Timothy was Old Tom's son. It was sometimes said in the town that
if Old Tom was Miss Polly's right-hand man, Timothy was her left.
Timothy was a good-natured youth, and a good-looking one, as
well. Short as had been Nancy's stay at the house, the two were
already good friends. To-day, however, Nancy was too full of her
mission to be her usual talkative self; and almost in silence she
took the drive to the station and alighted to wait for the train.
Over and over in her mind she was saying it "light hair,
red-checked dress, straw hat." Over and over again she was
wondering just what sort of child this Pollyanna was, anyway.
"I hope for her sake she's quiet and sensible, and don't drop
knives nor bang doors," she sighed to Timothy, who had sauntered
up to her.
"Well, if she ain't, nobody knows what'll become of the rest of
us," grinned Timothy. "Imagine Miss Polly and a NOISY kid! Gorry!
there goes the whistle now!"
"Oh, Timothy, I--I think it was mean ter send me," chattered the
suddenly frightened Nancy, as she turned and hurried to a point
where she could best watch the passengers alight at the little
station.
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