Author of "Miss Billy," "Miss Billy's Decision,"
  "Cross Currents," "The Turn of the Tides," etc.

   TO
   My Cousin Belle

   POLLYANNA
 
  CHAPTER I. MISS POLLY

    Miss Polly Harrington
          entered her kitchen
               a little hurriedly
             this June morning.

    Miss Polly
        did not usually make
               hurried movements;
        she specially prided herself
               on her repose of manner.

    But to-day she was hurrying
          --actually hurrying.

    Nancy,
           washing dishes at the sink,
         looked up in surprise.

    Nancy had been working
           in Miss Polly's kitchen
          only two months,
           but already
             she knew
               that her mistress
                did not usually hurry.

    "Nancy!"

    "Yes,
           ma'am."

    Nancy answered cheerfully,
           but she still
               continued wiping the pitcher
                   in her hand.

    "Nancy,"
         --Miss Polly's voice
            was very stern now--
           "when I'm talking to you,
         I wish you
              to stop your work
            and listen to
             what I have to say."

    Nancy flushed miserably.

    She set the pitcher
           down at once,
         with the cloth
              still about it,
         thereby nearly tipping it over
          --which did not
              add to her composure.

    "Yes,
           ma'am;
        I will,
           ma'am," she stammered,
         righting the pitcher,
           and turning hastily.

    "I was only keepin'
          on with
               my work 'cause
             you specially
              told me
                   this mornin' ter hurry
                 with my dishes,
               ye know."

    Her mistress frowned.

    "That will do,
           Nancy.

    I did not
          ask for explanations.

    I asked for your attention."

    "Yes,
           ma'am."

    Nancy stifled a sigh.

    She was wondering
         if ever in any way
             she could please this woman.

    Nancy had never
         "worked out"
            before;
        but a sick mother
              suddenly widowed and
            left with three younger children
                  besides Nancy herself,
           had forced the girl
               into doing something
             toward their support,
         and she
            had been so pleased
             when she found
                   a place
                       in the kitchen
                           of the great house
                       on the hill
          --Nancy had come
               from "The Corners,"
                   six miles away,
           and she
            knew Miss Polly Harrington
                  only as the mistress
                       of the old Harrington homestead,
         and one
               of the wealthiest residents
             of the town.

    That was two months before.

    She knew Miss Polly
          now as a stern,
           severe-faced woman
             who frowned
               if a knife clattered
                   to the floor,
         or if a door banged
          --but who never
              thought to smile even
             when knives and doors
                were still.

    "When you've
          finished your morning work,
           Nancy,"
          Miss Polly was saying now,
               "you may
                  clear the little room
                       at the head
                           of the stairs
                       in the attic,
             and make
                   up the cot bed.

    Sweep the room
           and clean it,
         of course,
         after you
              clear out
                   the trunks and boxes."

    "Yes,
           ma'am.

    And where
         shall I put the things,
           please,
         that I take out?"

    "In the front attic."

    Miss Polly hesitated,
           then went on:
         "I suppose
             I may as well
                  tell you now,
               Nancy.

    My niece,
           Miss Pollyanna Whittier,
         is coming
              to live with me.

    She is eleven years old,
           and will sleep
             in that room."

    "A little girl
          --coming here,
           Miss Harrington?

    Oh,
           won't that be nice!"

    cried Nancy,
           thinking of
               the sunshine