Pollyanna was thinking of Nancy’s remarks today as she turned in at the gate of the shabby little cottage.

A pale, tired-looking young girl answered her knock at the door.

“How do you do?” began Pollyanna politely. “I’m from Miss Polly Harrington, and I’d like to see Mrs. Snow, please.”

In the dark and gloomy sick-room, Polyanna saw a woman half-sitting up in the bed.

“How do you do, Mrs. Snow? Aunt Polly says she hopes you are comfortable today, and she sent you some calf’s-foot jelly.”

“Dear me! Jelly? Of course I’m very much obliged, but I hoped it would be lamb broth[44] today.”

Pollyanna frowned a little.

“Why, I thought it was CHICKEN you wanted when folks brought you jelly,” she said.

“What?” The sick woman turned sharply.

“Why, nothing, much,” apologized Pollyanna, hurriedly; “and of course it doesn’t really make any difference. It’s only that Nancy said it was chicken you wanted when we brought jelly, and lamb broth when we brought chicken – but maybe it was the other way,[45] and Nancy forgot.”

“Well, Miss Impertinence, who are you?” she demanded.

Pollyanna laughed.

“Oh, THAT isn’t my name. I’m Pollyanna Whittier, Miss Polly Harrington’s niece, and I live with her now. That’s why I’m here with the jelly this morning.”

“Very well; thank you. Your aunt is very kind, of course, but my appetite isn’t very good this morning, and I was wanting lamb – ” She stopped suddenly.

“Here! Can you go to that window and pull up the curtain?” she asked. “I want to know what you look like!”

“O dear! then you’ll see my freckles, won’t you?” she sighed, as she went to the window; “I’m so glad you wanted to see me, because now I can see you! They didn’t tell me you were so pretty!”

“Me! – pretty!” scoffed the woman.

“Why, yes. Didn’t you know it?” cried Pollyanna.

“Well, no, I didn’t,” retorted Mrs. Snow.

“Oh, but your eyes are so big and dark, and your hair’s all dark, too, and curly,” said Pollyanna. “I love black curls. Mrs. Snow, you ARE pretty! I should think you’d know it when you looked at yourself in the glass.”

“Wait – just let me show you,” she exclaimed, picking up a small mirror.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to fix your hair[46] just a little before I let you see it,” she proposed.

“Why, I – suppose so, if you want to,” permitted Mrs. Snow.

For five minutes Pollyanna worked swiftly.

“There!” panted Pollyanna, hastily plucking a pink from a vase and tucking it into the dark hair. “Now I reckon we’re ready to be looked at![47]” And she held out the mirror in triumph.

“Humph!” grunted the sick woman, looking at her reflection severely. “I like red pinks better than pink ones; but then, it’ll fade before night.”

“I just love your hair fluffed out like that,” she finished. “Don’t you?”

“Hm-m; maybe. But it won’t last.[48]”

“Of course not – and I’m glad, too,” nodded Pollyanna, cheerfully, “because then I can fix it again. Oh, I love black hair!”

“Well, you wouldn’t be glad for black hair nor anything else – if you had to lie here all day as I do!”

“Anyway, you must be glad about things.”

“Be glad about things – when you’re sick in bed all your days?!”

“That’s really hard really. But now I must go. I’ll think about it all the way home. Goodbye!”

“What does she mean by that?” Mrs. Snow thought. She turned her head and picked up the mirror.

“That little thing HAS got a knack with hair and no mistake,[49]” she said.

When a little later, Milly, Mrs. Snow’s daughter, came in, she said,

“I should think SOMEBODY might give me a new nightdress – instead of lamb broth, for a change!”