7 Pollyanna - Read By Stephanie Poppins

Welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph,

Your go-to podcast that offers you a calm and relaxing transition into a great night's sleep.

It is time to relax and fully let go.

There is nothing you need to be doing now,

And nowhere you need to go.

Close your eyes and feel yourself sink into the support beneath you and let all the worries of the day drift away.

This is your time and your space.

Take a deep breath in through your nose and let it out with a long sigh.

There is nothing you need to be doing now,

And nowhere you need to go.

Happy listening.

Chapter 8 Pollyanna 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 first prescribed.

Pollyanna sewed,

Practised,

Read aloud and studied cooking in the kitchen,

But she did not give 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 every afternoon from two until six 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 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 neighbourhood 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 am happy just to walk around and see the streets and the houses and watch the people.

I love people,

Don't you?

I can't say I do,

All of them,

Retorted Nanny 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 she frequently 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 cloak 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 grey.

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 it a nice day?

She called cheerily.

The Man threw a hurried glance about him and stopped uncertainly.

Did you speak to me?

He asked in a sharp voice.

Yes,

Sir,

Beamed Pollyanna.

I said,

It's a nice day,

Isn't it?

Er,

No.

He grunted,

And he strode off again.

Pollyanna laughed.

This 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 still pretty nice,

She called out cheerfully.

Eh?

Oh,

Hmm,

Grunted the Man as before,

And once again Pollyanna laughed happily.

When for the third time she accosted him in much the same manner,

The Man stopped abruptly.

See here,

Child,

Who are you,

And why are you speaking to me?

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 this sentence,

But strode off 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.

Then she proceeded on her way.

She was carrying calf's foot jelly to Mrs Snow today,

And Miss Polly Harrington always sent something to Miss Snow once a week,

So this was her duty,

In so 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.

Miss Polly did her duty by Mrs Snow usually on a Thursday afternoon,

Through Nancy.

But today Pollyanna had begged the privilege,

And Nancy had promptly given it to her in accordance with Miss Polly's orders.

And it's glad I am to get rid of it,

Nancy declared in private afterwards,

Though it's a shame to be tucking the job off to you,

Poor lamb,

So it is.

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 weren't sorry for her,

There wouldn't be a soul go near that woman from morning till night.

She's cantankerous.

I pity her daughter,

What has her take care of her.

But why,

Nancy?

Nancy shrugged her shoulders.

In plain words,

It's just nothing whatsoever has happened that happened right in Miss Snow's eyes.

Even the days a week ain't run to her mind.

If it's Monday,

She's bound to say she wished it was 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 anchoring for lamb broth.

Why,

What a funny woman,

Laughed Pollyanna.

I think I'd like to go and see her.

She must be so surprising and different.

I love different folks.

Well,

Miss Snow's different,

All right.

Hope for the sake of the rest of us.

Pollyanna was thinking of these remarks as she turned in 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 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 didn't hear this.

The girl turned and was leading the way through the hall to a door at the end of it,

And in the sick room,

After she'd ushered her in,

Pollyanna blinked a little before she could accustom her eyes to the gloom.

A woman half sat up in the bed across the room,

And Pollyanna advanced at once.

How do you do,

Mrs Snow?

Aunt Polly says she hopes you're comfortable today,

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 to be bland broth.

I thought it was chicken you wanted when folks bought you jelly,

Said Pollyanna.

What?

The sick woman turned.

Nothing much,

Apologised Pollyanna.

Of course,

It doesn't really make any difference.

It's only that Nancy said it was chicken you wanted when we bought jelly,

And lamb broth when we bought chicken.

The sick woman pulled herself up till she sat erect in the bed,

A most unusual thing for her to do.

Well,

Miss Impertinence,

And who are you?

Pollyanna laughed gleefully.

That isn't my name.

I'm so glad it isn't too,

For that would be worse than Hepzivar.

I'm Pollyanna Whittier,

Miss Polly Harrington's niece.

Your aunt is very kind,

Of course,

But my appetite isn't very good this morning,

And I was wanting lamb.

I never slept a wink last night,

Not a wink.

You lose such a lot of time sleeping,

Sighed Pollyanna.

I wish I didn't sleep so much.

Lose time sleeping?

Exclaimed the sick woman.

Yes,

When you might just be living,

You know.

Seems such a pity we can't live nights too.

Once again,

The woman pulled herself erect in her bed.

Well,

If you ain't the amazing young one,

She cried.

Here,

Go to that window and pull up the curtain.

I should like to know what you look like.

Pollyanna rose to her feet,

Then she laughed.

Then you'll see my freckles,

Won't you?

Just when I was being so glad it was dark and you couldn't see them.

There,

Now you can.

She pulled up the sash.

I'm so glad you wanted to see me,

Now I can see you.

And they didn't tell me you were so pretty.

Me?

Pretty?

Scoffed the woman bitterly.

Didn't you know it?

Cried Pollyanna.

No,

I didn't,

Retorted Mrs Snow.

She had lived for forty years and for fifteen of them,

She'd 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 and curly too,

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 on your cheeks.

Why,

Mrs Snow,

You are pretty.

I should think you'd know it when you looked at yourself in the glass.

The glass?

Snapped the sick woman,

Falling back on her pillow.

There ain't done much pranking before the mirror these days and you wouldn't if you were left flat on your back as I am.

Well,

No,

Of course not,

Agreed Pollyanna sympathetically.

But just let me show you.

She skipped over to the bureau and picked up a small hand glass and on the way back to the bed she stopped,

Eyeing the sick woman with a critical gaze.

I reckon maybe,

If you don't mind,

I'd like to fix your hair just a bit before I let you see it.

May I fix your hair,

Please?

I love to fix people's hair.

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,

Her soft fingers touching the waving hair above the sick woman's forehead.

For five minutes Pollyanna worked swiftly,

Combing a refractory curl into fluffiness,

Perking up a dropping ruffle at the neck or shaking a pillow into plumpness so the head might have a better pose.

Meanwhile the sick woman frowned prodigiously.

There,

Panted Pollyanna,

Hastily plucking a pink from the vase nearby and tucking it into the dark hair.

Hm,

Grunted the sick woman,

I like red pinks better than pink ones,

But it'll fade anyhow before night,

So what's the difference?

I would think you'd be glad they did fade,

Laughed Pollyanna,

Because then you can have the fun of getting some more.

I loved your hair,

Fluffed out just like that,

She finished.

Hm,

It won't last though,

With me tossing back and forth on the pillow as I do.

I'm glad,

Nodded Pollyanna,

Because then I can fix it again.

I should think you'd be glad it's black.

Black shows up so much nicer on a pillow than yellow hair like mine.

Maybe,

But I never did set much store by black hair.

It shows the grey too soon,

Retorted Mrs Snow.

She spoke fretfully,

But she still held the mirror before her face.

I love black hair,

Pollyanna continued.

You wouldn't if you were me.

You wouldn't be glad for black hair or anything else if you had to lie here all day as I do.

Pollyanna bent her brows in a thoughtful frown.

I suppose it would be kind of hard to do it then,

Wouldn't it?

Do what?

Be glad about things,

When you're sick in bed all day.

I should say it would.

Then Pollyanna sprang to her feet and clapped her hands.

This will be a hard one,

Won't it?

Look,

I've got to go now,

But I'll think and think all the way home,

And maybe the next time I can come and tell you what's to be glad about.

I've had a lovely time now.

Goodbye,

She called.

And she tripped out through the doorway.

Well,

I never,

Ejaculated Mrs Snow,

Staring after her.

But by and by she picked up the mirror and hid her reflection once more.