Nancy made a sudden queer little sound with her mouth—­but when Pollyanna turned, her head was in the trunk again.  At one of the windows, a few minutes later, Pollyanna gave a glad cry and clapped her hands joyously.

“Oh, Nancy, I hadn’t seen this before,” she breathed.  “Look—­’way off there, with those trees and the houses and that lovely church spire, and the river shining just like silver.  Why, Nancy, there doesn’t anybody need any pictures with that to look at.  Oh, I’m so glad now she let me have this room!”

To Pollyanna’s surprise and dismay, Nancy burst into tears.  Pollyanna hurriedly crossed to her side.

“Why, Nancy, Nancy—­what is it?” she cried; then, fearfully:  “This wasn’t—­your room, was it?”

“My room!” stormed Nancy, hotly, choking back the tears.  “If you ain’t a little angel straight from Heaven, and if some folks don’t eat dirt before—­Oh, land! there’s her bell!” After which amazing speech, Nancy sprang to her feet, dashed out of the room, and went clattering down the stairs.

Left alone, Pollyanna went back to her “picture,” as she mentally designated the beautiful view from the window.  After a time she touched the sash tentatively.  It seemed as if no longer could she endure the stifling heat.  To her joy the sash moved under her fingers.  The next moment the window was wide open, and Pollyanna was leaning far out, drinking in the fresh, sweet air.

She ran then to the other window.  That, too, soon flew up under her eager hands.  A big fly swept past her nose, and buzzed noisily about the room.  Then another came, and another; but Pollyanna paid no heed.  Pollyanna had made a wonderful discovery—­against this window a huge tree flung great branches.  To Pollyanna they looked like arms outstretched, inviting her.  Suddenly she laughed aloud.

“I believe I can do it,” she chuckled.  The next moment she had climbed nimbly to the window ledge.  From there it was an easy matter to step to the nearest tree-branch.  Then, clinging like a monkey, she swung herself from limb to limb until the lowest branch was reached.  The drop to the ground was—­even for Pollyanna, who was used to climbing trees—­a little fearsome.  She took it, however, with bated breath, swinging from her strong little arms, and landing on all fours in the soft grass.  Then she picked herself up and looked eagerly about her.

She was at the back of the house.  Before her lay a garden in which a bent old man was working.  Beyond the garden a little path through an open field led up a steep hill, at the top of which a lone pine tree stood on guard beside the huge rock.  To Pollyanna, at the moment, there seemed to be just one place in the world worth being in—­the top of that big rock.

With a run and a skilful turn, Pollyanna skipped by the bent old man, threaded her way between the orderly rows of green growing things, and—­a little out of breath—­reached the path that ran through the open field.  Then, determinedly, she began to climb.  Already, however, she was thinking what a long, long way off that rock must be, when back at the window it had looked so near!