Поллианна
A Red rose and a Lace shawl
"But—but—"
"AndIjustlovetodofolks’hair,"purredPollyanna,contentedly. "IdidquitealotoftheLadies’Aiders’—buttherewasn’tanyofthemsoniceasyours. Mrs.White’swasprettynice,though,andshelookedjustlovelyonedaywhenIdressedherupin—Oh,AuntPolly,I’vejusthappenedtothinkofsomething! Butit’sasecret,andIsha’n’ttell. Nowyourhairisalmostdone,andprettyquickI’mgoingtoleaveyoujustaminute; andyoumustpromise—promise—PROMISEnottostirnorpeek,even,tillIcomeback. Nowremember!"shefinished,assheranfromtheroom.
AloudMissPollysaidnothing. Toherselfshesaidthatofcoursesheshouldatonceundotheabsurdworkofherniece’sfingers,andputherhairupproperlyagain. Asfor"peeking"justasifshecaredhow—
Atthatmoment—unaccountably—MissPollycaughtaglimpseofherselfinthemirrorofthedressingtable. Andwhatshesawsentsuchaflushofrosycolortohercheeksthat—sheonlyflushedthemoreatthesight.
Shesawaface—notyoung,itistrue—butjustnowalightwithexcitementandsurprise. Thecheekswereaprettypink. Theeyessparkled. Thehair,dark,andstilldampfromtheoutdoorair,layinloosewavesabouttheforeheadandcurvedbackovertheearsinwonderfullybecominglines,withsofteninglittlecurlshereandthere.
