“Oh, goody!  That’ll be a hard one—­won’t it?  I’ve got to go, now, but I’ll think and think all the way home; and maybe the next time I come I can tell it to you.  Good-by.  I’ve had a lovely time!  Good-by,” she called again, as she tripped through the doorway.

“Well, I never!  Now, what does she mean by that?” ejaculated Mrs. Snow, staring after her visitor.  By and by she turned her head and picked up the mirror, eyeing her reflection critically.

“That little thing has got a knack with hair and no mistake,” she muttered under her breath.  “I declare, I didn’t know it could look so pretty.  But then, what’s the use?” she sighed, dropping the little glass into the bedclothes, and rolling her head on the pillow fretfully.

A little later, when Milly, Mrs. Snow’s daughter, came in, the mirror still lay among the bedclothes it had been carefully hidden from sight.

“Why, mother—­the curtain is up!” cried Milly, dividing her amazed stare between the window and the pink in her mother’s hair.

“Well, what if it is?” snapped the sick woman.  “I needn’t stay in the dark all my life, if I am sick, need I?”

“Why, n-no, of course not,” rejoined Milly, in hasty conciliation, as she reached for the medicine bottle.  “It’s only—­well, you know very well that I’ve tried to get you to have a lighter room for ages and you wouldn’t.”

There was no reply to this.  Mrs. Snow was picking at the lace on her nightgown.  At last she spoke fretfully.

“I should think somebody might give me a new nightdress—­instead of lamb broth, for a change!”

“Why—­mother!”

No wonder Milly quite gasped aloud with bewilderment.  In the drawer behind her at that moment lay two new nightdresses that Milly for months had been vainly urging her mother to wear.

CHAPTER IX.  WHICH TELLS OF THE MAN

It rained the next time Pollyanna saw the Man.  She greeted him, however, with a bright smile.

“It isn’t so nice to-day, is it?” she called blithesomely.  “I’m glad it doesn’t rain always, anyhow!”

The man did not even grunt this time, nor turn his head.  Pollyanna decided that of course he did not hear her.  The next time, therefore (which happened to be the following day), she spoke up louder.  She thought it particularly necessary to do this, anyway, for the Man was striding along, his hands behind his back, and his eyes on the ground—­which seemed, to Pollyanna, preposterous in the face of the glorious sunshine and the freshly-washed morning air:  Pollyanna, as a special treat, was on a morning errand to-day.

“How do you do?” she chirped.  “I’m so glad it isn’t yesterday, aren’t you?”

The man stopped abruptly.  There was an angry scowl on his face.

“See here, little girl, we might just as well settle this thing right now, once for all,” he began testily.  “I’ve got something besides the weather to think of.  I don’t know whether the sun shines or not.”  Pollyanna beamed joyously.