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 Pollyanna from work – or as a relief to Aunt Polly from Pollyanna. 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 Pollyanna 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 Pollyanna’s age. This, however, did not seem to disturb Pollyanna 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 ’em,” retorted Nancy, tersely.
Almost every pleasant afternoon found Pollyanna 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 Pollyanna 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 Pollyanna 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 uncertainly.
“Did you speak – to me?” he asked in a sharp voice.
“Yes, sir,” beamed Pollyanna. “I say, it’s a nice day, isn’t it?”
“Eh? Oh! Humph!” he grunted; and strode on again.
Pollyanna 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! 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 abruptly.
“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 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.
Pollyanna was carrying calf’s-foot jelly to Mrs. Snow to-day. Miss Polly Harrington always sent something to Mrs. Snow once a week. She said she thought that it was her duty, inasmuch 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. To-day Pollyanna had begged the privilege, and Nancy had promptly given it to her in accordance with Miss Polly’s orders.
“And it’s glad that I am ter get rid of it,” Nancy had declared in private afterwards to Pollyanna; “though it’s a shame ter be tuckin’ the job off on ter you, poor lamb, so it is, 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 wa’n’t sorry for her there wouldn’t a soul go near her from mornin’ till night, she’s that cantankerous. All is, I pity her daughter what has ter take care of her.”
“But, why, Nancy?”
Nancy shrugged her shoulders.
“Well, in plain words, it’s just that nothin’ what ever has happened, has happened right in Mis’ Snow’s eyes. Even the days of the week ain’t run ter her mind. If it’s Monday she’s bound ter say she wished ’twas Sunday; and if you take her jelly you’re pretty sure ter hear she wanted chicken – but if you did bring her chicken, she’d be jest hankerin’ for lamb broth!”
“Why, 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 folks.”
“Humph! Well, Mis’ 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 to-day 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? Aunt Polly says she hopes you are comfortable to-day, and she’s sent you some calf’s-foot jelly.”
“Dear me! Jelly?” murmured a fretful voice. “Of course I’m very much obliged, but I was hoping ’twould be lamb broth to-day.”
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
