Поллианна
A waiting Game
"Well,shedidn’ttellMissPolly,"rejoinedNancy. "MissPollyannatoldmelongagothatshecouldn’ttellher,‘causeherauntdidn’tliketerhavehertalkaboutherfather; an’‘twasherfather’sgame,an’she’dhavetertalkabouthimifshedidtellit. Soshenevertoldher."
"Oh,Isee,Isee." Theoldmannoddedhisheadslowly. "Theywasalwaysbitteragainsttheministerchap—allof‘em,‘causehetookMissJennieawayfrom‘em. An’MissPolly—youngasshewas—couldn’tneverforgivehim; shewasthatfondofMissJennie—inthemdays. Isee,Isee. ‘Twasabadmess,"hesighed,asheturnedaway.
"Yes,‘twas—all‘round,all‘round,"sighedNancyinherturn,asshewentbacktoherkitchen.
Fornoonewerethosedaysofwaitingeasy. Thenursetriedtolookcheerful,buthereyesweretroubled. Thedoctorwasopenlynervousandimpatient. MissPollysaidlittle; buteventhesofteningwavesofhairaboutherface,andthebecominglacesatherthroat,couldnothidethefactthatshewasgrowingthinandpale. AstoPollyanna—Pollyannapettedthedog,smoothedthecat’ssleekhead,admiredtheflowersandatethefruitsandjelliesthatweresentintoher; andreturnedinnumerablecheeryanswerstothemanymessagesofloveandinquirythatwerebroughttoherbedside. Butshe,too,grewpaleandthin; andthenervousactivityofthepoorlittlehandsandarmsonlyemphasizedthepitifulmotionlessnessoftheonceactivelittlefeetandlegsnowlyingsowoefullyquietundertheblankets.
