Поллианна
The coming of Pollyanna
"I—Idon’tknow,"answeredNancyinahalf-stifledvoice. "Ido. Wedidn’thaveanypictures. Theydon’tcomeinthebarrelsmuch,youknow. Theredidtwocomeonce,though. Butonewassogoodfathersoldittogetmoneytobuymesomeshoeswith; andtheotherwassobaditfelltopiecesjustassoonaswehungitup. Glass—itbroke,youknow. AndIcried. ButI’mgladnowwedidn’thaveanyofthosenicethings,‘causeIshalllikeAuntPolly’sallthebetter—notbeingusedto‘em,yousee. JustasitiswhenthePRETTYhair-ribbonscomeinthebarrelsafteralotoffaded-outbrownones. My! butisn’tthisaperfectlybeautifulhouse?"shebrokeofffervently,astheyturnedintothewidedriveway.
ItwaswhenTimothywasunloadingthetrunkthatNancyfoundanopportunitytomutterlowinhisear:
"Don’tyouneversaynothin’termeagainaboutleavin’,TimothyDurgin. Youcouldn’tHIREmeterleave!"
"Leave!Ishouldsaynot,"grinnedtheyouth.
"Youcouldn’tdragmeaway. It’llbemorefunherenow,withthatkid‘round,thanmovin’-pictureshows,everyday!"
"Fun!—fun!"repeatedNancy,indignantly,"Iguessit’llbesomethin’morethanfunforthatblessedchild—whenthemtwotriesterlivetergether; andIguessshe’llbea-needin’somerockterflytoforrefuge. Well,I’ma-goin’terbethatrock,Timothy; Iam,Iam!"shevowed,assheturnedandledPollyannaupthebroadsteps.
