To Pollyanna, a minute later, she cried joyously:
“And won't ye jest be listenin' ter this, Miss Pollyanna. You're ter sleep down-stairs in the room straight under this. You are—you are!”
Pollyanna actually grew white.
“You mean—why, Nancy, not really—really and truly?”
“I guess you'll think it's really and truly,” prophesied Nancy, exultingly, nodding her head to Pollyanna over the armful of dresses she had taken from the closet. “I'm told ter take down yer things, and I'm goin' ter take 'em, too, 'fore she gets a chance ter change her mind.”
Pollyanna did not stop to hear the end of this sentence. At the imminent risk of being dashed headlong, she was flying down-stairs, two steps at a time.
Bang went two doors and a chair before Pollyanna at last reached her goal—Aunt Polly.
“Oh, Aunt Polly, Aunt Polly, did you mean it, really? Why, that room's got EVERYTHING—the carpet and curtains and three pictures, besides the one outdoors, too, 'cause the windows look the same way. Oh, Aunt Polly!”
“Very well, Pollyanna. I am gratified that you like the change, of course; but if you think so much of all those things, I trust you will take proper care of them; that's all. Pollyanna, please pick up that chair; and you have banged two doors in the last half-minute.” Miss Polly spoke sternly, all the more sternly because, for some inexplicable reason, she felt inclined to cry—and Miss Polly was not used to feeling inclined to cry.
Pollyanna picked up the chair.