One fine June morning, Miss Polly Harrington hurried into her kitchen. Nancy, who was busy washing dishes, looked up in surprise. Although Nancy had worked for Miss Polly for only two months, she'd never seen her employer hurry.
"Nancy," Miss Polly said.
"Yes, ma'am," Nancy answered cheerfully as she continued drying a pitcher.
"When I'm speaking, you should stop working and listen," Miss Polly said in a stern voice.
Nancy set the pitcher on the counter and almost tipped it over. "Yes, ma'am, I will. I only kept working because you said to hurry with the dishes this morning."
Miss Polly frowned. "I didn't ask for explanations. I asked for your attention."
"Yes, ma'am." Nancy struggled not to sigh.
This was Nancy's first job, and she wondered if there was any way to please Miss Polly. Nancy had needed to find work when her father died suddenly. Her sick mother was left with Nancy, who was 16, and 3 younger children.
Before Nancy was hired, she only knew Miss Polly as one of the wealthiest residents of Beldingsville, Vermont. Now Nancy knew her as a demanding woman who frowned if silverware clattered to the floor or doors banged. Miss Polly never smiled, even when forks and doors were silent. And she never gave Nancy a word of praise.
"I want you to clean up the little room in the attic," Miss Polly said. "After you remove the trunks and boxes, sweep the floor. Then set up the cot."
"And where should I put the things I remove?"
"In the front attic." Miss Polly paused for a moment. "I suppose I should tell you that my niece, Miss Pollyanna Whittier, is coming to live with me. She's 11 years old, and that will be her room."
Nancy's face broke into a wide grin. "A little girl living here? Oh, that'll be nice!"
"Nice? That isn't exactly the word I'd use." Miss Polly sniffed. "However, I intend to make the best of the situation. I'm a good woman, and I know my duty."
Nancy blushed. "Of course, ma'am. I wasn't saying that you weren't good. I mean . . . I was only thinking that . . . well . . . a child might brighten things up for you."
"I don't see any need for that." Miss Polly abruptly turned to leave the kitchen. "Make sure you clean the corners of the room," she called over her shoulder.
"Yes, ma'am." Nancy sighed and went back to drying dishes.
A short time later, Miss Polly sat in her room, rereading a letter. When the letter had arrived from out West, it contained an unpleasant surprise.
Dear Miss Harrington,
I regret to inform you that the Reverend John Whittier has died, making his daughter, Pollyanna, an orphan. A poor minister, he left nothing except a few books. I know that Reverend Whittier was your late sister's husband. Although your families didn't get along, he thought you might want to bring up Pollyanna, for your sister's sake.
A local couple is traveling to Boston this week, so they can accompany Pollyanna for most of the journey. In Boston, they'll put Pollyanna on a train to Beldingsville. I'll let you know what train she is on.
I hope to hear from you soon.
Sincerely,
Jeremiah White
Miss Polly shook her head as she remembered her sister Jennie, Pollyanna's mother. When Jennie was twenty, she'd married Whittier against the wishes of her parents. They'd wanted her to marry a wealthy, older man, but she'd chosen the minister and moved far away. Miss Polly was 15 when her oldest sister married. For a while Jennie wrote to her family, although they never replied.
All Jennie's babies died except Pollyanna. Jennie named the baby for her two sisters, Polly and Anna. A few years later, Whittier wrote to say Jennie had died.
Miss Polly was forty now and alone in the world. Her parents and two sisters had all died. Some people pitied her lonely life and urged her to have a friend live with her. But Miss Polly welcomed neither their sympathy nor their advice. She wasn't lonely; she liked being by herself and preferred quiet.
Miss Polly stood up and put away the letter. "I'll do my duty and take in Jennie's daughter. But Pollyanna—what a ridiculous name!"