"You see, I mustn't—cry—before—her," faltered Pollyanna; "and it was hard—coming here—the first time, you know, and all. And I knew how she was feeling."
"Of course, of course, poor lamb," crooned Nancy. "And to think the first thing I should have done was somethin' ter vex her, and—"
"Oh, but she wasn't vexed at that," corrected Pollyanna, agitatedly. "It's just her way, Nancy. You see, she doesn't like to show how badly she feels about—about the doctor. And she's so afraid she will show it that she—she just takes anything for an excuse to—to talk about. She does it to me, too, just the same. So I know all about it. See?"
"Oh, yes, I see, I do, I do." Nancy's lips snapped together a little severely, and her sympathetic pats, for the minute, were even more loving, if possible. "Poor lamb! I'm glad I come, anyhow, for your sake."
"Yes, so am I," breathed Pollyanna, gently drawing herself away and wiping her eyes. "There, I feel better. And I do thank you ever so much, Nancy, and I appreciate it. Now don't let us keep you when it's time for you to go."
"Ho! I'm thinkin' I'll stay for a spell," sniffed Nancy.
"Stay! Why, Nancy, I thought you were married. Aren't you Timothy's wife?"
"Sure! But he won't mind—for you. He'd want me to stay—for you."
"Oh, but, Nancy, we couldn't let you," demurred
