rheumatism is worse than ever. He was bent nearly double. He inquired very particularly for you, and—"
Mrs. Chilton turned with a sharp interruption.
"Pollyanna, what are we going to do?"
"Do? Why, the best we can, of course, dearie."
Mrs. Chilton gave an impatient gesture.
"Come, come, Pollyanna, do be serious for once. You'll find it is serious, fast enough. What are we going to do? As you know, my income has almost entirely stopped. Of course, some of the things are worth something, I suppose; but Mr. Hart says very few of them will pay anything at present. We have something in the bank, and a little coming in, of course. And we have this house. But of what earthly use is the house? We can't eat it, or wear it. It's too big for us, the way we shall have to live; and we couldn't sell it for half what it's really worth, unless we happened to find just the person that wanted it."
"Sell it! Oh, auntie, you wouldn't—this beautiful house full of lovely things!"
"I may have to, Pollyanna. We have to eat—unfortunately."
"I know it; and I'm always so hungry," mourned Pollyanna, with a rueful laugh. "Still, I suppose I ought to be glad my appetite is so good."
"Very likely. You'd find something to be glad about, of course. But what shall we do, child? I do wish you'd be serious for a minute."
A quick change came to Pollyanna's face.
