Поллианна
The coming of Pollyanna
"I’msoglad. Itmustbeperfectlylovelytohavelotsofmoney. Ineverknewanyonethatdidhave,onlytheWhites—they’resomerich. Theyhavecarpetsineveryroomandice-creamSundays. DoesAuntPollyhaveice-creamSundays?" Nancyshookherhead. Herlipstwitched. ShethrewamerrylookintoTimothy’seyes.
"No,Miss. Yourauntdon’tlikeice-cream,Iguess; leastwaysIneversawitonhertable."
Pollyanna’sfacefell.
"Oh,doesn’tshe? I’msosorry! Idon’tseehowshecanhelplikingice-cream. But—anyhow,Icanbekindergladaboutthat,‘causetheice-creamyoudon’teatcan’tmakeyourstomachachelikeMrs.White’sdid—thatis,Iatehers,youknow,lotsofit. MaybeAuntPollyhasgotthecarpets,though."
"Yes,she’sgotthecarpets."
"Ineveryroom?"
"Well,inalmosteveryroom,"answeredNancy,frowningsuddenlyatthethoughtofthatbarelittleatticroomwheretherewasnocarpet.
"Oh,I’msoglad,"exultedPollyanna. "Ilovecarpets. Wedidn’thaveany,onlytwolittlerugsthatcameinamissionarybarrel,andoneofthosehadinkspotsonit. Mrs.Whitehadpictures,too,perfectlybeautifulonesofrosesandlittlegirlskneelingandakittyandsomelambsandalion—nottogether,youknow—thelambsandthelion. Oh,ofcoursetheBiblesaystheywillsometime,buttheyhaven’tyet—thatis,ImeanMrs.White’shaven’t. Don’tyoujustlovepictures?"
