Поллианна
Prisms
Pollyannastaredslightly; thenshedrewalongbreath.
"Oh,Iforgot. Youdon’tknowaboutthegame. Iremembernow."
"Supposeyoutellme,then."
AndthistimePollyannatoldhim. Shetoldhimthewholethingfromtheveryfirst—fromthecrutchesthatshouldhavebeenadoll. Asshetalked,shedidnotlookathisface. Herrapteyeswerestillonthedancingflecksofcolorfromtheprismpendantsswayinginthesunlitwindow.
"Andthat’sall,"shesighed,whenshehadfinished. "AndnowyouknowwhyIsaidthesunwastryingtoplayit—thatgame."
Foramomenttherewassilence. Thenalowvoicefromthebedsaidunsteadily:
"Perhaps; butI’mthinkingthattheveryfinestprismofthemallisyourself,Pollyanna."
"Oh,butIdon’tshowbeautifulredandgreenandpurplewhenthesunshinesthroughme,Mr.Pendleton!"
"Don’tyou?"smiledtheman. AndPollyanna,lookingintohisface,wonderedwhythereweretearsinhiseyes.
"No,"shesaid. Then,afteraminutesheaddedmournfully:"I’mafraid,Mr.Pendleton,thesundoesn’tmakeanythingbutfrecklesoutofme. AuntPollysaysitDOESmakethem!"
Themanlaughedalittle; andagainPollyannalookedathim:thelaughhadsoundedalmostlikeasob.
