Page 150 - pollyanna

help banging doors if she lived in a rainbow like that. Don’t
you?’
Mr. Pendleton laughed.
‘Well, from my remembrance of your aunt, Miss Polly-
anna, I must say I think it would take something more than
a few prisms in the sunlight to—to make her bang many
doors—for gladness. But come, now, really, what do you
mean?’
Pollyanna stared slightly; then she drew a long breath.
‘Oh, I forgot. You don’t know about the game. I remem-
ber now.’
‘Suppose you tell me, then.’
And this time Pollyanna told him. She told him the whole
thing from the very first—from the crutches that should
have been a doll. As she talked, she did not look at his face.
Her rapt eyes were still on the dancing flecks of color from
the prism pendants swaying in the sunlit window.
‘And that’s all,’ she sighed, when she had finished. ‘And
now you know why I said the sun was trying to play it—that
game.’
For a moment there was silence. Then a low voice from
the bed said unsteadily:
‘Perhaps; but I’m thinking that the very finest prism of
them all is yourself, Pollyanna.’
‘Oh, but I don’t show beautiful red and green and purple
when the sun shines through me, Mr. Pendleton!’
‘Don’t you?’ smiled the man. And Pollyanna, looking
into his face, wondered why there were tears in his eyes.
‘No,’ she said. Then, after a minute she added mourn-

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