“Why, of course,” murmured Miss Polly, wondering just how much of this remarkable discourse she could remember to tell.
These visits of John Pendleton and Milly Snow were only the first of many; and always there were the messages—the messages which were in some ways so curious that they caused Miss Polly more and more to puzzle over them.
One day there was the little Widow Benton. Miss Polly knew her well, though they had never called upon each other. By reputation she knew her as the saddest little woman in town—one who was always in black. To-day, however, Mrs. Benton wore a knot of pale blue at the throat, though there were tears in her eyes. She spoke of her grief and horror at the accident; then she asked diffidently if she might see Pollyanna.
Miss Polly shook her head.
“I am sorry, but she sees no one yet. A little later—perhaps.”
Mrs. Benton wiped her eyes, rose, and turned to go. But after she had almost reached the hall door she came back hurriedly.
“Miss Harrington, perhaps, you'd give her—a message,” she stammered.
“Certainly, Mrs. Benton; I shall be very glad to.”
Still the little woman hesitated; then she spoke.
“Will you tell her, please, that—that I've put on THIS,” she said, just touching the blue bow at her throat. Then, at Miss Polly's ill-concealed look of surprise, she added: “The little girl has been trying for so long to make me wear—some color, that I thought she'd be—glad to know I'd begun. She said that Freddy would be so glad to see it, if I would. You know Freddy's ALL I have now. The others have all—” Mrs. Benton shook her head and turned away. “If you'll just tell Pollyanna—SHE'LL understand.” And the door closed after her.