POLLYANNA
"Pollyanna!" Miss Polly had turned sharply. Her cheeks showed a sudden color.
"Well, I did. He looked so—so sorrowful."
"What did he—say?" Miss Polly asked the question as if in spite of some force within her that was urging her not to ask it.
"He didn't say anything for a minute; then he said very low that you couldn't always get 'em for the asking."
There was a brief silence. Miss Polly's eyes had turned again to the window. Her cheeks were still unnaturally pink.
Pollyanna sighed.
"He wants one, anyhow, I know, and I wish he could have one."
"Why, Pollyanna, how do you know?"
"Because, afterwards, on another day, he said something else. He said that low, too, but I heard him. He said that he'd give all the world if he did have one woman's hand and heart. Why, Aunt Polly, what's the matter?" Aunt Polly had risen hurriedly and gone to the window.
"Nothing, dear. I was changing the position of this prism," said Aunt Polly, whose whole face now was aflame.
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