Поллианна
A question of duty
JustintimePollyannarememberedthatshewasnottotalkofherfathertoheraunt. Shedivedintoherclosetthen,hurriedly,andbroughtoutallthepoorlittledressesinbothherarms.
"Theyaren’tnice,atall,"shechoked,"andthey’dbeenblackifithadn’tbeenfortheredcarpetforthechurch; butthey’reallI’vegot."
WiththetipsofherfingersMissPollyturnedovertheconglomerategarments,soobviouslymadeforanybodybutPollyanna. Nextshebestowedfrowningattentiononthepatchedundergarmentsinthebureaudrawers.
"I’vegotthebestoneson,"confessedPollyanna,anxiously. "TheLadies’Aidboughtmeonesetstraightthroughallwhole. Mrs.Jones—she’sthepresident—told‘emIshouldhavethatiftheyhadtoclatterdownbareaislesthemselvestherestoftheirdays. Buttheywon’t. Mr.Whitedoesn’tlikethenoise. He’sgotnerves,hiswifesays; buthe’sgotmoney,too,andtheyexpecthe’llgivealottowardthecarpet—onaccountofthenerves,youknow. Ishouldthinkhe’dbegladthatifhedidhavethenerveshe’dgotmoney,too; shouldn’tyou?"
MissPollydidnotseemtohear. Herscrutinyoftheundergarmentsfinished,sheturnedtoPollyannasomewhatabruptly.
"Youhavebeentoschool,ofcourse,Pollyanna?"
"Oh,yes,AuntPolly. Besides,fath—Imean,Iwastaughtathomesome,too."
MissPollyfrowned.
