Nancy met her at the door.

 

“Well, if I ain't glad ter be settin' my two eyes on you,” she sighed in obvious relief. “It's half-past six!”

 

“I know it,” admitted Pollyanna anxiously; “but I'm not to blame—truly I'm not. And I don't think even Aunt Polly will say I am, either.”

 

“She won't have the chance,” retorted Nancy, with huge satisfaction. “She's gone.”

 

“Gone!” gasped² Pollyanna. “You don't mean that I've driven her away?” Through Pollyanna's mind at the moment trooped remorseful³ memories of the morning with its unwanted boy, cat, and dog, and its unwelcome “glad” and forbidden “father” that would spring to her forgetful little tongue. “Oh, I DIDN'T drive her away?”

 

“Not much you did,” scoffed⁴ Nancy. “Her cousin died suddenly down to Boston, and she had ter go. She had one o' them yeller telegram letters after you went away this afternoon, and she won't be back for three days. Now I guess we're glad all right. We'll be keepin' house tergether, jest you and me, all that time. We will, we will!”

 

Pollyanna looked shocked.

 

“Glad! Oh, Nancy, when it's a funeral?”

 

“Oh, but 'twa'n't the funeral I was glad for, Miss Pollyanna. It was—” Nancy stopped abruptly⁵. A shrewd twinkle came into her eyes. “Why, Miss Pollyanna, as if it wa'n't yerself that was teachin' me ter play the game,” she reproached her gravely.

 

Pollyanna puckered⁶ her forehead into a troubled frown.

 

“I can't help it, Nancy,” she argued with a shake of her head. “It must be that there are some things that 'tisn't right to play the game on—and I'm sure funerals is one of them. There's nothing in a funeral to be glad about.”

分享到：