Полліанна
Old Tom and Nancy
"A—what?"demandedtheoldman,straighteninghisbentbackwithdifficulty.
"Alittlegirl—tolivewithMissPolly."
"Goonwithyerjokin’,"scoffedunbelievingTom. "Whydon’tyetellmethesunisa-goin’tersetintheeastter-morrer?"
"Butit’strue. Shetoldmesoherself,"maintainedNancy. "It’sherniece; andshe’selevenyearsold."
Theman’sjawfell.
"Sho!—Iwonder,now,"hemuttered; thenatenderlightcameintohisfadedeyes. "Itain’t—butitmustbe—MissJennie’slittlegal! Therewasn’tnoneoftherestof‘emmarried. Why,Nancy,itmustbeMissJennie’slittlegal. Glorybeterpraise! terthinkofmyoldeyesa-seein’this!"
"WhowasMissJennie?"
"ShewasanangelstraightoutofHeaven,"breathedtheman,fervently; "buttheoldmasterandmissusknewherastheiroldestdaughter. Shewastwentywhenshemarriedandwentawayfromherelongyearsago. Herbabiesalldied,Iheard,exceptthelastone; andthatmustbetheonewhat’sa-comin’."
"She’selevenyearsold."
