“There, Pollyanna, here is your room, and your trunk is here, I see.  Have you your key?”

Pollyanna nodded dumbly.  Her eyes were a little wide and frightened.

Her aunt frowned.

“When I ask a question, Pollyanna, I prefer that you should answer aloud not merely with your head.”

“Yes, Aunt Polly.”

“Thank you; that is better.  I believe you have everything that you need here,” she added, glancing at the well-filled towel rack and water pitcher.  “I will send Nancy up to help you unpack.  Supper is at six o’clock,” she finished, as she left the room and swept down-stairs.

For a moment after she had gone Pollyanna stood quite still, looking after her.  Then she turned her wide eyes to the bare wall, the bare floor, the bare windows.  She turned them last to the little trunk that had stood not so long before in her own little room in the far-away Western home.  The next moment she stumbled blindly toward it and fell on her knees at its side, covering her face with her hands.

Nancy found her there when she came up a few minutes later.

“There, there, you poor lamb,” she crooned, dropping to the floor and drawing the little girl into her arms.  “I was just a-fearin!  I’d find you like this, like this.”

Pollyanna shook her head.

“But I’m bad and wicked, Nancy—­awful wicked,” she sobbed.  “I just can’t make myself understand that God and the angels needed my father more than I did.”

“No more they did, neither,” declared Nancy, stoutly.

“Oh-h!—­Nancy!” The burning horror in Pollyanna’s eyes dried the tears.

Nancy gave a shamefaced smile and rubbed her own eyes vigorously.

“There, there, child, I didn’t mean it, of course,” she cried briskly.  “Come, let’s have your key and we’ll get inside this trunk and take our your dresses in no time, no time.”

Somewhat tearfully Pollyanna produced the key.

“There aren’t very many there, anyway,” she faltered.

“Then they’re all the sooner unpacked,” declared Nancy.

Pollyanna gave a sudden radiant smile.

“That’s so!  I can be glad of that, can’t I?” she cried.

Nancy stared.

“Why, of—­course,” she answered a little uncertainly.

Nancy’s capable hands made short work of unpacking the books, the patched undergarments, and the few pitifully unattractive dresses.  Pollyanna, smiling bravely now, flew about, hanging the dresses in the closet, stacking the books on the table, and putting away the undergarments in the bureau drawers.

“I’m sure it—­it’s going to be a very nice room.  Don’t you think so?” she stammered, after a while.

There was no answer.  Nancy was very busy, apparently, with her head in the trunk.  Pollyanna, standing at the bureau, gazed a little wistfully at the bare wall above.

“And I can be glad there isn’t any looking-glass here, too, ’cause where there isn’t any glass I can’t see my freckles.”