Page 81 - pollyanna

‘Why, that father—‘ Pollyanna clapped her hand to her
lips. ‘N-nothing,’ she stammered. Miss Polly frowned.
‘That will do for this morning, Pollyanna,’ she said terse-
ly. And the sewing lesson was over.
It was that afternoon that Pollyanna, coming down from
her attic room, met her aunt on the stairway.
‘Why, Aunt Polly, how perfectly lovely!’ she cried. ‘You
were coming up to see me! Come right in. I love compa-
ny,’ she finished, scampering up the stairs and throwing her
door wide open.
Now Miss Polly had not been intending to call on her
niece. 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-backed 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; ‘specially
since I’ve had this room, all mine, you know. Oh, of course,
I had a room, always, but ‘twas 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?’
‘Why, y-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

0 Pollyanna