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The Game and its players
"Idon’tthinkIquiteunderstand,Milly. Justwhatisitthatyouwantmetotellmyniece?"
"Yes,that’sit; Iwantyoutotellher,"answeredthegirl,feverishly. "Makeherseewhatshe’sdoneforus. Ofcourseshe’sSEENsomethings,becauseshe’sbeenthere,andshe’sknownmotherisdifferent; butIwanthertoknowHOWdifferentsheis—andme,too. I’mdifferent. I’vebeentryingtoplayit—thegame—alittle."
MissPollyfrowned. ShewouldhaveaskedwhatMillymeantbythis"game,"buttherewasnoopportunity. Millywasrushingonagainwithnervousvolubility.
"Youknownothingwaseverrightbefore—formother.Shewasalwayswanting‘emdifferent. And,really,Idon’tknowasonecouldblamehermuch—underthecircumstances. Butnowsheletsmekeeptheshadesup,andshetakesinterestinthings—howshelooks,andhernightdress,andallthat. Andshe’sactuallybeguntoknitlittlethings—reinsandbabyblanketsforfairsandhospitals. Andshe’ssointerested,andsoGLADtothinkshecandoit! —andthatwasallMissPollyanna’sdoings,youknow,‘causeshetoldmothershecouldbegladshe’dgotherhandsandarms,anyway; andthatmademotherwonderrightawaywhyshedidn’tDOsomethingwithherhandsandarms. Andsoshebegantodosomething—toknit,youknow. Andyoucan’tthinkwhatadifferentroomitisnow,whatwiththeredandblueandyellowworsteds,andtheprismsinthewindowthatSHEgaveher—why,itactuallymakesyoufeelBETTERjusttogointherenow; andbeforeIusedtodreaditawfully,itwassodarkandgloomy,andmotherwasso—sounhappy,youknow.
