Pollyanna: The First Glad Book. Pollyanna Grows Up: The Second Glad Book / Поллианна. Поллианна вырастает

As for “peeking” just as if she cared how-

At that moment-unaccountably-Miss Polly caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror of the dressing table. And what she saw sent such a flush of rosy color to her cheeks that-she only flushed the more at the sight.

She saw a face-not young, it is true-but just now alight with excitement and surprise. The cheeks were a pretty pink. The eyes sparkled. The hair, dark, and still damp from the outdoor air, lay in loose waves about the forehead and curved back over the ears in wonderfully becoming lines, with softening little curls here and there.

So amazed and so absorbed was Miss Polly with what she saw in the glass that she quite forgot her determination to do over her hair, until she heard Pollyanna enter the room again. Before she could move, then, she felt a folded something slipped across her eyes and tied in the back.

“Pollyanna, Pollyanna! What are you doing?” she cried.

Pollyanna chuckled.

“That’s just what I don’t want you to know, Aunt Polly, and I was afraid you WOULD peek, so I tied on the handkerchief.

Now sit still. It won’t take but just a minute, then I’ll let you see.”

“But, Pollyanna,” began Miss Polly, struggling blindly to her feet, “you must take this off! You-child, child! what ARE you doing?” she gasped, as she felt a soft something slipped about her shoulders.

Pollyanna only chuckled the more gleefully. With trembling fingers she was draping about her aunt’s shoulders the fleecy folds of a beautiful lace shawl, yellowed from long years of packing away, and fragrant with lavender.

Pollyanna had found the shawl the week before when Nancy had been regulating the attic; and it had occurred to her to-day that there was no reason why her aunt, as well as Mrs. White of her Western home, should not be “dressed up.”

Her task completed, Pollyanna surveyed her work with eyes that approved, but that saw yet one touch wanting. Promptly, therefore, she pulled her aunt toward the sun parlor where she could see a belated red rose blooming on the trellis within reach of her hand.

“Pollyanna, what are you doing? Where are you taking me to?” recoiled Aunt Polly, vainly trying to hold herself back. “Pollyanna, I shall not-”

“It’s just to the sun parlor-only a minute! I’ll have you ready now quicker’n no time,” panted Pollyanna, reaching for the rose and thrusting it into the soft hair above Miss Polly’s left ear.