"Did you ever try it?" Jamie still spoke a little queerly.
"N-no; not yet," admitted Pollyanna. Then, defensively, in answer to the expression on his face, she bridled: "I told you I was keeping summer boarders now. I can't do both at once."
"Of course not!"
She threw him a reproachful glance.
"You don't think I can ever do it?"
"I didn't say so."
"No; but you look it. I don't see why I can't. It isn't like singing. You don't have to have a voice for it. And it isn't like an instrument that you have to learn how to play."
"I think it is—a little—like that." Jamie's voice was low. His eyes were turned away.
"How? What do you mean? Why, Jamie, just a pencil and paper, so—that isn't like learning to play the piano or violin!"
There was a moment's silence. Then came the answer, still in that low, diffident voice; still with the eyes turned away.
"The instrument that you play on, Pollyanna, will be the great heart of the world; and to me that seems the most wonderful instrument of all—to learn. Under your touch, if you are skilful, it will respond with smiles or tears, as you will."
Pollyanna drew a tremulous sigh. Her eyes grew wet.
"Oh, Jamie, how beautifully you do put things—always! I never thought of it that way. But it's so,
