Поллианна
The little attic room
Therewaslittletobeseenhere. Abarewallroseoneitherside. Atthetopofthestairs,widereachesofshadowyspaceledtofarcornerswheretheroofcamealmostdowntothefloor,andwherewerestackedinnumerabletrunksandboxes. Itwashotandstifling,too. UnconsciouslyPollyannaliftedherheadhigher—itseemedsohardtobreathe. Thenshesawthatheraunthadthrownopenadoorattheright.
"There,Pollyanna,hereisyourroom,andyourtrunkishere,Isee. Haveyouyourkey?"
Pollyannanoddeddumbly. Hereyeswerealittlewideandfrightened.
Herauntfrowned.
"WhenIaskaquestion,Pollyanna,Ipreferthatyoushouldansweraloudnotmerelywithyourhead."
"Yes,AuntPolly."
"Thankyou; thatisbetter. Ibelieveyouhaveeverythingthatyouneedhere,"sheadded,glancingatthewell-filledtowelrackandwaterpitcher. "IwillsendNancyuptohelpyouunpack. Supperisatsixo’clock,"shefinished,asshelefttheroomandsweptdown-stairs.
ForamomentaftershehadgonePollyannastoodquitestill,lookingafterher. Thensheturnedherwideeyestothebarewall,thebarefloor,thebarewindows. Sheturnedthemlasttothelittletrunkthathadstoodnotsolongbeforeinherownlittleroominthefar-awayWesternhome. Thenextmomentshestumbledblindlytowarditandfellonherkneesatitsside,coveringherfacewithherhands. Nancyfoundhertherewhenshecameupafewminuteslater.
