Поллианна / Pollyanna - Портер Элинор (лучшие книги читать онлайн бесплатно без регистрации .txt) 📗
“How do you do, sir? Isn’t this a nice day?” she called cheerily, as she approached him.
The man stopped uncertainly.
“Did you speak – to me?” he asked in a sharp voice.
“Yes, sir, I say, it’s a nice day, isn’t it?”
“Eh? Oh! Humph! [41]” he grunted; and strode on again.
Pollyanna laughed. He was such a funny man, she thought.
The next day she saw him again.
“It isn’t quite so nice as yesterday, but it’s pretty nice,” she called out cheerfully.
“Eh? Oh! Humph!” grunted the man as before; and once again Pollyanna laughed happily.
When for the third time Pollyanna accosted him in much the same manner, the man stopped.
“See here, child, who are you, and why are you speaking to me every day?”
“I’m Pollyanna Whittier, and I thought you looked lonesome. I’m so glad you stopped. 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.
Pollyanna looked after him disappointed.
“Maybe he didn’t understand – but that was only half an introduction. I don’t know HIS name, yet.” she murmured.
Pollyanna was carrying calf’s-foot jelly to Mrs. Snow today. Miss Polly Harrington always sent something to Mrs. Snow once a week. She said it was her duty, 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. Miss Polly did her duty by Mrs. Snow usually on Thursday afternoons – not personally, but through Nancy. Today Pollyanna had begged the privilege, and Nancy had promptly given it to her in accordance with Miss Polly’s orders. [42]
“I’m glad that I won’t go to her,” Nancy declared to Pollyanna.
“But, why, Nancy?”
Nancy shrugged her shoulders.
“Well, it’s just that nothing whatever has happened, has happened right in Mis’ Snow’s eyes. If you bring her jelly you’ll certainly hear she wanted chicken – but if you DID bring her chicken, [43] she says she wanted lamb broth!”
“What a funny woman,” laughed Pollyanna. “I think I shall like to go to see her. She must be so surprising and – and different. I love DIFFERENT people.”
Pollyanna was thinking of Nancy’s remarks today as she turned in at the gate of the shabby little cottage.
A pale, 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.”
In the dark and gloomy sick-room, Polyanna saw a woman half-sitting up in the bed.
“How do you do, Mrs. Snow? Aunt Polly says she hopes you are comfortable today, and she sent you some calf’s-foot jelly.”
“Dear me! Jelly? Of course I’m very much obliged, but I hoped it would be lamb broth [44] today.”
Pollyanna frowned a little.
“Why, I thought it was CHICKEN you wanted when folks brought you jelly,” she said.
“What?” The sick woman turned sharply.
“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, [45] and Nancy forgot.”
“Well, Miss Impertinence, who are you?” she demanded.
Pollyanna laughed.
“Oh, THAT isn’t my name. I’m Pollyanna Whittier, Miss Polly Harrington’s niece, and I live with her now. That’s why I’m here with the jelly this morning.”
“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.
“Here! Can you go to that window and pull up the curtain?” she asked. “I want to know what you look like!”
“O dear! then you’ll see my freckles, won’t you?” she sighed, as she went to the window; “I’m so glad you wanted to see me, because now I can see you! They didn’t tell me you were so pretty!”
“Me! – pretty!” scoffed the woman.
“Why, yes. Didn’t you know it?” cried Pollyanna.
“Well, no, I didn’t,” retorted Mrs. Snow.
“Oh, but your eyes are so big and dark, and your hair’s all dark, too, and curly,” said Pollyanna. “I love black curls. Mrs. Snow, you ARE pretty! I should think you’d know it when you looked at yourself in the glass.”
“Wait – just let me show you,” she exclaimed, picking up a small mirror.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to fix your hair [46] just a little before I let you see it,” she proposed.
“Why, I – suppose so, if you want to,” permitted Mrs. Snow.
For five minutes Pollyanna worked swiftly.
“There!” panted Pollyanna, hastily plucking a pink from a vase and tucking it into the dark hair. “Now I reckon we’re ready to be looked at! [47]” And she held out the mirror in triumph.
“Humph!” grunted the sick woman, looking at her reflection severely. “I like red pinks better than pink ones; but then, it’ll fade before night.”
“I just love your hair fluffed out like that,” she finished. “Don’t you?”
“Hm-m; maybe. But it won’t last. [48]”
“Of course not – and I’m glad, too,” nodded Pollyanna, cheerfully, “because then I can fix it again. Oh, I love black hair!”
“Well, you wouldn’t be glad for black hair nor anything else – if you had to lie here all day as I do!”
“Anyway, you must be glad about things.”
“Be glad about things – when you’re sick in bed all your days?!”
“That’s really hard really. But now I must go. I’ll think about it all the way home. Goodbye!”
“What does she mean by that?” Mrs. Snow thought. She turned her head and picked up the mirror.
“That little thing HAS got a knack with hair and no mistake, [49]” she said.
When a little later, Milly, Mrs. Snow’s daughter, came in, she said,
“I should think SOMEBODY might give me a new nightdress – instead of lamb broth, for a change!”
Chapter IX. Which Tells of the Man
It rained the next time Pollyanna saw the Man. She greeted him, however, with a smile.
“How do you do?” she called.
The man stopped abruptly.
“See here, why don’t you find someone your own age to talk to?”
“I’d like to, sir, but there aren’t any around here. Still, I don’t mind so very much. I like old folks [50] just as well, maybe better, sometimes – being used to the Ladies’ Aid, so.”
“Humph! The Ladies’ Aid, indeed! Is that what you took me for?”
Pollyanna laughed gleefully.
“Oh, no, sir. You don’t look like a Ladies’ Aider. Though I’m sure you’re much nicer than you look!”
The man turned and strode on as before.
The next time Pollyanna met the Man, he greeted her. The Man always spoke to Pollyanna after this, and frequently he spoke first, though usually he said just “good afternoon.” Even that was a great surprise to Nancy.
“Miss Pollyanna,” she gasped, “did that man SPEAK TO YOU?”
“Why, yes, he always does – now,” smiled Pollyanna.
“‘He always does’! Do you know who – he – is?” demanded Nancy.
Pollyanna frowned and shook her head. [51]
“I reckon he forgot to tell me one day.”
“But he never speaks to anybody, I guess, except when he speaks about business. He’s John Pendleton. He lives in the big house on Pendleton Hill. He is very rich. But he doesn’t spend money he just saves it. Usually he doesn’t speak to anyone; and he lives all alone in that great big lovely house all full of grand things, they say. Some people even think he’s crazy. And EVERYBODY says he’s mysterious.” She went on: “He travels a lot and writes books.”
