Поллианна
The Game and its players
"Well,we’veheardnowthatshe’sfrettingherpoorlittlelifeoutofher,becauseshecan’tplayitnomore—thatthere’snothingtobegladabout. Andthat’swhatIcametotellherto-day—thatmaybeshecanbealittlegladforus,‘causewe’vedecidedtosticktoeachother,andplaythegameourselves. Iknewshewouldbeglad,becausesheusedtofeelkindofbad—atthingswesaid,sometimes. Justhowthegameisgoingtohelpus,Ican’tsaythatIexactlysee,yet; butmaybe‘twill. Anyhow,we’regoingtotry—‘causeshewantedusto. Willyoutellher?"
"Yes,Iwilltellher,"promisedMissPolly,alittlefaintly. Then,withsuddenimpulse,shesteppedforwardandheldoutherhand. "Andthankyouforcoming,Mrs.Payson,"shesaidsimply.
Thedefiantchinfell. Thelipsaboveittrembledvisibly. Withanincoherentlymumbledsomething,Mrs.Paysonblindlyclutchedattheoutstretchedhand,turned,andfled.
ThedoorhadscarcelyclosedbehindherbeforeMissPollywasconfrontingNancyinthekitchen.
"Nancy!"
