That was two months before.

She knew Miss Polly now as a stern, severe-faced woman who frowned if a knife clattered to the floor, or if a door banged--but who never thought to smile even when knives and doors were still.
"When you've finished your morning work, Nancy," Miss Polly was saying now, "you may clear the little room at the head of the stairs in the attic, and make up the cot bed.

Sweep the room and clean it, of course, after you clear out the trunks and boxes." "Yes, ma'am.

And where shall I put the things, please, that I take out ?" "In the front attic." Miss Polly hesitated, then went on: "I suppose I may as well tell you now, Nancy.

My niece, Miss Pollyanna Whittier, is coming to live with me.