The Game and its players

           ItwasnotlongafterJohnPendleton’ssecondvisitthatMillySnowcalledoneafternoon. MillySnowhadneverbeforebeentotheHarringtonhomestead. SheblushedandlookedveryembarrassedwhenMissPollyenteredtheroom. 

           "I—Icametoinquireforthelittlegirl,"shestammered. 

           "Youareverykind. Sheisaboutthesame. Howisyourmother?"rejoinedMissPolly,wearily. 

           "ThatiswhatIcametotellyou—thatis,toaskyoutotellMissPollyanna,"hurriedonthegirl,breathlesslyandincoherently. "Wethinkit’s—soawful—soperfectlyawfulthatthelittlethingcan’teverwalkagain; andafterallshe’sdoneforus,too—formother,youknow,teachinghertoplaythegame,andallthat. Andwhenweheardhownowshecouldn’tplayitherself—poorlittledear! I’msureIdon’tseehowsheCAN,either,inhercondition! —butwhenwerememberedallthethingsshe’dsaidtous,wethoughtifshecouldonlyknowwhatsheHADdoneforus,thatitwouldHELP,youknow,inherowncase,aboutthegame,becauseshecouldbeglad—thatis,alittleglad—" Millystoppedhelplessly,andseemedtobewaitingforMissPollytospeak. 

           MissPollyhadsatpolitelylistening,butwithapuzzledquestioninginhereyes. Onlyabouthalfofwhathadbeensaid,hadsheunderstood. ShewasthinkingnowthatshealwayshadknownthatMillySnowwas"queer,"butshehadnotsupposedshewascrazy. Innootherway,however,couldsheaccountforthisincoherent,illogical,unmeaningrushofwords. Whenthepausecameshefilleditwithaquiet: