The little attic room

           MissPollyHarringtondidnotrisetomeetherniece. Shelookedupfromherbook,itistrue,asNancyandthelittlegirlappearedinthesitting-roomdoorway,andsheheldoutahandwith"duty"writtenlargeoneverycoldlyextendedfinger. 

           "Howdoyoudo,Pollyanna? I—" Shehadnochancetosaymore. Pollyanna,hadfairlyflownacrosstheroomandflungherselfintoheraunt’sscandalized,unyieldinglap. 

           "Oh,AuntPolly,AuntPolly,Idon’tknowhowtobegladenoughthatyouletmecometolivewithyou,"shewassobbing. "Youdon’tknowhowperfectlylovelyitistohaveyouandNancyandallthisafteryou’vehadjusttheLadies’Aid!" 

           "Verylikely—thoughI’venothadthepleasureoftheLadies’Aid’sacquaintance,"rejoinedMissPolly,stiffly,tryingtounclaspthesmall,clingingfingers,andturningfrowningeyesonNancyinthedoorway. "Nancy,thatwilldo. Youmaygo. Pollyanna,begoodenough,please,tostanderectinapropermanner. Idon’tknowyetwhatyoulooklike." 

           Pollyannadrewbackatonce,laughingalittlehysterically. 

           "No,Isupposeyoudon’t; butyouseeI’mnotverymuchtolookat,anyway,onaccountofthefreckles. Oh,andIoughttoexplainabouttheredginghamandtheblackvelvetbasquewithwhitespotsontheelbows. ItoldNancyhowfathersaid—"