10 Pollyanna - Read By Stephanie Poppins

Pollyanna Whittier, an eleven-year-old orphan, goes to live in the fictional town of Beldingsville, Vermont, with her wealthy but stern and cold spinster Aunt Polly Harrington, who does not want to take her in but feels it is her duty to her late sister Jennie.

Pollyanna's philosophy of life centers on what she calls "The Glad Game". This is an optimistic game she learned from her father. The game consists of finding something to be glad about in every situation, no matter how bleak the situation might be.

In this episode, Pollyanna receives some wonderful news.

Transcript

Welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph,

Your go-to podcast that offers you a calm and relaxing transition into a great night's sleep.

It is time to relax and fully let go.

There is nothing you need to be doing now and nowhere you need to go.

Close your eyes and feel yourself sink into the support beneath you and let all the worries of the day drift away.

This is your time and your space.

Take a deep breath in through your nose and let it out with a long sigh.

There is nothing you need to be doing now and nowhere you need to go.

Happy listening.

Chapter 10 A Surprise for Mrs Snow The next time Pollyanna went to see Mrs Snow,

She found that lady,

As at first,

In a darkened room.

It's the little girl from Miss Polly's,

Mother,

Announced Millie in a tired manner.

Then Pollyanna found herself alone with the invalid.

Oh,

It's you,

Is it?

Asked a fretful voice from the bed.

I remember.

Anybody remember you,

I guess,

If they saw you once.

I wish you'd come yesterday.

I wanted you yesterday.

Did you?

Well,

I'm glad isn't any further away from yesterday than today is then,

Laughed Pollyanna,

Advancing cheerily into the room and setting her basket carefully down on a chair.

My,

But aren't you dark here,

Though?

I can't see you a bit.

She cried,

Unhesitatingly crossing to the window and pulling up the shade.

I want to see if you fixed your hair like I did.

Oh,

You haven't?

Never mind.

I'm glad you haven't after all,

Because maybe you'll let me do it then later.

But now I want you to see what I've brought.

The woman stirred restlessly.

Well,

What is it then?

Guess what is it you want,

Said Pollyanna,

Skipping back to the basket.

I don't want anything as I know of,

Mrs Snow sighed.

After all,

They all taste alike.

Pollyanna chuckled.

This won't guess if you did want something,

What would it be?

The old woman hesitated.

She didn't realise it herself,

But she'd so long been accustomed to wanting what she did not have,

That to state offhand what she did want seemed impossible.

Obviously,

However,

She must say something.

The extraordinary child was waiting.

Well,

Of course there's lamb broth.

I've got it,

Crowed Pollyanna.

But that's what I didn't want.

Sighed the sick woman.

It was chicken I wanted.

Oh,

I've got that too,

Chuckled Pollyanna,

And the woman turned in amazement.

Both of them?

She demanded.

Yes,

And calf's foot jelly.

I was just bound you should have what you wanted for once,

So Nancy and I fixed it.

Of course,

There's only a little of each,

But there's some of all.

So I'm glad you did want chicken after all.

She lifted the three little bowls from her basket.

You see,

I got to thinking on the way here,

What if you should say tripe or onions or something like that,

That I didn't have?

Wouldn't it have been a shame when I'd tried so hard?

Pollyanna laughed merrily,

And there was no reply.

The sick woman seemed to be trying mentally to find something she'd lost.

There,

And to leave them all,

Announced Pollyanna,

As she arranged the three bowls in a row on the table.

Now,

How do you do today?

Very poorly,

Thank you,

Murmured Mrs Snow,

Falling back into her usual listless attitude.

I lost my nap this morning.

Nellie Higgins next door's been playing music lessons,

And her practicing drives me wild.

She was at it all the morning,

Every minute.

I'm sure I don't know what I shall do.

Pollyanna nodded sympathetically.

I know,

It is awful.

Mrs White had it once,

One of my ladies' aiders,

You know.

She had rheumatic fever too,

At the same time,

So she couldn't thrash around.

She said she'd have been easier if she could have.

Can you?

Can I what?

Thrash around,

You know,

Move,

So as to change your position when the music gets too hard to stand.

Mrs Snow stared at Pollyanna.

Of course I can move around.

In my bed.

Well,

That's good then.

You can be glad of that anyhow,

Can't you?

Nodded Pollyanna.

Mrs White couldn't.

You can't thrash around when you've got rheumatic fever.

Though you won't do something awful,

Mrs White says.

She told me afterwards she reckoned she'd have gone raving crazy if it hadn't been for Mr White's sister's ears being deaf and all.

Sister's ears?

What do you mean?

Pollyanna laughed.

Well,

I reckon I didn't tell it all,

And I forgot you didn't know Mrs White.

You see,

Miss White was deaf,

Awfully deaf,

And she came to visit them and to take care of Mrs White and the house.

But they had such an awful time making her understand anything that after that,

Every time the piano commenced to play across the street,

Mrs White felt so glad she could hear it.

She didn't mind so much that she did hear it,

Because she couldn't help thinking how awful it would be if she was deaf and couldn't hear anything.

Like her husband's sister,

You see.

She was playing the glad game.

I told her about it.

Pollyanna clapped her hands.

Don't you remember?

You asked me to tell you something to be glad about,

Even though you did have to lie here for bed all day.

Oh,

Scoffed the woman.

Yes,

I remember that,

But I didn't suppose you were in earnest any more than I was.

Yes,

I was,

Nodded Pollyanna triumphantly.

Now I'll tell you the game.

It'll be lovely for you to play.

It'll be so hard,

And there's much more fun when it's hard.

You see,

It's like this.

And then she began to tell of the missionary barrel,

The crutches and the doll that didn't come,

And all those other stories that made her learn the game.

Her stories were just about finished when Millie appeared at the door.

Your aunt's wanting you,

Miss Pollyanna,

She said with dreary listlessness.

She telephoned down to the Harlows across the way.

She said you're to hurry.

You've got some practising to make up with before dark.

Pollyanna rose reluctantly.

Goodbye,

She flung over her shoulder as she reached the door.

I'm awfully sorry about the hair.

I wanted to do it.

Perhaps I can next time.

One by one,

The July days passed.

To Pollyanna,

They were happy days indeed.

She often told her aunt joyously how very happy they were,

Whereupon her aunt would usually reply wearily.

Very well,

Pollyanna,

I am gratified,

Of course,

That they're happy,

But I trust they're profitable as well.

Otherwise,

I should have failed signally in my duty.

Generally,

Pollyanna would answer this with a hug and a kiss.

A proceeding that was still always most disconcerting to Miss Polly.

But one day she spoke.

It was during the sewing hour.

Do you mean it won't be enough then,

Aunt Polly,

If they should just be happy?

That is what I mean,

Pollyanna.

They must be profitable as well.

Certainly.

What is being profitable?

It's having profit,

Something to show for it.

What an extraordinary child you are.

Then just being glad isn't profitable?

Certainly not.

Oh dear,

Then you wouldn't like it,

Of course,

I'm afraid.

You won't ever play the game with me,

Aunt Polly.

What game?

Why,

The game that Father.

.

.

Pollyanna clapped her hand to her lips.

Nothing,

She stammered,

And Miss Polly frowned.

That will do for this morning,

Pollyanna,

She said tersely.

And then the sewing lesson was over.

It was that afternoon that Pollyanna,

Coming down from her attic room,

Met her aunt on the stairway.

Why,

Aunt Polly,

How perfectly lovely,

She cried.

You were coming up to see me?

Come right in then,

I love company.

She scampered up the stairs and threw her door wide open.

Now Miss Pollyanna had not been intending to call on her niece.

She'd been planning to look for a certain white wall shawl in the cedar chest near the east window.

But to her unbounded surprise,

She found herself not in the main attic before the cedar chest,

But in Pollyanna's little room,

Sitting in one of the straight-back chairs.

I love company,

Said Pollyanna again,

Flitting about as if she was dispensing the hospitality of a palace.

Especially since I've had this room all mine,

You know.

Of course,

I've had a room always,

But it was a hired room,

And hired rooms aren't half as nice as owned ones,

Are they?

Of course,

I do own this one,

Don't I?

Why,

Yes,

Pollyanna,

Murmured Miss Polly,

Vaguely wondering why she did not get up at once and go to look for the shawl.

And of course,

Now I just love this room,

Even if it hasn't got the carpets and curtains and pictures I'd be wanting.

With a painful blush,

Pollyanna stopped short.

She was plunging into an entirely different sentence when her aunt interrupted her sharply.

What's that,

Pollyanna?

Nothing,

Aunt Polly,

Truly,

I didn't mean to say it.

Probably not,

Returned Miss Polly coldly,

But you did say it,

So I suppose we have the rest of it out.

It wasn't anything,

Only I've been kind of planning on pretty carpets and these curtains and things,

You know.

Planning on them,

Interrupted Miss Polly sharply.

Pollyanna blushed still more painfully.

It was only because I'd always wanted them,

And I hadn't had them,

I suppose.

We'd had two rugs in the barrels,

But they were little,

You know,

And one had ink spots and the other holes,

And there never were only those two pictures,

The one far,

I mean the good one we sold,

And the bad one that we broke.

Of course,

It hadn't been for all that I shouldn't have wanted them.

So,

Those pretty things,

I mean.

I shouldn't have got to planning all through the hall that first day how pretty mine would be here,

And.

.

.

Aunt Polly,

It wasn't but just a minute,

I mean a few minutes,

Before I was being glad the Bureau didn't have a looking glass,

Because it didn't show my freckles,

And there couldn't be a nicer picture than the one out of my window there,

And you'd been so good to me that.

.

.

Miss Polly suddenly rose to her feet.

Her face was very red.

That will do,

Pollyanna,

She said stiffly.

You've said quite enough,

I'm sure.

It was not until she reached the first floor,

It suddenly occurred to her she'd gone up into the attic to find a white shawl in the cedar chest,

And she didn't get it.

Less than 24 hours later,

Miss Polly said,

Nancy,

You may move Miss Pollyanna's things downstairs this morning to the room directly beneath.

I've decided to have my niece sleep there for the present.

Yes,

Mum,

Said Nancy aloud.

Oh,

Glory,

She said to herself.

Then to Pollyanna a minute later she cried joyously,

And won't you just be listening to this,

Miss Pollyanna?

You're to sleep downstairs in the room straight under this?

You are?

Pollyanna actually grew white.

You mean.

.

.

Why,

Nancy,

Not really.

Really and truly.

Really?

I guess you'll think it's really and truly,

Prophesied Nancy exultingly.

I'm told to take down your things,

And I'm going to take them down too,

Before she gets a chance to change her mind.

Pollyanna did not stop to hear the end of this sentence.

At the imminent risk of being dashed headlong,

She was flying down the stairs two steps at a time.

Bang went the two doors and a chair,

Before Pollyanna at last reached her goal.

Aunt Polly.

Oh,

Aunt Polly,

Aunt Polly,

Did you mean it,

Really?

That room's got everything.

The carpet and curtains and three pictures.

Besides the one outdoors,

Too,

Because the windows look the same.

Oh,

Polly.

Very well,

Pollyanna,

I'm gratified you like the change,

Of course,

But if you think so much of all those things,

I trust you will take proper care of them,

That's all.

Please pick up that chair now,

And you've banged two doors in the last half minute.

Miss Polly couldn't help but speak sternly,

All the more sternly,

Because for some inexplicable reason she felt inclined to cry.

And Miss Polly was not used to feeling inclined to cry.

Pollyanna picked up the chair.

Yes,

Mum,

I know I banged those doors,

But,

You see,

I just found out about the room,

And I reckon you'd have banged doors if.

.

.

Then she stopped short and eyed her aunt with new interest.

Aunt Polly,

Did you ever bang doors?

I hope not,

Pollyanna.

Now Miss Polly's voice was properly shocked.

Why,

Aunt Polly,

What a shame.

Pollyanna's face expressed only concerned sympathy.

If you'd felt like banging doors,

You'd have banged them,

Of course,

And if you didn't,

That must have meant you weren't ever really glad about anything,

Or you would have banged them.

You couldn't have helped it.

I'm so sorry you weren't ever really glad about anything.

Pollyanna!

Gasped the lady.

But Pollyanna was gone.

And only the distant bang of the attic stairway door answered for her.