Поллианна

           "Well,Inever! Now,whatdoesshemeanbythat?"ejaculatedMrs.Snow,staringafterhervisitor. Byandbysheturnedherheadandpickedupthemirror,eyeingherreflectioncritically "ThatlittlethingHASgotaknackwithhairandnomistake,"shemutteredunderherbreath. "Ideclare,Ididn’tknowitcouldlooksopretty. Butthen,what’stheuse?"shesighed,droppingthelittleglassintothebedclothes,androllingherheadonthepillowfretfully. 

           Alittlelater,whenMilly,Mrs.Snow’sdaughter,camein,themirrorstilllayamongthebedclothes—thoughithadbeencarefullyhiddenfromsight. 

           "Why,mother—thecurtainisup!"criedMilly,dividingheramazedstarebetweenthewindowandthepinkinhermother’shair. 

           "Well,whatifitis?"snappedthesickwoman. "Ineedn’tstayinthedarkallmylife,ifIamsick,needI?" 

           "Why,n-no,ofcoursenot,"rejoinedMilly,inhastyconciliation,asshereachedforthemedicinebottle. "It’sonly—well,youknowverywellthatI’vetriedtogetyoutohavealighterroomforagesandyouwouldn’t." 

           Therewasnoreplytothis.Mrs.Snowwaspickingatthelaceonhernightgown. Atlastshespokefretfully. 

           "IshouldthinkSOMEBODYmightgivemeanewnightdress—insteadoflambbroth,forachange!" 

           "Why—mother!" 

           NowonderMillyquitegaspedaloudwithbewilderment. InthedrawerbehindheratthatmomentlaytwonewnightdressesthatMillyformonthshadbeenvainlyurginghermothertowear.