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Page 89
Miss Polly had sat politely listening, but with a puzzled
questioning in her eyes. Only about half of what had been said,
had she understood. She was thinking now that she always had
known that Milly Snow was "queer," but she had not supposed she
was crazy. In no other way, however, could she account for this
incoherent, illogical, unmeaning rush of words. When the pause
came she filled it with a quiet:
"I don't think I quite understand, Milly. Just what is it that
you want me to tell my niece?"
"Yes, that's it; I want you to tell her," answered the girl,
feverishly. "Make her see what she's done for us. Of course she's
SEEN some things, because she's been there, and she's known
mother is different; but I want her to know HOW different she
is--and me, too. I'm different. I've been trying to play it--the
game--a little."
Miss Polly frowned. She would have asked what Milly meant by this
"game," but there was no opportunity. Milly was rushing on again
with nervous volubility.
"You know nothing was ever right before--for mother. She was
always wanting 'em different. And, really, I don't know as one
could blame her much--under the circumstances. But now she lets
me keep the shades up, and she takes interest in things--how she
looks, and her nightdress, and all that. And she's actually begun
to knit little things--reins and baby blankets for fairs and
hospitals. And she's so interested, and so GLAD to think she can
do it!--and that was all Miss Pollyanna's doings, you know,
'cause she told mother she could be glad she'd got her hands and
arms, anyway; and that made mother wonder right away why she
didn't DO something with her hands and arms. And so she began to
do something--to knit, you know. And you can't think what a
different room it is now, what with the red and blue and yellow
worsteds, and the prisms in the window that SHE gave her--why, it
actually makes you feel BETTER just to go in there now; and
before I used to dread it awfully, it was so dark and gloomy, and
mother was so--so unhappy, you know.
"And so we want you to please tell Miss Pollyanna that we
understand it's all because of her. And please say we're so glad
we know her, that we thought, maybe if she knew it, it would make
her a little glad that she knew us. And--and that's all," sighed
Milly, rising hurriedly to her feet. "You'll tell her?"
"Why, of course," murmured Miss Polly, wondering just how much of
this remarkable discourse she could remember to tell.
These visits of John Pendleton and Milly Snow were only the first
of many; and always there were the messages--the messages which
were in some ways so curious that they caused Miss Polly more and
more to puzzle over them.
One day there was the little Widow Benton. Miss Polly knew her
well, though they had never called upon each other. By reputation
she knew her as the saddest little woman in town--one who was
always in black. To-day, however, Mrs. Benton wore a knot of pale
blue at the throat, though there were tears in her eyes. She
spoke of her grief and horror at the accident; then she asked
diffidently if she might see Pollyanna.
Miss Polly shook her head.
"I am sorry, but she sees no one yet. A little later--perhaps."
Mrs. Benton wiped her eyes, rose, and turned to go. But after she
had almost reached the hall door she came back hurriedly.
"Miss Harrington, perhaps, you'd give her--a message," she
stammered.
"Certainly, Mrs. Benton; I shall be very glad to."
Still the little woman hesitated; then she spoke.
"Will you tell her, please, that--that I've put on THIS," she
said, just touching the blue bow at her throat. Then, at Miss
Polly's ill-concealed look of surprise, she added: "The little
girl has been trying for so long to make me wear--some color,
that I thought she'd be--glad to know I'd begun. She said that
Freddy would be so glad to see it, if I would. You know Freddy's
ALL I have now. The others have all--" Mrs. Benton shook her head
and turned away. "If you'll just tell Pollyanna--SHE'LL
understand." And the door closed after her.
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