and 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 someone. 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. Oh yes, and I've been wondering all the way here what you looked like. cried the little girl, dancing on her toes and sweeping the embarrassed Nancy from head to foot with her eyes.  Nancy was relieved just then to have Timothy come up. Pollyanna's words have been most confusing. This is Timothy. Maybe you have a trunk? she stammered. Yes, I have, nodded Pollyanna importantly. I've got a brand new one. The Lady's Aid bought it for me, and wasn't it lovely of them when they wanted the carpet so. Of course I don't know how much red carpet a trunk could buy, but it ought to buy some anyhow. Much as half an aisle, don't you think? I've got a little thing here in my bag that Mr. Gray said was a check, and that I must give it to you before I could get my trunk. Mr. Gray is Mrs. Gray's husband. They're cousins of Deacon Carr's wife. I came east with them, and they're lovely. And there, here it is. She finished, producing the check after much fumbling in the bag she carried. Nancy took a long breath. Instinctively, she felt that someone had to draw one after that speech. Then she stole a glance at Timothy. Timothy's eyes were studiously turned away. The three were off at last, with Pollyanna's trunk in behind, and Pollyanna herself snugly ensconced between Nancy and Timothy. During the whole process of getting started, the little girl had kept up an uninterrupted stream of comments and questions, until the somewhat dazed Nancy found herself quite out of breath trying to keep up with her. There! Isn't this lovely? Is it far? I hope, Tiz, I love to ride, sighed Pollyanna, as the wheels began to turn. Of course, if it isn't far, I shan't mind, though, because I'll be glad to get there all the sooner, you know. What a pretty street! I knew Tiz was going to be pretty. Father told me. She stopped with a little choking breath.  In a moment, however, she hurried on, with a brave lifting of her head. Father told me all about it. He remembered. And I ought to have explained before. Mrs. Gray told me too, at once, about this red gingham dress, you know, and why I'm not in black. She said you'd think twist queer, but there were any black things in the last missionary barrel, only a lady's velvet mask, which Deacon Carr's wife said wasn't suitable for me at all. Besides, it had white spots. Worn, you know, on both elbows, and some other places. Part of the ladies they'd wanted to buy me a black dress and hat, but the other part thought the money ought to go toward the red carpet they're trying to get. For the church, you know. Mrs. White said maybe it was just as well anyway, for she didn't like children in black. That is, I mean, she liked the children, of course, but not the black part. Pollyanna paused for breath, and Nancy managed to stammer. Well, I'm sure it'll be all right. I'm glad you feel that way. I do too.  Of course, it would have been a good deal harder to be glad in black. Glad? Gasp Nancy, surprised into an interruption. Yes, that Father has gone to heaven to be with Mother and the rest of us, you know. He said I must be glad, but it's been pretty hard to do it, even in Red Kingdom, because I wanted him so. And I couldn't help feeling I ought to have him, especially as Mother and the rest have God and all the angels. Well, I didn't have anybody but the lady's aid. But now I'm sure it'll be easier because I've got you Aunt Polly. I'm so glad I've got you. Nancy's aching sympathy for the poor little forlornness beside her turned suddenly into shock terror. Oh, but, but you've made an awful mistake, dear, she faltered. I'm only Nancy. I ain't your Aunt Polly at all. You, you aren't? stammered the little girl in plain dismay. No, I'm only Nancy. I never thought if you're taking me for her, we, we ain't a bit alike, we ain't, we ain't. Timothy chuckled softly, but Nancy was too disturbed to answer the merry flash from his eyes. But who are you? questioned Pollyanna. You don't look a bit like a lady's aider. Timothy laughed outright this time. I'm Nancy, the hired girl. I do all the work except the washin' and hard ironin'. Miss Durgin does that. But there isn't Aunt Polly, demanded the child anxiously. You bet your life there is, cut in Timothy. Pollyanna relaxed visibly. Oh, that's all right then. There was a moment's silence, then she went on brightly. And do you know, I'm glad after all that she didn't come to meet me, because now I've got her still coming, and I've got you besides. Nancy flushed. Timothy turned to her with a quizzical smile. I called out a pretty slick compliment, he said. Why don't you thank the little lady? I was thinking about Miss Polly, faltered Nancy. Pollyanna sighed contentedly. I was too. I'm so interested in her, you know she's all the aunt I've got, and I didn't know I had her for ever so long. Then father told me, he said she lived in a lovely great big house, way on top of a hill. She does. You can see it now, said Nancy. It's that big white one with the green blinds way ahead. Oh how pretty. And what a lot of trees and grass all around it. I never saw such a lot of green grass seem so all at once. Is my Aunt Polly rich Nancy? Yes Miss. I'm so glad. It must be perfectly lovely to have lots of money. I never knew anyone that did have only the whites. They're some rich. They have carpets in every room and ice cream sundaes. Does Aunt Polly have ice cream sundaes? Nancy shook her head. Her lips twitched.  No Miss. Your Aunt don't like ice cream I guess. Least ways I never saw it on her table. Polly and his face fell. Oh doesn't she? I'm so sorry. I don't see how she can help liking ice cream. But anyhow, I can be kind of glad about that because the ice cream you don't eat can't make your stomach ache like Mrs. White's did. That is I ate hers you know. Lots of it. Maybe Aunt Polly has got the carpets though. Yes she's got the carpets. In every room? Well in almost every room. Answered Nancy frowning suddenly at the thought of that bare little attic room where there was no carpet. Oh I'm so glad. Exalted Pollyanna. I love carpets. We didn't have any. Only two little rugs that came in a missionary barrel and one of those had ink spots on it. Mrs. White had pictures too. Perfectly beautiful ones of roses and little girls kneeling and a kitty and some lambs and a lion. Not together you know. The lambs and the lion. Oh of course the Bible says they will sometime but they haven't yet. That is I mean Mrs. White's haven't. Don't you just love pictures? I don't know. Answered Nancy in a half stifled voice. I do. We didn't have any pictures. They don't come in the barrels much you know. We did too come once though. But one was so good father sold it to get money to buy me some shoes with. And the other was so bad it fell to pieces just as soon as we hung it up. Glass. It broke you know. And I cried. But I'm glad now we didn't have any of those nice things cause I shall like Aunt Polly's all the better. Not being used to them you see. It is when the pretty hair ribbons come in the barrels after a lot of faded out brown ones. My but isn't this a perfectly beautiful house. She broke off fervently as they turned into the wide driveway. It was when Timothy was unloading the trunk that Nancy found an opportunity to mutter low in his ear. Don't you never say nothing to me again about leaving Timothy Durgin. You couldn't hire me to leave. Leave. I should say not. Grinned the youth. You couldn't drag me away. It'll be more fun here now with that kid round than moving picture shows every day. Fun. Fun. She needed Nancy indignantly. I guess it'll be something more than fun for that blessed child when them two tries to live together. And I guess she'll be in need in some rock to fly to for refuge. Well I'm going to be that rock Timothy. I am I am. She vowed as she turned and led Polly Anna up the broad steps. End of chapter three. Recording by the story girl. Chapter four of Polly Anna by Eleanor H. Porter. This sleep revox recording is in the public domain. Recording by the story girl. Chapter four. The little attic room. Miss Polly Harrington did not rise to meet her niece. She looked up from her book it is true as Nancy and the little girl appeared in the sitting room doorway. And she held out a hand with duty written large on every coldly extended finger. How do you do Polly Anna. I she had no chance to say more. Polly Anna had fairly flown across the room and flung herself into her aunt's scandalized unyielding lap. I went Polly and Polly I don't know how to be glad enough that you let me come to live with you. She was sobbing. You don't know how perfectly lovely it is to have you and Nancy and all this after you've had just the ladies aid. Very likely though I've not had the pleasure of the ladies aids acquaintance rejoined Miss Polly stiffly trying to unclasp the small clinging fingers and turning frowning eyes on Nancy in the doorway. Nancy that will do you may go Polly Anna be good enough please to stand erect in a proper manner. I don't know yet what you look like. Polly Anna drew back at once laughing a little hysterically. No I suppose you don't but you see I'm not very much to look at anyway on account of the freckles. Oh and I ought to explain about the red gingham and the black velvet basket with white spots on the elbows. I told Nancy how father said yes we'll never mind now what your father said. Interrupted Miss Polly crisply. You had a trunk I presume. Oh yes indeed Aunt Polly I've got a beautiful trunk that the ladies aid gave me. I haven't got so very much in it of my own I mean the barrels haven't had many clothes for little girls in them lately but there were all father's books and Mrs. White said she thought I ought to have those. You see father Polly Anna interrupted her aunt again sharply. There is one thing that might just as well be understood right away at once and that is I do not care to have you keep talking of your father to me.  Wait Aunt Polly you you mean she hesitated and her aunt filled the pause. We will go upstairs to your room. Your trunk is already there I presume. I told Timothy to take it up if you had one. You may follow me Polly Anna. Without speaking Polly Anna turned and followed her aunt from the room. Her eyes were brimming with tears but her chin was bravely high. After all I I reckon I'm glad she doesn't want me to talk about father. Polly Anna was thinking. It'll be easier maybe if I don't talk about him. Probably any how that is why she told me not to talk about him and Polly Anna convinced a new of her aunt's kindness blinked off the tears and looked eagerly about her. She was on the stairway now. Just ahead her aunt's black silk skirt rustled luxuriously. Behind her an open door allowed a glimpse of soft tinted rugs and sat and covered chairs. Beneath her feet a marvelous carpet was like green moss to the tread. On every side the guilt of picture frames or the glint of sunlight through the filmy mesh of lace curtains flashed in her eyes. Oh Aunt Polly Aunt Polly breathed the little girl rapturously. What a perfectly lovely lovely house. How awfully glad you must be you're so rich. Polly Anna ejaculated her and turning sharply about as she reached the head of the stairs. I'm surprised at you making a speech like that to me. Wait Aunt Polly aren't you? queried Polly Anna in frank wonder. Certainly not Polly Anna. I hope I could not so far forget myself as to be sinfully proud of any gift the Lord has seen fit to bestow upon me. declared the lady. Certainly not of riches. Miss Polly turned and walked down the hall toward the attic stairway door. She was glad now that she had put the child in the attic room. Her idea at first had been to get her niece as far away as possible from herself and at the same time place her where her childish heedlessness would not destroy valuable furnishings. Now, with this evident strain of vanity showing thus early, it was all the more fortunate that the room planned for her was plain and sensible, thought Miss Polly. Eagerly Polly Anna's small feet padded behind her aunt. Still more eagerly her big blue eyes tried to look in all directions at once but nothing of beauty or interest in this wonderful house might be passed unseen. Most eagerly of all her mind turned to the wondrously exciting problem about to be solved. Behind which of all these fascinating doors was waiting now her room, the dear beautiful room full of curtains, rugs and pictures that was to be her very own. Then abruptly her aunt opened a door and ascended another stairway. There was little to be seen here. A bare wall rose on either side. At the top of the stairs, wide reaches of shadowy space led to far corners where the roof came almost down to the floor and where were stacked innumerable trunks and boxes. It was hot and stifling too. Unconsciously Polly Anna lifted her head higher. It seemed so hard to breathe. Then she saw that her aunt had thrown open a door at the right. There Polly Anna, here is your room and your trunk is here I see. Have you your key? Polly Anna nodded dumbly. Her eyes were a little wide and frightened. Her aunt frown. When I ask a question Polly Anna, I prefer that you should answer aloud not merely with your head. Yes, Aunt Polly. Thank you, that is better. I believe you have everything that you need here. She added, glancing at the well-filled towel rack and water pitcher. I will send Nancy up to help you unpack. Supper is at six o'clock. She finished as she left the room and swept downstairs. For a moment after she had gone, Polly Anna stood quite still looking after her. Then she turned her wide eyes to the bare wall, the bare floor, the bare windows. She turned them last to the little trunk that had stood not so long before in her own little room in the far away western home.  Nancy found her there when she came up a few minutes later. There, there, you poor lamb. She crooned, dropping to the floor and drawing the little girl into her arms. I was just a fear and I'd find you like this, like this. Polly Anna shook her head. But I'm bad and wicked, Nancy. Awful wicked. She sobbed. I just can't make myself understand that God and the angels needed my father more than I did. No more they did, neither, declared Nancy stoutly. Nancy? The burning horror in Polly Anna's eyes dried the tears. Nancy gave a shame-faced smile and rubbed her own eyes vigorously. There, there, child, I didn't mean it, of course. She cried briskly.  Somewhat tearfully, Polly Anna produced the key. There aren't very many there anyway, she faltered. Then they're all the sooner unpacked, declared Nancy. Polly Anna gave a sudden radiant smile. That's so! I can be glad of that, can't I? She cried. Nancy stared. Why, of course, she answered a little, uncertainly. Nancy's capable hands made short work of unpacking the books, the patched undergarments, and the few pitifully unattractive dresses. Polly Anna, smiling bravely now, flew about, hanging the dresses in the closet, stacking the books on the table, and putting away the undergarments in the bureau drawers. I'm sure it's going to be a very nice room. Don't you think so? She stammered after a while. There was no answer. Nancy was very busy, apparently, with her head in the trunk. Polly Anna, standing at the bureau, gazed a little wistfully at the bare wall above. And I can be glad there isn't any looking glass here, too, because where there isn't any glass, I can't see my freckles.  At one of the windows, a few minutes later, Polly Anna gave a glad cry and clapped her hands joyously. Oh, Nancy! I hadn't seen this before! She breathed. Look! Way off there, with those trees and houses, and that lovely church spire and the river shining just like silver. Why, Nancy! There doesn't anybody need any pictures with that to look at. Oh, I'm so glad now she let me have this room. The Polly Anna's surprise and dismay, Nancy burst into tears. Polly Anna hurriedly crossed to her side. Why, Nancy! Nancy, what is it? She cried. Then fearfully, this wasn't your room, was it? My room, stormed Nancy hotly, choking back the tears.  After which amazing speech, Nancy sprang to her feet, dashed out of the room, and went clattering down the stairs. Left alone, Polly Anna went back to her picture, as she mentally designated the beautiful view from the window. After a time, she touched the sash tentatively. It seemed as if no longer could she endure the stifling heat. To her joy, the sash moved under her fingers. The next moment, the window was wide open, and Polly Anna was leaning far out, drinking in the fresh, sweet air. She ran then to the other window. That too soon flew up under her eager hands. A big fly swept past her nose, and buzzed noisily about the room. Then another came, and another. But Polly Anna paid no heed. Polly Anna had made a wonderful discovery. Against this window, a huge tree flung great branches. To Polly Anna, they looked like arms outstretched, inviting her. Suddenly, she laughed aloud. I believe I can do it! She chuckled. The next moment, she had climbed nimbly to the window ledge. From there, it was an easy matter to step to the nearest tree branch. Then, clinging like a monkey, she swung herself from limb to limb until the lowest branch was reached. The drop to the ground was, even for Polly Anna, who was used to climbing trees, a little fearsome. She took it, however, with baited breath, swinging from her strong little arms and landing on all fours in the soft grass. Then she picked herself up and looked eagerly about her. She was at the back of the house. Before her lay a garden in which a bent old man was working. Beyond the garden, a little path through an open field led up a steep hill, at the top of which a lone pine tree stood on guard beside the huge rock. To Polly Anna, at the moment, there seemed to be just one place in the world worth being in, the top of that big rock. With a run and a skillful turn, Polly Anna skipped by the bent old man, threaded her way between the orderly rows of green growing things and, a little out of breath, reached the path that ran through the open field. Then, determinedly, she began to climb. Already, however, she was thinking, what a long, long way off that rock must be. When back at the window it had looked so near. Fifteen minutes later, the great clock in the hallway of the Harrington homestead struck six. At precisely the last stroke, Nancy sounded the bell for supper. One, two, three minutes passed. Miss Polly frowned and tapped the floor with her slipper. A little jerkily, as she rose to her feet, went into the hall and looked upstairs, plainly impatient. For a minute she listened intently. Then she turned and swept into the dining room. Nancy, she said with decision, as soon as the little serving maid appeared. My niece is late. No, you need not call her. She added severely, as Nancy made a move toward the hall door. I told her what time supper was, and now she will have to suffer the consequences. She may as well begin at once to learn to be punctual. When she comes down, she may have bread and milk in the kitchen. Yes, ma'am. It was well, perhaps, that Miss Polly did not happen to be looking at Nancy's face just then. At the earliest possible moment after supper, Nancy crept up the back stairs and thence to the attic room. Bread and milk, indeed! And when the poor lamb-hate only just cried herself to sleep, she was muttering fiercely, as she softly pushed open the door. The next moment she gave a frightened cry. Where are you? Where you've gone? Where have you gone? She panted, looking in the closet, under the bed, and even in the trunk and down the water-pitcher. Then she flew downstairs and out to Old Tom in the garden. Mr. Tom, Mr. Tom, the blessed child's gone! She wailed. She vanished right up into heaven where she'd come from, poor lamb, and me told to give her bread and milk in the kitchen. Her what's eaten angel food this minute, I'll warrant, I'll warrant! The old man straightened up. Gone? Heaven? He repeated stupidly, unconsciously sweeping the brilliant sunset sky with his gaze. He stopped, stared a moment intently, then turned with a slow grin. Well, Nancy, it do look like as if she's tried to get as nigh heaven as she could. That's a fact. He agreed, pointing with a crooked finger to where, sharply outlined against the reddening sky, a slender, wind-blown figure was poised on top of a huge rock. Well, she ain't going to heaven that way tonight. A lot of I has my say, declared Nancy doggedly. If the mistress asks, tell her I ain't forgetting the dishes, but I gone on a stroll. She flung back over her shoulder as she sped toward the path that led through the open field. End of Chapter 4. Read by the Story Girl. Chapter 5 of Pollyanna by Eleanor H. Porter. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by the Story Girl. Chapter 5. The Game. For land's sake, Miss Pollyanna, what a scare you did give me! Panted Nancy, hurrying up to the big rock, down which Pollyanna had just regretfully slid. Scare? Oh, I'm so sorry. But you mustn't really ever get scared about me, Nancy. Father and the Lady's aide used to do it, too, till they found I always came back all right. But I didn't even know you'd went! Cried Nancy, tucking the little girl's hand under her arm and hurrying her down the hill. I didn't see you go, and nobody didn't. I guess you flew right up through the roof, I do, I do. Pollyanna skipped gleefully. I did, most, only I flew down instead of up. I came down the tree. Nancy stopped short. You did what? Came down the tree, outside my window. On my stars and stockings? Gasp Nancy, hurrying on again. I'd like to know what your aunt would say to that. Would you? Well, I'll tell her then, so you can find out. Promised the little girl cheerfully. Mercy! Gasp Nancy. No, no! Wait, you don't mean she'd care? Cried Pollyanna, plainly disturbed. No, uh, yes. Well, never mind. I, I ain't so very particular about no one what she'd say. Truly, stammered Nancy, determined to keep one scolding from Pollyanna, if nothing more. But say, we better hurry. I've got to get them dishes done, you know. I'll help, promised Pollyanna promptly. Oh, Miss Pollyanna, demured Nancy. For a moment there was silence. The sky was darkening fast. Pollyanna took a firmer hold of her friend's arm. I reckon I'm glad, after all, that you did get scared a little. Because then you came after me. She shivered.  And you must be hungry too. Uh, I'm afraid you'll have to have bread and milk in the kitchen with me. Your aunt didn't like it. Because you didn't come down to supper, you know. But I couldn't. I was up here. Yes, but she didn't know that, you see, observed Nancy, dryly, stifling a chuckle. I'm sorry about the bread and milk I am, I am. But Aunt, I'm glad. Glad? Why? Why I like bread and milk, and I'd like to eat with you. I don't see any trouble about being glad about that. You don't seem to see any trouble being glad about everything, retorted Nancy, choking a little over her remembrance of Pollyanna's brave attempts to like the bare little attic room. Pollyanna laughed softly. Well, that's the game you know anyway. The game? Yes, the just being glad game. Whatever in the world are you talking about? Well, it's a game. Father told it to me, and it's lovely. Rejoined Pollyanna. We've played it always. Ever since I was a little, little girl, I told the ladies aid, and they played it, some of them. What is it? I ain't much on games though. Pollyanna laughed again. But she sighed too. And in the gathering twilight, her face looked thin and wistful. Why, we began it on some crutches that came in a missionary barrel. Crutches? Yes. You see, I'd wanted a doll, and Father had written them so, but when the barrel came, the lady wrote that there hadn't any dolls come in, but the little crutches had. So she sent them along as they might come in handy for some child sometime. And that's when we began it. Well, I must say I can't see any game about that, about that. Declared Nancy almost irritably. Oh yes, the game was just to find something about everything to be glad about. No matter what was. Rejoined Pollyanna earnestly. And we began right then, on the crutches. Oh goodness me, I can't see anything to be glad about getting a pair of crutches when you wanted a doll. Pollyanna clapped her hands. There is, there is, she crowed. But I couldn't see it either Nancy at first, she added with quick honesty. Father had to tell it to me. Well then suppose you tell me, almost snapped Nancy. Goosey, why, just be glad because you don't need them. Exalted Pollyanna triumphantly. You see it's just as easy when you know how. Well of all the queer do-ins breathed Nancy regarding Pollyanna with almost fearful eyes. Oh but it isn't queer, it's lovely. Maintained Pollyanna enthusiastically. And we've played it ever since. And the harder it is, the more fun it is to get them out. Only, only sometimes it's almost too hard. Like when your father goes to heaven and there isn't anybody but a lady's eight left. Yes, or when you're put in a snippy little room way at the top of the house with nothing in it. Growed Nancy. Pollyanna sighed. That was a hard one at first, she admitted, especially when I was kind of lonesome. I just didn't feel like playing the game anyway, and I had been wanting pretty things so. Then I happened to think how I hated to see my freckles in the looking glass. And I saw that lovely picture out the window too, so then I knew I'd found the things to be glad about. You see, when you're hunting for the glad things, you sort of forget the other kind. Like the doll you wanted, you know. Choked Nancy, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. Most generally it doesn't take so long, sighed Pollyanna. And lots of times now I just think of them without thinking, you know? I've got so used to playing it. It's a lovely game. Father and I used to like it so much, she faltered. I suppose though it will be a little harder now, as long as I haven't anybody to play it with. Maybe Aunt Polly will play it though, she added as an afterthought. My stars and stockings, her breathe Nancy behind her teeth. Then aloud she said doggedly, see here Miss Pollyanna. I ain't saying that I'll play it very well, and I ain't saying that I know how anyway, but I'll play it with thee after a fashion. I just will, I will. Oh Nancy, exalted Pollyanna, giving her a rapturous hug. That'll be splendid. Won't we have fun? Ah, maybe. Conceded Nancy, an open doubt. But you mustn't count too much on me, you know. I never was no case for games, but I'm going to make a most awful old try on this one. You're going to have to have someone to play it with anyhow. She finished as they entered the kitchen together. Pollyanna ate her bread and milk with good appetite. Then, at Nancy's suggestion, she went into the sitting room where her aunt sat reading. Miss Polly looked up coldly.  Yes, Aunt Polly. I'm very sorry, Pollyanna, to have been obliged so soon to send you into the kitchen to eat bread and milk. But I was real glad you did it, Aunt Polly. I like bread and milk, and Nancy too. You mustn't feel bad about that one bit. Aunt Polly sat suddenly a little more erect in her chair. Pollyanna, it's quite time you were in bed. You have had a hard day, and tomorrow we must plan your hours and go over your clothing to see what is necessary to get for you. Nancy will give you a candle. Be careful how you handle it. Breakfast will be at half past seven. See that you are down to that. Good night. Quite as a matter of course, Pollyanna came straight to her aunt's side and gave her an affectionate hug. I've had such a beautiful time so far, she sighed happily. I know I'm going to just love living with you, but then I knew I should before I came. Good night. She called cheerfully as she ran from the room. Well upon my soul, ejaculated Miss Polly, half-aloud.  Then she frowned. She's glad I punished her, and I mustn't feel bad one bit. And she's going to love to live with me. Upon my soul, ejaculated Miss Polly again as she took up her book. Fifteen minutes later, in the attic room, a lonely little girl sobbed into the tightly clutched sheet. I know, Father, among the angels. I'm not playing the game one bit now. No one bit. Believe even you could find anything to be glad about sleeping all alone. Way off up here in the dark, where I was near Nancy. Where I'm Polly, or even a lady's eater. It would be easier. Downstairs in the kitchen, Nancy, hurrying with her belated work, jabbed her dish mop into the milk pitcher, and muttered jerkily.  Why, I'm going to play it. I am, I am. End of Chapter Five. Recording by The Story Girl. Chapter Six of Pollyanna by Eleanor H. Porter. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Read by The Story Girl. Chapter Six. A Question of Duty. It was nearly seven o'clock when Pollyanna awoke that first day after her arrival. Her windows faced the south and the west, so she could not see the sun yet, but she could see the hazy blue of the morning sky, and she knew that the day promised to be a fair one. The little room was cooler now, and the air blew in fresh and sweet. Outside, the birds were twittering joyously, and Pollyanna flew to the window to talk to them. She saw then that down in the garden, her aunt was already out among the rose bushes. With rapid fingers, therefore, she made herself ready to join her. Down the attic stairs sped Pollyanna, leaving both doors wide open. Through the hall, down the next flight, then bang through the front screen door and around to the garden she ran. Aunt Polly, with the bent old man, was leaning over a rose bush when Pollyanna, gurgling with delight, flung herself upon her. Oh Aunt Polly! Aunt Polly, I reckon I am glad this morning just to be alive! Pollyanna, remonstredid the lady sternly, pulling herself as erect as she could with a dragging weight of ninety pounds hanging about her neck. Is this the usual way you say good morning? The little girl dropped to her toes and danced lightly up and down. No, only when I love folks so I just can't help it.  The bent old man turned his back suddenly. Miss Polly attempted a frown with not her usual success. Pollyanna, you—I—Thomas, that will do for this morning. I think you understand about those rose bushes, she said stiffly. Then she turned and walked rapidly away. Do you always work in the garden, Mr.— Man? asked Pollyanna, interestingly. The man turned. His lips were twitching, but his eyes looked blurred as if with tears. Yes, Miss, I'm old Tom, the gardener, he answered. Timidly, but as if impelled by an irresistible force, he reached out a shaking hand and let it rest for a moment on her bright hair.  I used to know her when she was even littler than you be. You see, I used to work in the garden then. Pollyanna caught her breath audibly. You did? And you knew my mother? Really? When she was just a little earth angel and not a heaven one? Oh, please tell me about her. And down plumped Pollyanna in the middle of the dirt path by the old man's side. A bell sounded from the house. The next moment Nancy was seen flying out the back door. Miss Pollyanna, that bell means breakfast, mornings, she panted, pulling the little girl to her feet and hurrying her back to the house. And other times it means other meals, but it always means that you're to run like time when you hear it, no matter where you be. If you don't, well, it'll take something smarter than we be to find anything to be glad about in that. She finished shooing Pollyanna into the house as she would shoo an unruly chicken into a coop. Breakfast for the first five minutes was a silent meal. Then Miss Polly, her disapproving eyes following the airy wings of two flies darting hearing there over the table, said sternly. Nancy, where did those flies come from? I don't know, ma'am. There wasn't one in the kitchen. Nancy had been too excited to notice Pollyanna's upflung windows the afternoon before. I reckon maybe they're my flies, Aunt Polly, observed Pollyanna amably. There were lots of them this morning having a beautiful time upstairs. Nancy left the room precipitately, though to do so she had to carry out the hot muffins she had just brought in. Yours, gasped Miss Polly. What do you mean? Where did they come from? Well, Aunt Polly, they came from out of doors, of course, through the windows. I saw some of them come in. You saw them. You mean you raised those windows without any screens? Well, yes. There weren't any screens there, Aunt Polly. Nancy at this moment came in again with the muffins. Her face was grave but very red. Nancy directed her mistress sharply.   Later, when your morning work is done, go through every room with the spatter. See that you make a thorough search. To her niece, she said, Pollyanna, I have ordered screens for those windows. I knew, of course, that it was my duty to do that. It seems to me that you have quite forgotten your duty. My duty? Pollyanna's eyes were wide with wonder. Certainly. I know it is warm but I consider it your duty to keep your windows closed till those screens come. Flies, Pollyanna, are not only unclean and annoying but very dangerous to health. After breakfast I will give you a little pamphlet on this matter to read. To read? Oh, thank you, Aunt Polly. I love to read. Miss Polly drew in her breath audibly.  Pollyanna, seeing her stern face, frowned a little thoughtfully. Of course I'm sorry about the duty I forgot, Aunt Polly. She apologized timidly. I won't raise the windows again. Her aunt made no reply. She did not speak, indeed, until the meal was over. Then she rose, went to the bookcase in the sitting room, took out a small paper booklet and crossed the room to her niece's side. This is the article I spoke of, Pollyanna. I desire you to go to your room at once and read it. I will be up in half an hour to look over your things. Pollyanna, her eyes on the illustration of a fly's head, many times magnified, cried joyously, Oh, thank you, Aunt Polly. The next moment she skipped merrily from the room, banging the door behind her. Miss Polly frowned, hesitated, then crossed the room majestically and opened the door, but Pollyanna was already out of sight, clattering up the attic stairs. Half an hour later, when Miss Polly, her face expressing stern duty in every line, climbed those stairs and entered Pollyanna's room, she was greeted with a burst of eager enthusiasm. Aunt Polly, I never saw anything so perfectly lovely and interesting in my life. I'm so glad you gave me that book to read. Why, I didn't suppose flies could carry such a lot of things on their feet and... That will do, observed Aunt Polly with dignity. Pollyanna, you may bring out your clothes now and I will look them over. What are not suitable for you, I shall give to the Sullivan's, of course. With visible reluctance, Pollyanna laid down the pamphlet and turned toward the closet. I'm afraid you'll think they're worse than the ladies they did, and they said they were shameful, she sighed. But there were mostly things for boys and older folks in the last two or three barrels and... Did you ever have a missionary barrel, Aunt Polly? At her aunt's look of shocked anger, Pollyanna corrected herself at once. We know of course you didn't, Aunt Polly, she hurried on with a hot blush. I forgot, rich folks never have to have them, but you see sometimes I kind of forget that you are rich. Up here in this room, you know? Miss Polly's lips parted indignantly, but no words came. Pollyanna, plainly unaware that she had said anything in the least unpleasant, was hurrying on. Well, as I was going to say, you can't tell a thing about missionary barrels, except that you won't find in them what you think you're going to, even when you think you won't. It was the barrels every time, too, that were the hardest to play the game on, for father and... Just in time, Pollyanna remembered that she was not to talk of her father to her aunt. She dived into her closet then, hurriedly, and brought out all the poor little dresses in both her arms. They aren't nice at all, she choked. And they'd been black if it hadn't been for the red carpet for the church, but they're all I've got. With the tips of her fingers, Miss Polly turned over the conglomerate garments, so obviously made for anybody but Pollyanna. Next, she bestowed frowning attention on the patched undergarments in the bureau drawers. I've got the best ones on, confessed Pollyanna anxiously. The ladies aide bought me one set straight through all whole. Mrs. Jones, she's the president, told him I should have that if they had to clatter down bare aisles themselves the rest of their days. But they won't, Mr. White doesn't like the noise. He's got nerves, his wife says, but he's got money, too, and they expect he'll give a lot toward the carpet, on account of the nerves, you know. I should think he'd be glad that if he did have the nerves he'd got money, too, shouldn't you? Miss Polly did not seem to hear. Her scrutiny of the undergarments finished, she turned to Pollyanna somewhat abruptly. You have been to school, of course, Pollyanna. Oh yes, Aunt Polly. Besides, I mean, I was taught at home some, too. Miss Polly frowned. Very good. In the fall you will enter school here, of course. Mr. Hall, the principal, will doubtless settle in which grade you belong. Meanwhile I suppose I ought to hear you read aloud half an hour each day. I love to read, but if you don't want to hear me I'd be just glad to read to myself. Truly, Aunt Polly, and I wouldn't have to half try to be glad either, for I like best to read to myself, on account of the big words, you know. I don't doubt it. Rejoined Miss Polly grimly. Have you studied music? Not much. I don't like my music. I like other peoples, though. I learned to play on the piano a little. Miss Gray, she plays for church. She taught me. But I just assumed let that go as not Aunt Polly. I'd rather, truly. Very likely? Observed Aunt Polly with slightly uplifted eyebrows. Nevertheless, I think it is my duty to see that you are properly instructed in at least the rudiments of music. You so, of course. Yes, ma'am. Polly Anna sighed. The Lady Zade taught me that. But I had an awful time. Mrs. Jones didn't believe in holding your needle like the rest of them did on button-holing. And Mrs. White thought backstitching ought to be taught you before hemming, or else the other way. And Mrs. Herman didn't believe in putting you on patchwork, ever, at all. Well, there will be no difficulty of that kind any longer, Polly Anna. I'll teach you sewing myself, of course. You do not know how to cook, I presume? Polly Anna laughed suddenly. They were just beginning to teach me that this summer, but I hadn't got far. They were more divided up on that than they were on the sewing. They were going to begin on bread, but there wasn't two of them that made it alike. So after arguing at all one sewing meeting, they decided to take turns at me one four noon a week. In their own kitchens, you know. I'd only learned chocolate fudge and fig cake, though, when I had to stop. Her voice broke. Chocolate fudge and fig cake, indeed, scored Miss Polly. I think we can remedy that very soon. She paused in thought for a minute, then went on slowly. At nine o'clock every morning, you will read aloud one half hour to me. Before that, you will use the time to put this room in order. Wednesday and Saturday, four noons after half past nine, you will spend with Nancy in the kitchen learning to cook. Other mornings, you will sew with me. That will leave the afternoons for your music. I shall, of course, procure a teacher at once for you. She finished decisively as she rose from her chair. Polly Anna cried out in dismay. Open Aunt Polly! Aunt Polly, you haven't left me any time at all just to... to live. To live, child? What do you mean? As if you weren't living all the time. Oh, of course I'd be breathing all the time I was doing those things, Aunt Polly, but I wouldn't be living.  I mean living, doing the things you want to do. Playing outdoors, reading, to myself, of course. Climbing hills, talking to Mr. Tom in the garden and Nancy and finding out all about the houses and the people and everything everywhere all through the perfectly lovely streets I came through yesterday. That's what I call living at Polly. Just breathing isn't living. Miss Polly lifted her head irritably. Polly Anna, you are the most extraordinary child. You will be allowed a proper amount of playtime, of course, but surely it seems to me, if I am willing to do my duty in seeing that you have proper care and instruction, you ought to be willing to do yours by seeing that that care and instruction are not ungratefully wasted. Polly Anna looked shocked. Oh, Aunt Polly, as if I ever could be ungrateful to you. Why, I love you and you aren't even a lady's aider.  Very well, then see that you don't act ungrateful. Vouch saved Miss Polly as she turned toward the door. She had gone halfway down the stairs when a small, unsteady voice called after her. Please, Aunt Polly, you didn't tell me which of my things you wanted to give away. Aunt Polly admitted a tired sigh, a sigh that ascended straight to Polly Anna's ears. Oh, I forgot to tell you, Polly Anna. Timothy will drive us into town at half past one this afternoon. Not one of your garments is fit for my niece to wear. Certainly I should be very far from doing my duty by you if I should let you appear out in any one of them. Polly Anna sighed now. She believed she was going to hate that word, duty. Aunt Polly, please, she called wistfully. Isn't there any way you can be glad about all that duty business? What? Miss Polly looked up in day's surprise. Then suddenly, with very red cheeks, she turned and swept angrily down the stairs. Don't be impertinent, Polly Anna. In the hot little attic room, Polly Anna dropped herself on to one of the straight back chairs. To her, existence loomed ahead one endless round of duty. I don't see really what there was impertinent about that, she sighed. I was only asking her if she couldn't tell me something to be glad about in all that duty business. For several minutes, Polly Anna sat in silence, her rueful eyes fixed on the forlorn heap of garments on the bed. Then, slowly, she rose and began to put away the dresses. There just isn't anything to be glad about that I can see, she said aloud. Unless it's to be glad when the duty's done. Whereupon she laughed suddenly. End of Chapter 6. Recording by The Story Girl. Chapter 7 of Polly Anna by Eleanor H. Porter. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Read by The Story Girl. Chapter 7. Polly Anna and Punishments. At half past one o'clock, Timothy drove Miss Polly and her niece to the four or five principal dry-good stores, which were about half a mile from the homestead. Fitting Polly Anna with a new wardrobe proved to be more or less of an exciting experience for all concerned. Miss Polly came out of it with the feeling of limp relaxation that one might have at finding oneself at last on solid earth after a perilous walk across the very thin crust of a volcano. The various clerks who had waited upon the pair came out of it with very red faces and enough amusing stories of Polly Anna to keep their friends and gales of laughter the rest of the week. Polly Anna herself came out of it with radiant smiles and a heart content, for she expressed it to one of the clerks, When you haven't had anybody but missionary barrels and ladies-aiders to dress you, it is perfectly lovely to just walk right in and buy clothes that are brand new and that don't have to be tucked up or let down because they don't fit. The shopping expedition consumed the entire afternoon. Then came supper and a delightful talk with Old Tom in the garden and another with Nancy on the back porch after the dishes were done and while Aunt Polly paid a visit to a neighbor. Old Tom told Polly Anna wonderful things of her mother that made her very happy indeed and Nancy told her all about the little farm six miles away at the corners where lived her own dear mother and her equally dear brother and sisters. She promised too that sometime, if Miss Polly were willing, Polly Anna should be taken to see them. And they've got lovely names too. You like their names. Side Nancy. Their Algernon and Floorbell and Estelle. I... I just hate Nancy. Oh Nancy, what a dreadful thing to say. Why? Because it isn't pretty like the others. You see, I was the first baby and mother hadn't begun to read so many stories with the pretty names in them then. But I love Nancy just because it's you. Declared Polly Anna. Well, I guess you could love Clarissa Maybell just as well, retorted Nancy. And it would be a heap happier for me. I think that name's just grand. Polly Anna laughed. Well anyhow, she chuckled. You can be glad it isn't Hepsaba. Hepsaba? Yes, Mrs. White's name is that. Her husband calls her Hep and she doesn't like it. She says when he calls out, Hep? Hep? She feels just as if the next minute he was going to yell, Hurrah! And she doesn't like to be hurrahed at. Nancy's gloomy face relaxed into a broad smile. Well, if you don't beat the Dutch, say, do you know, I shat never hear Nancy now that I don't think of that Hep, Hep and Giggle. My, I guess I am glad.  Same as Polly Anna. Do you mean, was you playing that air game then about my being glad I want named Hepsaba? Polly Anna frowned. Then she laughed. My Nancy, that's so. I was playing the game. But that's one of the times I just did it without thinking I reckon. You see, you do, lots of times, you get so used to it. Looking for something to be glad about, you know. And most generally there is something about everything that you can be glad about if you keep hunting long enough to find it. Well, maybe, granted Nancy with open doubt. At half past eight, Polly Anna went to bed. The screens had not yet come and the close little room was like an oven. With longing eyes, Polly Anna looked at the two fast closed windows, but she did not raise them. She undressed, folded her clothes neatly, said her prayers, blew out her candle and climbed into bed. Just how long she lay in sleepless misery, tossing from side to side of the hot little cot, she did not know. But it seemed to her that it must have been hours before she finally slipped out of bed, felled her way across the room and opened her door. Out in the main attic, all was velvet blackness, save where the moon flung a path of silver halfway across the floor from the east dormer window. With a resolute ignoring of that fearsome darkness to the right and to the left, Polly Anna drew a quick breath and padded straight into that silvery path and on to the window. She had hoped vaguely that this window might have a screen, but it did not. Outside, however, there was a wide world of fairy-like beauty. And there was, too, she knew fresh, sweet air that would feel so good to hot cheeks and hands. As she stepped nearer and peered longingly out, she saw something else. She saw, only a little way below the window, the wide, flat, tin roof of Miss Polly's sun-parler built over the Port Cochère. The sight filled her with longing. If only now she were out there. Fearfully, she looked behind her.  But between her and them lay a horrid desert of blackness across which one must feel one's way without stretched, shrinking arms. While before her, out on the sun-parler roof, were the moonlight and the cool, sweet night air. If only her bed were out there. And folks did sleep out of doors.  Suddenly, Pollyanna remembered that she had seen near this attic window a row of long, white bags hanging from nails. Nancy had said that they contained the winter clothing put away for the summer. A little fearfully now, Pollyanna felt her way to these bags, selected a nice, fat, soft one. It contained Miss Polly's seal-skin coat for a bed and a thinner one to be doubled up for a pillow. And still another, which was so thin it seemed almost empty, for a covering. Thus equipped, Pollyanna in high glee patted her to the moonlight window again, raised the sash, stuffed her burden through to the roof below, then let herself down after it, closing the window carefully behind her. Pollyanna had not forgotten those flies with the marvelous feet that carried things. How deliciously cool it was. Pollyanna quite danced up and down with delight, drawing in long, full breaths of the refreshing air. The tin roof under her feet crackled with little resounding snaps that Pollyanna rather liked. She walked indeed two or three times back and forth from end to end. It gave her such a pleasant sensation of airy space after her hot little room. And the roof was so broad and flat that she had no fear of falling off. Finally, with a sigh of content, she curled herself up on the seal-skin coat mattress, arranged one bag for a pillow and the other for a covering, and settled herself to sleep. I'm so glad now that the screens didn't come, she murmured, blinking up at the stars. I couldn't have had this. Downstairs, in Miss Polly's room next to the sun-parler, Miss Polly herself was hurrying into dressing gown and slippers, her face white and frightened. A minute before she had been telephoning in a shaking voice to Timothy. Come up quick, you and your father. Bring lanterns. Somebody is on the roof of the sun-parler. He must have climbed up the rose-trellis or somewhere, and of course he can get right into the house through the east window in the attic. I have locked the attic door down here. But hurry, quick! Some time later, Polly Anna, just dropping off to sleep, was startled by a lantern flash and a trio of amazed ejaculations. She opened her eyes to find Timothy at the top of a ladder near her. Old Tom just getting through the window and her aunt peering out at her from behind him. Polly Anna, what does this mean? cried Aunt Polly then. Polly Anna blinked, sleepy eye isn't sat up. Why, Mr. Tom? Aunt Polly, she stammered. Don't look so scared. It isn't that I've got the consumption, you know, like Joel Hartley. It's only that I was so hot in there. But I shut the window at Polly so the flies couldn't carry those germ things in. Timothy disappeared suddenly down the ladder. Old Tom, with almost equal precipitation, handed his lantern to Miss Polly and followed his son. Miss Polly bit her lip hard until the men were gone. Then she said sternly, Polly Anna, hand those things to me at once and come in here. All the extraordinary children.  To Polly Anna, the air was all the more stifling after that cool breath of the out-of-doors, but she did not complain. She only drew a long, quivering sigh. At the top of the stairs, Miss Polly jerked out crisply. For the rest of the night, Polly Anna, you are to sleep in my bed with me. The screens will be here tomorrow, but until then I consider it my duty to keep you where I know where you are. Polly Anna drew in her breath. 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 someone sometime, someone that belonged to me, you know, not a lady's 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 Polly Anna's arrival, Miss Polly was punishing Polly Anna. 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. End of Chapter 7. Recording by The Story Girl. Chapter 8 of Polly Anna by Eleanor H. Porter. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Read by The Story Girl. Chapter 8. Polly Anna 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. Polly Anna sowed, practiced, 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 Polly Anna from work, or as a relief to Aunt Polly from Polly Anna. 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 Polly Anna 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 Polly Anna's age. This however did not seem to disturb Polly Anna 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 them, retorted Nancy tersely. Almost every pleasant afternoon found Polly Anna 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 Polly Anna 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 Polly Anna 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 and certainly. Did you speak to me? He asked in a sharp voice. Yes, sir, beamed Polly Anna. I say it's a nice day, isn't it? Eh? Oh. He grunted and strode on again. Polly Anna laughed. He was such a funny man, she thought. The next day she saw him again. Tisn't quite so nice as yesterday, but it's pretty nice, she called out cheerfully. Eh? Oh. Grunted the man as before, and once again Polly Anna laughed happily. When for the third time Polly Anna accosted him in much the same manner, the man stopped abruptly. See here, child. Who are you and why are you speaking to me every day? I'm Polly Anna Whittier, and I thought you looked lonesome.  Now we're introduced. Only I don't know your name yet. Well, of all the… The man did not finish his sentence, but strode on faster than ever. Polly Anna looked after him with a disappointed droop to her usually smiling lips. Maybe he didn't understand. But that was only half an introduction. I don't know his name yet. She murmured as she proceeded on her way. Polly Anna was carrying Cav's Foot Jelly to Mrs. Snow today. Mrs. Polly Harrington always sent something to Mrs. Snow once a week. She said she thought that it was her duty, in as much as Mrs. Snow was poor, sick, and a member of her church. It was the duty of all the church members to look out for her, of course. Mrs. Polly did her duty by Mrs. Snow usually on Thursday afternoons. Not personally, but through Nancy. Today Polly Anna had begged the privilege, and Nancy had promptly given it to her in accordance with Mrs. Polly's orders. And it's glad that I am to get rid of it. Nancy had declared in private afterwards to Polly Anna. Though it's a shame to be tucking the job off onto you, poor lamb. So it is, so it is. But I'd love to do it, Nancy. Well, you won't, after you've done it once, predicted Nancy sourly. Why not? Because nobody does. If folks want sorry for her, there wouldn't a soul go near her from morning till night. She's that contangorous. All is, I pity her daughter what has to take care of her. But why Nancy? Nancy shrugged her shoulders. Well, in plain words, it's just that nothing whatever has happened has happened right in Mrs. Snow's eyes. Even the days of the week ain't run to her mind. If it's Monday, she's bound to say she wished to a Sunday. And if you take her jelly, you're pretty sure to hear she wanted chicken. But if you did bring her chicken, she'd be just hankering for lamb broth. Why, what a funny woman, laughed Pollyanna. I think I shall like to go see her. She must be so surprising and different. I love different folks. Hmm. Well, Miss Snow's different, all right. I hope for the sake of the rest of us. Nancy had finished grimly. Pollyanna was thinking of these remarks today as she turned in at the gate of the shabby little cottage. Her eyes were quite sparkling indeed at the prospect of meeting this different Mrs. Snow. A pale-faced, tired-looking young girl answered her knock at the door. How do you do? began Pollyanna politely. I'm from Miss Polly Harrington, and I'd like to see Mrs. Snow, please. Well, if you would, you're the first one that ever liked to see her, muttered the girl under her breath. But Pollyanna did not hear this. The girl had turned and was leading the way through the hall to a door at the end of it. In the sick room, after the girl had ushered her in and closed the door, Pollyanna blinked a little before she could accustom her eyes to the gloom. Then she saw, dimly outlined, a woman half sitting up in the bed across the room. Pollyanna advanced at once. How do you do, Mrs. Snow?  Dear me, jelly, murmured a fretful voice. Of course I'm very much obliged, but I was hoping to be lamb broth today. Pollyanna frowned a little. What? I thought it was chicken you wanted when folks brought you jelly, she said. What?  Why nothing much, apologized Pollyanna hurriedly. And of course it doesn't really make any difference. It's only that Nancy said it was chicken you wanted when we brought jelly and lamb broth when we brought chicken. But maybe it was the other way and Nancy forgot.  A most unusual thing for her to do, though Pollyanna did not know this. Well, Miss Impertnance, who are you? She demanded. Pollyanna laughed gleefully.  That would be worse than Hepsaba, wouldn't it? I'm Pollyanna Whittier, Miss Polly Harrington's niece, and I've come to live with her. That's why I'm here with the jelly this morning. All through the first part of this sentence, the sick woman had sat interestingly erect. But at the reference to the jelly she fell back on her pillow listlessly. Very well. Thank you. Your aunt is very kind, of course, but my appetite isn't very good this morning, and I was wanting lamb. She stopped suddenly, then went on with an abrupt change of subject. I never slept a wink last night. Not a wink! Oh dear, I wish I didn't, sighed Pollyanna, placing the jelly on the little stand and seating herself comfortably in the nearest chair. You lose such a lot of time just sleeping. Don't you think so? Lose time?  Yes, when you might be just living, you know.  Once again the woman pulled herself erect in her bed. Well, if you ain't the amazing young one, she cried.  I should like to know what you look like. Pollyanna rose to her feet, but she laughed a little ruefully. Oh dear, then you'll see my freckles, won't you? she sighed as she went to the window. And just when I was being so glad it was dark and you couldn't see him. There, now you can. Oh, she broke off excitedly as she turned back to the bed.  They didn't tell me you were so pretty. Me? pretty? scoffed the woman bitterly. Why, yes. Didn't you know it? cried Pollyanna. Well, no, I didn't. retorted Mrs. Snow dryly. Mrs. Snow had lived forty years, and for fifteen of those years she had been too busy wishing things were different to find much time to enjoy things as they were. Oh, but your eyes are so big and dark, and your hair's all dark, too, and curly. Cooed Pollyanna. I love black curls. That's one of the things I'm going to have when I get to heaven. And you've got two little red spots in your cheeks. Why, Mrs. Snow, you are pretty. I should think you'd know it when you looked at yourself in the glass.  Yes, well, I ain't done much prankin' before the mirror these days. And you wouldn't if you was flat on your back as I am. Why, no, of course not, agreed Pollyanna sympathetically. But wait, just let me show you. She exclaimed, skipping over to the bureau and picking up a small hand-glass. On the way back to the bed, she stopped, eyeing the sick woman with a critical gaze.  May I fix your hair, please? May I? Suppose so, if you want to. Permitted Mrs. Snow grudgingly. But won't stay, you know. Oh, thank you. I love to fix people's hair, exalted Pollyanna, carefully laying down the hand-glass and reaching for a comb. I shan't do much today, of course. I'm in such a hurry for you to see how pretty you are. But someday, I'm going to take it all down and have a perfectly lovely time with it. She cried, touching with soft fingers the waving hair above the sick woman's forehead. For five minutes, Pollyanna worked swiftly, deftly, combing a refractory curl into fluffiness, perking up a drooping ruffle at the neck or shaking a pillow into plumpness so that the head might have a better pose. Meanwhile, the sick woman, frowning prodigiously and openly scoffing at the whole procedure, was in spite of herself beginning to tingle with a feeling perilously near to excitement. There, panted Pollyanna, hastily plucking a pink from a vase nearby and tucking it into the dark hair where it would give the best effect. Now I reckon we're ready to be looked at. And she held out the mirror in triumph.  I like red pinks better than pink ones. But then it'll fade anyhow before night, so what's the difference? But I should think you'd be glad they did fade, laughed Pollyanna. Because then you can have the fun of getting some more. I just love your hair fluffed out like that, she finished with the satisfied gaze. Don't you? Hmm, maybe. Still, twaunt last, with me tossing back and forth on the pillow as I do. Of course not, and I'm glad too, nodded Pollyanna cheerfully. Because then I can fix it again. Anyhow, I should think you'd be glad it's black. Black shows up so much nicer on a pillow than yellow hair like mine does. Maybe, but I never did set much store by black hair. Chose gray too soon, retorted Mrs. Snow. She spoke fretfully, but she still held the mirror before her face. Oh, I love black hair. I should be so glad if I only had it, sighed Pollyanna. Mrs. Snow dropped the mirror and turned irritably. Well, you wouldn't. Not if you were me. You wouldn't be glad for black hair nor anything else if you had to lie here all day as I do. Pollyanna bent her brows in a thoughtful frown. I might twid be kind of hard to do it then, wouldn't it? She mused aloud. Do what? Be glad about things. Be glad about things. When you're sick in bed all your days. Well, I should say it would, retorted Mrs. Snow. If you don't think so, just tell me something to be glad about, that's all. To Mrs. Snow's unbounded amazement, Pollyanna sprang to her feet and clapped her hands. Oh, goody! That'll be a hard one, won't it? I've got to go now, but I'll think and think all the way home and maybe the next time I come I can tell it to you. Goodbye. I've had a lovely time. Goodbye. She called again as she tripped through the doorway. Well, I never. Now what does she mean by that? ejaculated Mrs. Snow, staring after her visitor.  That little thing has gotten knack with hair and no mistake. She muttered under her breath. I declare, I didn't know it could look so pretty. But then what's the use? She sighed, dropping the little glass into the bedclothes and rolling her head on the pillow fretfully. A little later, when Millie, Mrs. Snow's daughter came in, the mirror still lay among the bedclothes, though it had been carefully hidden from sight. My mother!  Well, what if it is? snapped the sick woman. I needn't stay in the dark all my life if I am sick, need I? Why, no, of course not. We joined Millie in hasty conciliation as she reached for the medicine bottle. It's only, well, you know very well that I've tried to get you to have a lighter room for ages and you wouldn't. There was no reply to this. Mrs. Snow was picking at the lace on her nightgown. At last she spoke fretfully. I should think somebody might give me a new night dress, instead of lamb broth for a change. My mother! No wonder Millie quite gasped aloud with bewilderment. In the drawer behind her at that moment lay two new night dresses that Millie for months had been vainly urging her mother to wear. End of Chapter 8. Recording by The Story Girl. Chapter 9 of Pollyanna by Eleanor H. Porter. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by The Story Girl. Chapter 9. Which Tells of the Man. It rained the next time Pollyanna saw the man. She greeted him, however, with a bright smile. It isn't so nice today, is it? She called blithely. I'm glad it doesn't rain always, anyhow. The man did not even grunt this time, nor turn his head. Pollyanna decided that, of course, he did not hear her. The next time, therefore, which happened to be the following day, she spoke up louder. She thought it particularly necessary to do this, anyway, for the man was striding along his hands behind his back and his eyes on the ground, which seemed to Pollyanna preposterous in the face of the glorious sunshine and the freshly washed morning air. Pollyanna, as a special treat, was on a morning errand today. How do you do? She chirped. I'm so glad it isn't yesterday, aren't you? The man stopped abruptly. There was an angry scowl on his face. See here, little girl. We might just as well settle this thing right now, once for all. He began testily. I've got something besides the weather to think of. I don't know whether the sun shines or not. Pollyanna beamed joyously. No, sir. I thought you didn't. That's why I told you. Yes, well, uh, what? He broke off sharply, in sudden understanding of her words. I say that's why I told you. So you would notice it, you know, that the sun shines and all that. I knew you'd be glad it did if you only stopped to think of it, and you didn't look a bit as if you were thinking of it. Well, of all the... ejaculated the man with an oddly impotent gesture. He started forward again, but after the second step, he turned back, still frowning. See here, why don't you find someone your own age to talk to? I'd like to, sir, but there aren't any round here, Nancy says. Still, I don't mind so very much. Unlike old folks just as well, maybe better sometimes, being used to the ladies' aid cell. Ugh. The ladies' aid, indeed. Is that what you took me for? The man's lips were threatening to smile, but the scowl above them was still trying to hold them grimly stern. Pollyanna laughed gleefully. Oh, no, sir. You don't look a mite like a ladies' aider. Not but that you're just as good, of course. Maybe better. She added in hurried politeness. You see, I'm sure you're much nicer than you look.  Well, of all the... he ejaculated again as he turned and strode on as before. The next time Pollyanna met the man, his eyes were gazing straight into hers with a quizzical directness that made his face look really pleasant, Pollyanna thought. Good afternoon. He greeted her a little stiffly. Perhaps I'd better say right away that I know the sun is shining today. But you don't have to tell me. Not at Pollyanna brightly. I knew you knew it, just as soon as I saw you. Oh, you did, did you? Yes, sir. I saw it in your eyes, you know, and in your smile. Grunted the man as he passed on. The man always spoke to Pollyanna after this, and frequently he spoke first, though usually he said little but good afternoon. Even that, however, was a great surprise to Nancy, who chanced to be with Pollyanna one day when the greeting was given. Sakes alive, Miss Pollyanna, she gasped. Did that man speak to you? Why, yes, he always does. Now, smiled Pollyanna. He always does. Goodness, do you know who he is? demanded Nancy. Pollyanna frowned and shook her head. I reckon he forgot to tell me one day. You see, I did my part of the introducing, but he didn't. Nancy's eyes widened. But he never speaks to anybody, child. They hate for years, I guess, except when he just has to for business and all that. He's John Pendleton. He lives all by himself in the big house on Pendleton Hill. He won't even have anyone round to cook for him. He comes down to the hotel for his meals three times a day. I know Sally Minor, who waits on him, and she says he hardly opens his head enough to tell what he wants to eat. She has to guess it more than half the time. Only it'll be something cheap. She knows that without no telling. Pollyanna nodded sympathetically. I know. You have to look for cheap things when you're poor. Father and I took meals out a lot. We had beans and fish balls, most generally. We used to say how glad we were we liked beans. That is, we said it especially when we were looking at the roast turkey place, you know. That was sixty cents. Does Mr. Pendleton like beans? Like them? What if he does or don't? I miss Pollyanna. He ain't poor. He's got loads of money John Pendleton has from his father. There ain't nobody in town as rich as he is. He could eat dollar bills if he wanted to and not know it. Pollyanna giggled. As if anybody could eat dollar bills and not know it, Nancy, when they come to try to chew them. No, I mean he's rich enough to do it, shrugged Nancy. He ain't spending his money, that's all. He's a savin' of it. Oh, for the heathen, surmised Pollyanna. How perfectly splendid. That's denying yourself and taking up your cross. I know, Father told me. Nancy's lips parted abruptly as if there were angry words all ready to come. But her eyes, resting on Pollyanna's jubilantly trustful face, saw something that prevented the words being spoken. Hmm, she vouchsafed. Then showing her old-time interest, she went on.  He don't speak to no one, and he lives all alone in a great big lovely house, all full of just grand things, they say. Some says he's crazy, and some just cross, and some says he's got a skeleton in his closet. Oh, Nancy, shuddered Pollyanna. How can he keep such a dreadful thing? I should think he'd throw it away. Nancy chuckled. That Pollyanna had taken the skeleton literally instead of figuratively, she knew very well. But perversely, she refrained from correcting the mistake. And everybody says he's mysterious. She went on. Some years he just travels. Week in and week out. And it's always in heathen countries. Egypt and Asia and the desert of Sarah, you know. Oh, a missionary, nodded Pollyanna. Nancy laughed oddly. Well, I didn't say that, Miss Pollyanna.  But he don't never seem to want to spend no money here. Least ways, not for just living. Of course not. If he's saving it for the heathen, declared Pollyanna. But he is a funny man. And he's different, too. Just like Mrs. Snow. Only he's a different, different. Well, I guess he is, rather, chuckled Nancy. I'm glad her ever now, anyhow, that he speaks to me. Side Pollyanna, contendedly. End of Chapter 9. Read by the Story Girl. Chapter 10 of Pollyanna by Eleanor H. Porter. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by the Story Girl. Chapter 10. A surprise for Mrs. Snow. The next time Pollyanna went to see Mrs. Snow, she found that lady, as at first, in a darkened room. It's the little girl from Mrs. Polly's mother, announced Millie in a tired manner. Then Pollyanna found herself alone with the invalid. Oh. It's you, is it? Asked a fretful voice from the bed. I remember you. Anybody'd remember you, I guess, if they saw you once. I wish you had come yesterday. I wanted you yesterday. Did you? Well, I'm glad she isn't any farther away from yesterday than today is, then. Laughed Pollyanna, advancing cheerily into the room and setting her basket carefully down on a chair. My, but aren't you dark here, though? I can't see you a bit, she cried, unhesitatingly crossing to the window and pulling up the shade. I want to see if you fixed your hair like I did. Oh, you haven't. But never mind, I'm glad you haven't, after all, because maybe you'll let me do it later. But now I want you to see what I've brought you. The woman stirred restlessly. Just as if how it looks would make any difference in how it tastes, she scoffed. But she turned her eyes toward the basket. Well, what is it? Guess, what do you want? Pollyanna had skipped back to the basket. Her face was alight.  Why, I don't want anything as I know of. She sighed. After all, they all taste alike. Pollyanna chuckled. This won't. Guess, if you did want something, what would it be? The woman hesitated. She did not realize it herself. But she had so long been accustomed to wanting what she did not have that to state offhand what she did want seemed impossible until she knew what she had. Obviously, however, she must say something. This extraordinary child was waiting. Well, of course there's lamb broth. I've got it, crowed Pollyanna. But that's what I didn't want, sighed the sick woman, sure now of what her stomach craved. It was chicken I wanted. Oh, I've got that too, chuckled Pollyanna. The woman turned in amazement. Both of them? She demanded. Yes, and calf's foot jelly, triumphed Pollyanna. I was just bound you should have what you wanted for once, so Nancy and I fixed it. Oh, of course there's only a little of each, but there's some of all of them. I'm so glad you did want chicken. She went on contentedly as she lifted the three little bowls from her basket. You see, I got to thinking on the way here. What if you should say tripe or onions or something like that that I didn't have? Wouldn't it have been a shame when I tried so hard? She laughed merrily. There was no reply. The sick woman seemed to be trying mentally to find something she had lost. There, I'm to leave them all, announced Pollyanna as she arranged the three bowls in a row on the table. Like enough it'll be lamb broth you want tomorrow. How do you do today? She finished in polite inquiry. Very poorly thank you, murmured Mrs. Snow, falling back into her usual listless attitude. I lost my nap this morning. Nelly Higgins next door's begun music lessons, and her practicing drives me nearly wild. She was at it all the morning, every minute. I'm sure I don't know what I shall do. Pollyanna nodded sympathetically. I know. It is awful. Mrs. White had it once. One of my lady's aiders, you know. She had rheumatic fever too at the same time, so she couldn't thrash round. She said it would have been easier if she could have. Can you? Can I what? Thrash round. Move, you know, just to change your position when the music gets too hard to stand. Mrs. Snow stared a little. Of course I can move. Anywhere, in bed. She rejoined a little irritably. Well, you can be glad of that then anyhow, can't you? Nodded Pollyanna. Mrs. White couldn't. You can't thrash when you have rheumatic fever, so you want to something awful, Mrs. White says.  Being deaf, so. Sister's ears? What do you mean? Pollyanna laughed. Well, I reckon I didn't tell at all, and I forgot you didn't know Mrs. White. You see, Mrs. White was deaf. Awfully deaf, and she came to visit him and to help take care of Mrs. White in the house. Well, they had such an awful time making her understand anything that after that, every time the piano commenced to play across the street, Mrs. White felt so glad she could hear it that she didn't mind so much that she did hear it because she couldn't help thinking how awful it would be if she was deaf and couldn't hear anything, like her husband's sister. You see, she was playing the game, too. I told her about it. The game? Pollyanna clapped her hands. There, I most forgot, but I've thought it up, Mrs. Snow, what you can be glad about. Glad about? What do you mean? Why, I told you I would. Don't you remember? You asked me to tell you something to be glad about. Glad, you know, even though you did have to lie here a bit all day. Oh, scoffed the woman. That? Yes, I remember that, but I didn't suppose you were an earnest any more than I was. Oh, yes, I was. Not at Pollyanna triumphantly. And I found it, too. But it was hard. It's all the more fun, though, always went his heart. And I will own up honest to true that I couldn't think of anything for a while. Then I got it. Did you really? Well, what is it? Mrs. Snow's voice was sarcastically polite. Pollyanna drew a long breath.  All sick in bed like this, you know. She announced impressively. Mrs. Snow stared. Her eyes were angry. Well, really, she ejaculated then in not quite an agreeable tone of voice. And now I'll tell you the game, proposed Pollyanna, blithely confident. It'll be just lovely for you to play. It'll be so hard. And there's so much more fun when it is hard. You see, it's like this. And she began to tell of the missionary barrel, the crutches, and the doll that did not come. The story was just finished when Millie appeared at the door. Your aunt is wanting you, Miss Pollyanna, she said with dreary listlessness. She telephoned to the Harlow's across the way, she says you're to hurry, that you've got some practicing to make up before dark. Pollyanna rose reluctantly. All right, she sighed. I'll hurry. Suddenly she laughed. I suppose I ought to be glad I've got legs to hurry with, hadn't I, Mrs. Snow? There was no answer. Mrs. Snow's eyes were closed. But Millie, whose eyes were wide open with surprise, saw that there were tears on the wasted cheeks. Goodbye, flung Pollyanna over her shoulder as she reached the door. I'm awfully sorry about the hair. I wanted to do it, but maybe I can next time. One by one, the July day has passed. To Pollyanna, they were happy days indeed. She often told her aunt joyously how very happy they were. Whereupon her aunt would usually reply wearily, Very well, Pollyanna. I'm gratified, of course, that they are happy. But I trust that they are profitable as well. Otherwise I should have failed signally in my duty. Generally, Pollyanna would answer this with a hug and a kiss. A proceeding that was still always most disconcerting to Miss Polly. But one day she spoke. It was during the sewing hour. Do you mean that it wouldn't be enough then, Aunt Polly, that they should be just happy days? She asked wistfully. That is what I mean, Pollyanna. They must be profitable as well? Certainly. What is being profitable? Wyatt, it's just being profitable. Having profit, something to show for it, Pollyanna.  Then just being glad isn't profitable? Questioned Pollyanna a little anxiously. Certainly not. Oh, dear. Then you wouldn't like it, of course. I'm afraid now you won't ever play the game, Aunt Polly. Game? What game? Why, that Father... Pollyanna clapped her hand to her lips. Nothing? She stammered. Miss Polly frowned. That will do for this morning, Pollyanna. She said tersely. And the sewing lesson was over. It was that afternoon that Pollyanna, coming down from her attic room, met her aunt on the stairway. Well, Aunt Polly, how perfectly lovely! She cried. You were coming up to see me. Come right in. I love company. She finished, scampering up the stairs and throwing her door wide open.  She had been planning to look for a certain white wool shawl in the cedar chest near the east window. But to her unbounded surprise now, she found herself not in the main attic before the cedar chest, but in Pollyanna's little room sitting in one of the straight back chairs. So many, many times since Pollyanna came, Miss Polly had found herself like this, doing some utterly unexpected, surprising thing, quite unlike the thing she had set out to do. I love company, said Pollyanna again, flitting about as if she were dispensing the hospitality of a palace. Especially since I've had this room, all mine, you know. Oh, of course I had a room always, but it was a hired room, and hired rooms aren't half as nice as owned ones, are they? And of course I do own this one, don't I? What? Yes, Pollyanna, murmured Miss Polly, vaguely wondering why she did not get up at once and go to look for that shawl. And of course now I just love this room, even if it hasn't got the carpets and curtains and pictures that I'd been wanting. With a painful blush, Pollyanna stopped short. She was plunging into an entirely different sentence when her aunt interrupted her sharply. What's that, Pollyanna? Nothing at Polly. Truly, I didn't mean to say it. Probably not, returned Miss Polly coldly. I did say it, so suppose we have the rest of it. But it wasn't anything only that I'd been kind of planning on pretty carpets and lace curtains and things, you know. But of course, planning on them, interrupted Miss Polly sharply. Pollyanna blushed still more painfully. I ought not to have, of course, Aunt Polly. She apologized. It was only because I'd always wanted them and hadn't had them, I suppose. Oh, we'd had two rugs and the barrels, but they were little, you know, and one had ink spots and the other holes, and there never were only those two pictures. The one fought, I mean, the good one we sold and the bad one that broke. Of course, if it hadn't been for all that, I shouldn't have wanted them so. Pretty things, I mean. And I shouldn't have got to planning all through the hall that first day how pretty mine would be here. And... But truly, Aunt Polly, it wasn't but just a minute. I mean, a few minutes before I was being glad that the Bureau didn't have a looking glass because it didn't show my freckles. And there couldn't be a nicer picture than the one out my window there. And you've been so good to me that... Miss Polly rose suddenly to her feet. Her face was very red. That will do, Pollyanna, she said stiffly. You have said quite enough, I'm sure. The next minute, she had swept down the stairs. And not until she reached the first floor did it suddenly occur to her that she had gone up into the attic to find a white wool shawl in the cedar chest near the east window. Less than 24 hours later, Miss Polly said to Nancy crisply, Nancy, you may move Miss Pollyanna's things downstairs this morning to the room directly beneath. I have decided to have my niece sleep there for the present. Yes, ma'am, said Nancy aloud. Oh, glory, said Nancy to herself. To Pollyanna, a minute later she cried joyously. And won't you just be listening to this, Miss Pollyanna? You're to sleep downstairs in the room straight under this.  Pollyanna actually grew white. You mean, why Nancy? Not really. Really and truly.  I'm told to take down your things, and I'm going to take them too, for she gets a chance to change her mind. Pollyanna did not stop to hear the end of this sentence. At the imminent risk of being dashed headlong, she was flying downstairs two steps at a time. Bang, went two doors in a chair before Pollyanna at last reached her goal. Aunt Polly. Oh Aunt Polly, Aunt Polly, did you mean it? Really? Why, that room's got everything. The carpet and curtains and three pictures besides the one outdoors too, because the windows look the same way. Oh Aunt Polly. Very well, Pollyanna. I'm gratified that you like the change, of course. But if you think so much of all those things, I trust you will take proper care of them. That's all. Pollyanna, please pick up that chair. And you banged two doors in the last half minute. Miss Polly spoke sternly. All the more sternly, because for some inexplicable reason, she felt inclined to cry. And Miss Polly was not used to feeling inclined to cry. Pollyanna picked up the chair. Yes, I know I banged them. Those doors, she admitted cheerfully. You see, I just found out about the room and I reckon you'd have banged doors if... Pollyanna stopped shored and eyed her ant with new interest. Aunt Polly, did you ever bang doors? I hope not, Pollyanna. Miss Polly's voice was properly shocked.  Pollyanna's face expressed only concerned sympathy. A shame, repeated Aunt Polly, two days to say more. Why, yes, you see, if you'd felt like banging doors, you'd have banged them, of course. And if you didn't, that must have meant that you weren't ever glad over anything. Or you would have banged them. You couldn't have helped it. And I'm so sorry you weren't ever glad over anything. Pollyanna gasped the lady, but Pollyanna was gone and only the distant bang of the attic stairway door answered for her. Pollyanna had gone to help Nancy bring down her things. Miss Polly, in the sitting room, felt vaguely disturbed. But then, of course she had been glad over some things. End of Chapter 10. Read by the Story Girl. Chapter 11 of Pollyanna by Eleanor H. Porter. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by the Story Girl. Chapter 11. Introducing Jimmy. August came. August brought several surprises and some changes, none of which, however, were really a surprise to Nancy. Nancy, since Pollyanna's arrival, had come to look for surprises and changes. First, there was the kitten. Pollyanna found the kitten doing pitifully some distance down the road. When systematic questioning of the neighbors failed to find anyone who claimed it, Pollyanna brought it home at once, as a matter of course. And I was glad I didn't find anyone who owned it too. She told her aunt in happy confidence. Because I wanted to bring it home all the time. I love kitties. I knew you'd be glad to let it live here.  Miss Polly did not care for cats. Not even pretty, healthy, clean ones.  And it's sick, I'm sure, and all mangy and flea-y. I know it, poor little thing, but I assumed Pollyanna tenderly, looking into the little creature's frightened eyes. And it's all trembling too, it's so scared. You see, it doesn't know yet that we're going to keep it, of course. No, nor anybody else. Retorted Miss Polly with meaning emphasis. Oh yes, they do! nodded Pollyanna, entirely misunderstanding her aunt's words. I told everybody we should keep it. If I didn't find where it belonged, I knew you'd be glad to have it. Poor little lonesome thing. Miss Polly opened her lips and tried to speak, but in vain. The curious, helpless feeling that had been her so often since Pollyanna's arrival had her now fast in its grip. Of course I knew, hurried on Pollyanna gratefully. That you wouldn't let a dear little lonesome kitty go hunting for a home when you'd just taken me in. And I said so to Mrs. Ford when she asked if you'd let me keep it. Why, I had the lady's age, you know. Kitty doesn't have anybody. I knew you'd feel that way. She nodded happily as she ran from the room. But Pollyanna... Pollyanna, remonstrated Miss Polly. I don't... But Pollyanna was already halfway to the kitchen, calling, Nancy! Nancy! Just see this dear little kitty that Aunt Polly is going to bring up along with me.  The next day, it was a dog. Even dirtier and more forlorn perhaps than was the kitten. And again, Miss Polly, to her dumbfounded amazement, found herself figuring as a kind protector and an angel of mercy, a role that Pollyanna so unhesitatingly thrust upon her as a matter of course, that the woman, who abhorred dogs even more than she did cats, if possible, found herself, as before, powerless to remonstrate. When, in less than a week, however, Pollyanna brought home a small, ragged boy, and confidently claimed the same protection for him, Miss Polly did have something to say. It happened after this wise. On a pleasant Thursday morning, Pollyanna had been taking Cavsfoot jelly again to Mrs. Snow. Mrs. Snow and Pollyanna were the best of friends now. Their friendship had started from the third visit Pollyanna had made, the one after she had told Mrs. Snow of the game. Mrs. Snow herself was playing the game now with Pollyanna. To be sure, she was not playing it very well. She had been sorry for everything for so long that it was not easy to be glad for anything now. But under Pollyanna's cheery instructions and merry laughter at her mistakes, she was learning fast. Today, even, to Pollyanna's huge delight, she had said that she was glad Pollyanna brought Cavsfoot jelly because that was just what she had been wanting. She did not know that Millie, at the front door, had told Pollyanna that the minister's wife had already that day sent over a great bowl full of that same kind of jelly. Pollyanna was thinking of this now when suddenly she saw the boy.  Hello, smiled Pollyanna engagingly. The boy glanced up, but he looked away again at once. Hello yourself, he mumbled. Pollyanna laughed. Now you don't look as if you'd be glad even for Cavsfoot jelly, she chuckled, stopping before him.  Pollyanna hesitated, then dropped herself comfortably down on the grass near him. In spite of Pollyanna's brave assertion that she was used to ladies' aiders and didn't mind, she had sighed at times for some companion of her own age, hence her determination to make the most of this one. My name's Pollyanna Whittier. She began pleasantly. What's yours? Again the boy stirred restlessly. He even almost got to his feet. But he settled back. Jimmy Bean. He grunted with ungracious indifference. Good, now we're introduced. I'm glad you did your part. Some folks don't, you know. I live at Miss Polly Harrington's house. Where do you live? Nowhere. Nowhere? Why, you can't do that. Everybody lives somewhere, asserted Pollyanna. Well, I don't. Just now. I'm hunting up a new place. Oh, where is it? The boy regarded her with scornful eyes. Silly. As if I'd be a-hunting for it, if I knew. Pollyanna tossed her head a little. This was not a nice boy, and she did not like to be called silly. Still, he was somebody besides old folks. Where did you live before? She queried. Well, if you ain't the beaten for asking questions, I'd provide the boy, impatiently. I have to be, retorted Pollyanna calmly. Else I couldn't find out a thing about you. If you'd talk more, I wouldn't talk so much. The boy gave a short laugh. It was a sheepish laugh, and not quite a willing one. But his face looked a little pleasanter when he spoke this time. All right then. Here goes. I'm Gene, and I'm ten years old, going on eleven. I came last year to live at the orphan's home. But they've got so many kids, there ain't much room for me. And I won't never want it anyhow, I don't believe. So I've quit. I'm going to live somewhere else. But I ain't found the place yet. I'd like a home. Just a common one, you know, with a mother in it, instead of a matron. If he has a home, he has folks. I ain't had folks since Dad died. So I'm a-hunting now. I've tried four houses, but they didn't want me. Though I said I expected to work, of course. There, is that all you want to know? The boy's voice had broken a little over the last two sentences. Why, what a shame, sympathized Pollyanna. And didn't there anybody want you? Oh dear. I know just how you feel, because after my father died too, there wasn't anybody but the ladies' aid for me. Until Aunt Polly said she'd take- Pollyanna stopped abruptly. The dawning of a wonderful idea began to show in her face. Oh, I know just the place for you, she cried. Aunt Polly'll take you? I know she will. Didn't she take me? And didn't she take Fluffy and Buffy, when they didn't even have anyone to love them, or any place to go? And they're only cats and dogs. Oh come, I know Aunt Polly'll take you. You don't know how good and kind she is. Jimmy Bean's thin little face brightened. Honest engine? What'd she know? Work, you know, and I'm real strong. He bared a small bony arm. Of course she would. When my Aunt Polly is the nicest lady in the world, now that my mama has gone to be a heaven angel, and there's rooms, heaps of them, she continued, springing to her feet and tugging at his arm. It's an awful big house. Maybe though, she added a little anxiously as they hurried on. Maybe you'll have to sleep in the attic room.  Did you know about that? It's perfectly lovely. Maybe she'll let you read the book if you're good. I mean, if you're bad. And you've got freckles too. With a critical glance. So you'll be glad there isn't any looking glass, and the outdoor picture is nicer than any wall one could be, so you won't mind sleeping in that room at all, I'm sure. Panted Polly Anna, finding suddenly that she needed the rest of her breath for purposes other than talking. Gory exclaimed Jimmy Bean tersely and uncomprehendingly, but admiringly. Then he added, I shouldn't think anybody who could talk like that run in would need to ask no questions to fill up time with. Polly Anna laughed. Well anyhow, you can be glad of that, she retorted. For when I'm talking, you don't have to. When the house was reached, Polly Anna unhesitatingly piloted her companion straight into the presence of her amazed aunt. Oh Aunt Polly, she triumphed. Just look at here. I've got something ever so much nicer even than fluffy and buffy for you to bring up. It's a real life boy. He won't mind a bit sleeping in the attic at first, you know, and he says he'll work, but I shall need him most of the time to play with, I reckon. Miss Polly grew white, then very red. She did not quite understand, but she thought she understood enough. Polly Anna, what does this mean?  Where did you find him? She demanded sharply.  Polly Anna laughed merrily. There, if I didn't forget to tell you his name, I'm as bad as the man.  I mean, the boy is. Just like fluffy and buffy were when you took them in. But I reckon he'll improve all right by washing just as they did and, oh, I most forgot again. She broke off with a laugh. This is Jimmy Bean at Polly. Well, what is he doing here? Wait, at Polly, I just told you. Polly Anna's eyes were wide with surprise. He's for you. I brought him home so he could live here, you know. He wants a home and folks. I told him how good you were to me and a fluffy and buffy and that I knew you would be to him because of course he's even nicer than cats and dogs.  The old helplessness was threatening once more to overcome her. With a visible struggle, however, Miss Polly pulled herself suddenly erect. That will do, Polly Anna. This is a little of the most absurd thing you've done yet. As if tramp cats and mangy dogs weren't bad enough but you must needs bring home ragged little beggars from the street who there was a sudden stir from the boy.   I ain't a beggar, Marm. And I don't want nothing to you. I was count-latent to work, of course, for my boredom keep. I wouldn't have come to your old house anyhow if this your girl Adna made me telling me how you was so good and kind that you'd just be dying to take me in. So there. And he wheeled about and stalked from the room with a dignity that would have been absurd. Had it not been so pitiful. Oh, Aunt Polly. Choked Polly Anna. Wait. I thought you'd be glad to have him here. I'm sure I should think you'd be glad. Miss Polly raised her hand with a peremptory gesture of silence. Miss Polly's nerves had snapped at last. The good and kind of the boy's words were still ringing in her ears and the old helplessness was almost upon her, she knew. Yet she rallied her forces with the last atom of her willpower. Polly Anna. She cried sharply. Will you stop using that everlasting word glad? It's glad, glad, glad from morning till night until I think I shall grow wild. From sheer amazement, Polly Anna's jaw dropped. I am Polly. She breathed. I should think you'd be glad to have me glad. She broke off, clapping her hand to her lips and hurrying blindly from the room. Before the boy had reached the end of the driveway, Polly Anna overtook him. Boy, boy! Jimmy Bean. I want you to know how, how sorry I am.  Sorry, Nussan.  But I ain't no beggar, he added with sudden spirit. Of course you aren't, but you mustn't blame Anty, appealed Polly Anna. Probably I didn't do the introducing right anyhow and I reckon I didn't tell her much who you were. She is good and kind really. She's always been, but I probably didn't explain it right. I too wish I could find some place for you though. The boy shrugged his shoulders and half turned away. Never mind. I guess I can find one myself. I ain't no beggar, you know. Polly Anna was frowning thoughtfully. Of a sudden she turned, her face illumined. Say, I'll tell you what I will do. The lady's aide meets this afternoon. I heard that Polly say so. I'll lay your case before them. That's what father always did when he wanted anything. Educating the heathen and new carpets, you know? The boy turned fiercely. Well, he ain't a heathen or a new carpet. Besides, what is a lady's aide? Polly Anna stared in shocked disapproval. Why, Jimmy Bean, wherever have you been brought up? Not to know what a lady's aide is? Oh, all right. You ain't tellin', grunted the boy, turning and beginning to walk away indifferently. Polly Anna sprang to his side at once. It's...it's... Well, it's just a lot of ladies that meet and sew and give suppers and raise money and... and talk. That's what a lady's aide does. They're awfully kind. That is, most of mine was. Back home. I haven't seen this one here, but they're always good, I reckon. I'm going to tell them about you this afternoon. Again, the boy turned fiercely. Not much, you will. Maybe you think I'm gonna stand round for a whole lot of women call me a beggar instead of just one. Not much. Oh, but you wouldn't be there, argued Polly Anna quickly. I'd go alone, of course, and tell them. You would? Yes, and I'd tell it better this time, hurried on Polly Anna, quick to see the signs of relenting in the boy's face. And there'd be some of them that would be glad to give you a home. I'd work, don't forget to say that, cautioned the boy. Of course not, promised Polly Anna happily, sure now that her point was gained. Then I'll let you know tomorrow. Where? By the road, where I found you today, near Mrs. Snow's house. All right, I'll be there. The boy paused before he went on slowly. Maybe I'd better go back then, for tonight, to the home.  I slipped out. I didn't tell them I wasn't coming back else they'd pretend I couldn't come, though I'm thinking they won't do no worrying when I don't show up sometime. They ain't like folks, you know. They don't care. I know, not at Polly Anna, with understanding eyes. But I'm sure when I see you tomorrow, I'll have just a common home in folks that do care already for you. Goodbye, she called brightly as she turned back toward the house. In the sitting room window at that moment, Miss Polly, who had been watching the two children, followed with somber eyes the boy until a bend of the road hit him from sight. Then she sighed, turned and walked listlessly upstairs. And Miss Polly did not usually move listlessly. In her ears still was the boy's scornful. You was so good in kind. In her heart was the curious sense of desolation as of something lost. End of Chapter 11. Recording by the Story Girl. Chapter 12 of Polly Anna by Eleanor H. Porter. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Read by the Story Girl. Chapter 12. Before the Lady's Aid. Dinner, which came at noon in the Harrington homestead, was a silent meal on the day of the Lady's Aid meeting. Polly Anna, it is true, tried to talk, but she did not make a success of it, chiefly because four times she was obliged to break off a glad in the middle of it, much to her blushing discomfort. The fifth time it happened, Miss Polly moved her head wearily. There their child say it if you want to. She sighed. I'm sure I'd rather you did than not if it's going to make all this fuss.  Oh, thank you. I'm afraid it would be pretty hard not to say it. You see, I've played it so long. You've what? demanded Aunt Polly. Played it, the game you know, that Father... Polly Anna stopped with a painful blush at finding herself so soon again on forbidden ground. Aunt Polly frowned and said nothing. The rest of the meal was a silent one. Polly Anna was not sorry to hear Aunt Polly tell the minister's wife over the telephone a little later that she would not be at the Lady's Aid meeting that afternoon, owing to a headache. When Aunt Polly went upstairs to her room and closed the door, Polly Anna tried to be sorry for the headache, but she could not help feeling glad that her aunt was not to be present that afternoon when she laid the case of Jimmy Bean before the Lady's Aid. She could not forget that Aunt Polly had called Jimmy Bean a little beggar, and she did not want Aunt Polly to call him that before the Lady's Aid. Polly Anna knew that the Lady's Aid met at two o'clock in the chapel next to the church, not quite half a mile from home. She planned her going, therefore, so that she should get there a little before three. I want them all to be there, she said to herself. Else the very one that wasn't there might be the one who would be wanting to give Jimmy Bean home. And, of course, two o'clock always means three, really, to Lady's Aiders. Quietly, but with confident courage, Polly Anna ascended the chapel's steps, pushed open the door, and entered the vestibule. A soft babble of feminine chatter and laughter came from the main room. Hesitating only a brief moment, Polly Anna pushed open one of the inner doors. The chatter dropped to a surprised hush. Polly Anna advanced a little timidly. Now that the time had come, she felt unwontedly shy. After all, these half-strange, half-familiar faces about her were not her own dear Lady's Aid. How do you do, Lady's Aiders? She faltered politely. I'm Polly Anna Whittier. I reckon some of you know me, maybe. Anyway, I do you. Only I don't know you altogether this way. The silence could almost be felt now. Some of the ladies did know this rather extraordinary niece of their fellow member, and nearly all had heard of her. But not one of them could think of anything to say just then. I've come to lay the case before you, stammered Polly Anna after a moment, unconsciously falling into her father's familiar phraseology. There was a slight rustle. Did your aunt send you, my dear? Asked Mrs. Ford, the minister's wife. Polly Anna colored a little. Oh, no. I came all by myself. You see, I'm used to Lady's Aiders. It was Lady's Aiders that brought me up with father. Somebody tittered hysterically, and the minister's wife frowned. Yes, dear. What is it? Well, it's Jimmy Bean, sighed Polly Anna. He hasn't any home except the orphan one, and they're full and don't want him anyhow, he thinks, so he wants another. He wants one of the common kind, that has a mother instead of a matron in it. Folks, you know, that'll care. He's ten years old going on eleven. I thought some of you might like him. To live with you, you know. Well, did you ever? murmured a voice, breaking the dazed pause that followed Polly Anna's words. With anxious eyes, Polly Anna swept the circle of faces about her. Oh, I forgot to say, he will work. She supplemented eagerly. Still, there was silence. Then, coldly, one or two women began to question her. After a time, they all had the story and began to talk among themselves, animatedly, not quite pleasantly. Polly Anna listened with growing anxiety. Some of what was said, she could not understand. She did gather, after a time, however, that there was no woman there who had a home to give him. Though every woman seemed to think that some of the others might take him, as there were several who had no little boys of their own already in their homes. But there was no one who agreed herself to take him. Then she heard the minister's wife suggest timidly that they, as a society, might perhaps assume his support in education instead of sending quite so much money this year to the little boys in far away India. A great many ladies talked then, and several of them talked all at once, and even more loudly and more unpleasantly than before. It seemed that their society was famous for its offering to Hindu missions, and several said they should die of mortification if it should be less this year. Some of what was said at this time, Palliana again thought she could not have understood, too, for it sounded almost as if they did not care at all what the money did, so long as the sum opposite the name of their society in a certain report headed the list. And of course, that could not be what they meant at all. But it was all very confusing, and not quite pleasant, so that Palliana was glad indeed when at last she found herself outside in the hushed, sweet air. Only she was very sorry, too, for she knew it was not going to be easy, or anything but sad, to tell Jimmy being tomorrow that the ladies' aid had decided that they would rather send all their money to bring up the little India boys and to save out enough to bring up one little boy in their own town, for which they would not get a bit of credit in the report, according to the tall lady who wore spectacles. Not but that it's good, of course, to send money to the heathen, and I shouldn't want them not to send some there, sighed Palliana to herself as she trudged sorrowfully along.   I should think, though, they'd rather see Jimmy being grown than just a report. End of Chapter 12. Read by the Story Girl. Chapter 13 of Palliana by Eleanor H. Porter. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Read by the Story Girl. Chapter 13. In Pendleton Woods. Palliana had not turned her steps toward home when she left the chapel. She had turned them instead toward Pendleton Hill. It had been a hard day for all that had been a vacation one as she termed the infrequent days when there was no sewing or cooking lesson. And Palliana was sure that nothing would do her quite so much good as a walk through the green quiet of Pendleton Woods. Up Pendleton Hill, therefore, she climbed steadily, in spite of the warm sun on her back. I don't have to get home till half past five anyway, she was telling herself. And it'll be so much nicer to go around by the way of the woods even if I do have to climb to get there. It was very beautiful in the Pendleton Woods as Palliana knew by experience. But today it seemed even more delightful than ever, notwithstanding her disappointment over what she must tell Jimmy Bean tomorrow. I wish they were up here. All those ladies who talked so loud, sighed Palliana to herself, raising her eyes to the patches of vivid blue between the sunlit green of the treetops. Anyhow, if they were up here, I'd just reckon they'd change and take Jimmy Bean for their little boy all right. She finished, secured her conviction, but unable to give a reason for it, even to herself. Suddenly Palliana lifted her head and listened. A dog had barked some distance ahead. A minute later he came dashing toward her, still barking. Hello, doggy! Palliana snapped her fingers at the dog and looked expectantly down the path. She had seen the dog once before she was sure. He had been then with the man, Mr. John Pendleton. She was looking now, hoping to see him. For some minutes she watched eagerly, but he did not appear. Then she turned her attention toward the dog. The dog, as even Palliana could see, was acting strangely. He was still barking, giving little short, sharp yelps as if of alarm. He was running back and forth too in the path ahead.  Oh, that isn't the way home! Laughed Palliana, still keeping to the main path. The little dog seemed frantic now. Back and forth, back and forth, between Palliana and the side path he vibrated, barking and whining pitifully. Every quiver of his little brown body and every glance from his beseeching brown eyes were eloquent with appeal, so eloquent that at last Palliana understood, turned and followed him. Straight ahead now the little dog dashed madly, and it was not long before Palliana came upon the reason for it all. A man lying motionless at the foot of a steep, overhanging mass of rock, a few yards from the side path. A twig cracked sharply under Palliana's foot, and the man turned his head. With a cry of dismay, Palliana ran to his side. Mr. Pendleton! Oh, are you hurt? Hurt? Oh, no. I'm just taking a siesta in the sunshine. Snapped the man irritably. See here, how much do you know? What can you do? Have you got any sense? Palliana caught her breath with a little gasp, but, as was her habit, she answered the questions literally one by one. Wait, Mr. Pendleton, I... I don't know so very much, and I can't do a great many things. But most of the ladies' aiders, except Mrs. Rawson, said I had real good sense. I heard him say so one day. I didn't know I heard, though. The man smiled grimly. There, there, child, I beg your pardon, I'm sure. It's only this confounded leg of mine. I'll listen. He paused and, with some difficulty, reached his hand into his trouser's pocket and brought out a bunch of keys, singling out one between his thumb and forefinger. Straight through the path there. About five minutes' walk is my house. This key will admit you to the side door under the Port Cochère. Do you know what a Port Cochère is? Oh, yes, sir. Andy has one with a sun parlor over it. That's the roof I slept on. Only I didn't sleep, you know, they found me. Eh? Well, when you get into the house, you go straight through the vestibule and hall to the door at the end. On the big, flat-talked desk in the middle of the room you'll find a telephone. Do you know how to use a telephone? Oh, yes, sir. We once went at Polly. Never mind Aunt Polly now. Cut in the man scowlingly as he tried to move himself a little. Hunt up Dr. Thomas Chilton's number on the card. You'll find somewhere around there. It ought to be on the hook down at the side, but it probably won't be. You know a telephone card, I suppose, when you see one? Oh, yes, sir. I just love Aunt Polly's. There's such a lot of queer names and... Tell Dr. Chilton that John Pendleton is at the foot of little eagle ledge in Pendleton Woods with a broken leg, and to come at once with a stretcher and two men. He'll know what to do besides that. Tell him to come by the path from the house. A broken leg? Oh, Mr. Pendleton. How perfectly awful! Shuddered Pollyanna. But I'm so glad I came. Can't I do...? Yes, you can, but evidently you won't. Will you go and do what I ask and stop talking?  Pollyanna did not stop now to look up at the patches of blue between the sunlit tops of the trees. She kept her eyes on the ground to make sure that no twig nor stone tripped her hurrying feet. It was not long before she came in sight of the house. She had seen it before, though never so near as this. She was almost frightened now at the massiveness of the great pile of grey stone with its pillared verandas and its imposing entrance. Pausing only a moment, however, she sped across the big neglecte