Eleanor H. Porter

“ 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. I love company," she finished, scampering up the stairs and throwing her door wide open.
Now Miss Polly had not been intending to call on her niece. She had been planning to look for a certain white wool shawl in the cedar chest near the east window. ”

“ But to her unbounded surprise now, she found herself, not in the main attic before the cedar chest, but in Pollyanna's little room sitting in one of the straight-backed chairs—so many, many times since Pollyanna came, Miss Polly had found herself like this, doing some utterly unexpected, surprising thing, quite unlike the thing she had set out to do!
"I love company," said Pollyanna, again, flitting about as if she were dispensing the hospitality of a palace ”

“ You couldn't have helped it. And I'm so sorry you weren't ever glad over anything!"
"Pollyanna!" gasped the lady; but Pollyanna was gone, and only the distant bang of the attic-stairway door answered for her. Pollyanna had gone to help Nancy bring down "her things."
Miss Polly, in the sitting room, felt vaguely disturbed;—but then, of course, she had been glad—over some things! ”