Page 84 - pollyanna

reached her goal—Aunt Polly.
‘Oh, Aunt Polly, Aunt Polly, did you mean it, really? Why,
that room’s got EVERYTHING—the carpet and curtains
and three pictures, besides the one outdoors, too, ‘cause the
windows look the same way. Oh, Aunt Polly!’
‘Very well, Pollyanna. I am gratified that you like the
change, of course; but if you think so much of all those
things, I trust you will take proper care of them; that’s all.
Pollyanna, please pick up that chair; and you have banged
two doors in the last half-minute.’ Miss Polly spoke sternly,
all the more sternly because, for some inexplicable reason,
she felt inclined to cry—and Miss Polly was not used to feel-
ing inclined to cry.
Pollyanna picked up the chair.
‘Yes’m; I know I banged ‘em—those doors,’ she admitted
cheerfully. ‘You see I’d just found out about the room, and
I reckon you’d have banged doors if—‘ Pollyanna stopped
short and eyed her aunt with new interest. ‘Aunt Polly, DID
you ever bang doors?’
‘I hope—not, Pollyanna!’ Miss Polly’s voice was properly
shocked.
‘Why, Aunt Polly, what a shame!’ Pollyanna’s face ex-
pressed only concerned sympathy.
‘A shame!’ repeated Aunt Polly, too dazed to say more.
‘Why, yes. You see, if you’d felt like banging doors you’d
have banged ‘em, of course; and if you didn’t, that must
have meant that you weren’t ever glad over anything—or
you would have banged ‘em. You couldn’t have helped it.
And I’m so sorry you weren’t ever glad over anything!’