“Well, I didn't say that, Miss Pollyanna. When he comes back he writes books—queer, odd books, they say, about some gimcrack he's found in them heathen countries. But he don't never seem ter want ter spend no money here—leastways, not for jest livin'.”
“Of course not—if he's saving it for the heathen,” declared Pollyanna. “But he is a funny man, and he's different, too, just like Mrs. Snow, only he's a different different.”
“Well, I guess he is—rather,” chuckled Nancy.
“I'm gladder'n ever now, anyhow, that he speaks to me,” sighed Pollyanna contentedly.
CHAPTER X. A SURPRISE FOR MRS. SNOW
The next time Pollyanna went to see Mrs. Snow, she found that lady, as at first, in a darkened room.
“It's the little girl from Miss Polly's, mother,” announced Milly, in a tired manner; then Pollyanna found herself alone with the invalid.
“Oh, it's you, is it?” asked a fretful voice from the bed. “I remember you. ANYbody'd remember you, I guess, if they saw you once. I wish you had come yesterday. I WANTED you yesterday.”
“Did you? Well, I'm glad 'tisn't any farther away from yesterday than to-day is, then,” laughed Pollyanna, advancing cheerily into the room, and setting her basket carefully down on a chair. “My! but aren't you dark here, though? I can't see you a bit,” she cried, unhesitatingly crossing to the window and pulling up the shade. “I want to see if you've fixed your hair like I did—oh, you haven't! But, never mind; I'm glad you haven't, after all, 'cause maybe you'll let me do it—later. But now I want you to see what I've brought you.”