Поллианна
Just like a book
Thevisit,certainly,wasadelightfulone,butbeforeitwasover,Pollyannawasrealizingthattheyweretalkingaboutsomethingbesidesthewonderfulthingsinthebeautifulcarvedbox. Theyweretalkingofherself,ofNancy,ofAuntPolly,andofherdailylife. Theyweretalking,too,evenofthelifeandhomelongagointhefarWesterntown.
Notuntilitwasnearlytimeforhertogo,didthemansay,inavoicePollyannahadneverbeforeheardfromsternJohnPendleton:
"Littlegirl,Iwantyoutocometoseemeoften. Willyou? I’mlonesome,andIneedyou. There’sanotherreason—andI’mgoingtotellyouthat,too. Ithought,atfirst,afterIfoundoutwhoyouwere,theotherday,thatIdidn’twantyoutocomeanymore. Youremindedmeof—ofsomethingIhavetriedforlongyearstoforget. SoIsaidtomyselfthatIneverwantedtoseeyouagain; andeveryday,whenthedoctoraskedifIwouldn’tlethimbringyoutome,Isaidno.
"ButafteratimeIfoundIwaswantingtoseeyousomuchthat—thatthefactthatIWASN’TseeingyouwasmakingmerememberallthemorevividlythethingIwassowantingtoforget. SonowIwantyoutocome. Willyou—littlegirl?"
"Why,yes,Mr.Pendleton,"breathedPollyanna,hereyesluminouswithsympathyforthesad-facedmanlyingbackonthepillowbeforeher. "I’dlovetocome!"
