POLLYANNA
"I guess you hain't got such an awful diff'rent opinion o' the mistress than I have," she bridled.
Old Tom stiffened.
"I was only thinkin' 'twould be—some of a surprise—to her," he explained with dignity.
"Well, yes, I guess 'twould be—then," retorted Nancy. "I ain't sayin' what 'twould be now. I'd believe anythin' o' the mistress now—even that she'd take ter playin' it herself!"
"But hain't the little gal told her—ever? She's told ev'ry one else, I guess. I'm hearin' of it ev'rywhere, now, since she was hurted," said Tom.
"Well, she didn't tell Miss Polly," rejoined Nancy. "Miss Pollyanna told me long ago that she couldn't tell her, 'cause her aunt didn't like ter have her talk about her father; an' 'twas her father's game, an' she'd have ter talk about him if she did tell it. So she never told her."
"Oh, I see, I see." The old man nodded his head slowly. "They was always bitter against the minister chap—all of 'em, 'cause he took Miss Jenny away from 'em. An' Miss Polly—young as she was—couldn't never forgive him; she was that fond of Miss Jennie—in them days. I see, I see. 'Twas a bad mess," he sighed as he turned away.
"Yes, 'twas—all 'round, all 'round," sighed Nancy in her turn, as she went back to her kitchen.
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