A RED ROSE AND A LACE SHAWL
parlor, the horse and gig turning into the driveway. She recognized at once the man who held the reins.
Delightedly she leaned forward.
"Dr. Chilton, Dr. Chilton! Did you want to see me? I'm up here."
"Yes," smiled the doctor, a little gravely. "Will you come down, please?"
In the bedroom Pollyanna found a flushed-faced, angry-eyed woman plucking at the pins that held a lace shawl in place.
"Pollyanna, how could you?" moaned the woman. "To think of your rigging me up like this, and then letting me—be seen!"
Pollyanna stopped in dismay.
"But you looked lovely—perfectly lovely, Aunt Polly; and—"
"'Lovely'!" scorned the woman, flinging the shawl to one side and attacking her hair with shaking fingers.
"Oh, Aunt Polly, please, please let the hair—stay!"
"Stay? Like this? As if I would!" And Miss Polly pulled the locks so tightly back that the last curl lay stretched dead at the ends of her fingers.
"O dear! And you did look so pretty," almost sobbed Pollyanna, as she stumbled through the door. Down-stairs Pollyanna found the doctor waiting in his gig.
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