Pollyanna & Pollyanna Grows Up (Musaicum Children's Classics). Eleanor H. Porter

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. “And now I know, and I’m glad you look just like you do look.”

      Nancy was relieved just then to have Timothy come up. Pollyanna’s words had 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 Ladies’ 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 ‘tis,” she finished, producing the check after much fumbling in the bag she carried.

      Nancy drew a long breath. Instinctively she felt that some one 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 ‘tis—I love to ride,” sighed Pollyanna, as the wheels began to turn. “Of course, if ‘tisn’t far, I sha’n’t mind, though, ‘cause I’ll be glad to get there all the sooner, you know. What a pretty street! I knew ‘twas going to be pretty; father told me—”

      She stopped with a little choking breath. Nancy, looking at her apprehensively, saw that her small chin was quivering, and that her eyes were full of tears. In a moment, however, she hurried on, with a brave lifting of her head.

      “Father told me all about it. He remembered. And—and I ought to have explained before. Mrs. Gray told me to, at once—about this red gingham dress, you know, and why I’m not in black. She said you’d think ‘twas queer. But there weren’t any black things in the last missionary barrel, only a lady’s velvet basque 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’ Aid 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—it’ll be all right.”

      “I’m glad you feel that way. I do, too,” nodded Pollyanna, again with that choking little breath. “Of course, ‘twould have been a good deal harder to be glad in black—”

      “Glad!” gasped Nancy, surprised into an interruption.

      “Yes—that father’s 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—to do it, even in red gingham, because I—I wanted him, so; and I couldn’t help feeling I OUGHT to have him, specially as mother and the rest have God and all the angels, while I didn’t have anybody but the Ladies’ 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 shocked terror.

      “Oh, but—but you’ve made an awful mistake, d-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 of your takin’ 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 Ladies’ Aider!”

      Timothy laughed outright this time.

      “I’m Nancy, the hired girl. I do all the work except the washin’ an’ hard ironin’. Mis’ Durgin does that.”

      “But there IS an 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 call that a pretty slick compliment,” he said. “Why don’t you thank the little lady?”

      “I—I was thinkin’ 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, seems 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 any one that did have, only the Whites—they’re some rich. They have carpets in every room and ice-cream Sundays. Does Aunt Polly have ice-cream Sundays?”

      Nancy shook her head. Her lips twitched. She threw a merry look into Timothy’s eyes.

      “No, Miss. Your aunt don’t like ice-cream, I guess; leastways I never saw it on her table.”

      Pollyanna’s 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 kinder glad about that, ‘cause 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,” exulted 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—I don’t know,” answered