Полліанна
Pollyanna pays a visit
"Why,yes. Didn’tyouknowit?"criedPollyanna. "Well,no,Ididn’t,"retortedMrs.Snow,dryly. Mrs.Snowhadlivedfortyyears,andforfifteenofthoseyearsshehadbeentoobusywishingthingsweredifferenttofindmuchtimetoenjoythingsastheywere.
"Oh,butyoureyesaresobiganddark,andyourhair’salldark,too,andcurly,"cooedPollyanna. "Iloveblackcurls. (That’soneofthethingsI’mgoingtohavewhenIgettoHeaven.) Andyou’vegottwolittleredspotsinyourcheeks. Why,Mrs.Snow,youAREpretty! Ishouldthinkyou’dknowitwhenyoulookedatyourselfintheglass."
"Theglass!"snappedthesickwoman,fallingbackonherpillow. "Yes,well,Ihain’tdonemuchprinkin’beforethemirrorthesedays—andyouwouldn’t,ifyouwasflatonyourbackasIam!"
"Why,no,ofcoursenot,"agreedPollyanna,sympathetically. "Butwait—justletmeshowyou,"sheexclaimed,skippingovertothebureauandpickingupasmallhand-glass.
Onthewaybacktothebedshestopped,eyeingthesickwomanwithacriticalgaze.
"Ireckonmaybe,ifyoudon’tmind,I’dliketofixyourhairjustalittlebeforeIletyouseeit,"sheproposed. "MayIfixyourhair,please?"
"Why,I—supposeso,ifyouwantto,"permittedMrs.Snow,grudgingly; "but‘twon’tstay,youknow."