A QUESTION OF DUTY
Pollyanna looked shocked.
"Oh, Aunt Polly, as if I could be ungrateful—to you! Why, I love you—you aren't even a Ladies' Aider; you're an aunt!"
"Very well; then see that you don't act ungrateful," vouchsafed Miss Polly, as she turned toward the door.
She had gone halfway down the stairs when a small, unsteady voice called after her:
"Please, Aunt Polly, you didn't tell me which of my things you wanted to—to give away."
Aunt Polly emitted a tired sigh—a sigh that ascended straight to Pollyanna's ears.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you, Pollyanna. Timothy will drive us into town at half-past one this afternoon. Not one of your garments is fit for my niece to wear. Certainly I should be very far from doing my duty by you if I should let you appear out in any one of them."
Pollyanna sighed now—she believed she was going to hate that word—duty.
"Aunt Polly, please," she called wistfully, "isn't there any way you can be glad about all that—duty business?"
"What?" Miss Polly looked up in dazed surprise; then, suddenly, with very red cheeks, she turned and swept angrily down the stairs. "Don't be impertinent, Pollyanna!"
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