“Yes'm, I know; but, please, I didn't know it was absurd until I went and found out they'd rather see their report grow than Jimmy. So then I wrote to MY Ladies' Aiders—'cause Jimmy is far away from them, you know; and I thought maybe he could be their little India boy same as—Aunt Polly, WAS I your little India girl? And, Aunt Polly, you WILL let me do your hair, won't you?”
Aunt Polly put her hand to her throat—the old, helpless feeling was upon her, she knew.
“But, Pollyanna, when the ladies told me this afternoon how you came to them, I was so ashamed! I—”
Pollyanna began to dance up and down lightly on her toes.
“You didn't!—You didn't say I COULDN'T do your hair,” she crowed triumphantly; “and so I'm sure it means just the other way 'round, sort of—like it did the other day about Mr. Pendleton's jelly that you didn't send, but didn't want me to say you didn't send, you know. Now wait just where you are. I'll get a comb.”
“But Pollyanna, Pollyanna,” remonstrated Aunt Polly, following the little girl from the room and panting up-stairs after her.
“Oh, did you come up here?” Pollyanna greeted her at the door of Miss Polly's own room. “That'll be nicer yet! I've got the comb. Now sit down, please, right here. Oh, I'm so glad you let me do it!”
“But, Pollyanna, I—I—”
Miss Polly did not finish her sentence. To her helpless amazement she found herself in the low chair before the dressing table, with her hair already tumbling about her ears under ten eager, but very gentle fingers.
“Oh, my! what pretty hair you've got,” prattled Pollyanna; “and there's so much more of it than Mrs. Snow has, too! But, of course, you need more, anyhow, because you're well and can go to places where folks can see it. My! I reckon folks'll be glad when they do see it—and surprised, too, 'cause you've hid it so long. Why, Aunt Polly, I'll make you so pretty everybody'll just love to look at you!”