THE GAME AND ITS PLAYERS
Pollyanna's voice broke, and two big tears rolled down her cheeks.
Miss Polly cleared her throat hurriedly.
"Well, she's just been here, dear. She left a message for you—but she wouldn't tell me what it meant. She said to tell you that Mrs. Tarbell is glad now."
Pollyanna clapped her hands softly.
"Did she say that—really? Oh, I'm so glad!"
"But, Pollyanna, what did she mean?"
"Why, its the game, and—" Pollyanna stopped short, her fingers to her lips.
"What game?"
"N-nothing much, Aunt Polly; that is—I can't tell it unless I tell other things that—that I'm not to speak of."
It was on Miss Polly's tongue to question her niece further; but the obvious distress on the little girl's face stayed the words before they were uttered.
Not long after Mrs. Tarbell's visit, the climax came. It came in the shape of a call from a certain young woman with unnaturally pink cheeks and abnormally yellow hair; a young woman who wore high heels and cheap jewelry; a young woman whom Miss Polly knew very well by reputation—but whom she was angrily amazed to meet beneath the roof of the Harrington homestead.
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