“Nancy,” she said a few minutes later, at the kitchen door, “I found a fly up-stairs in Miss Pollyanna’s room.  The window must have been raised at some time.  I have ordered screens, but until they come I shall expect you to see that the windows remain closed.  My niece will arrive to-morrow at four o’clock.  I desire you to meet her at the station.  Timothy will take the open buggy and drive you over.  The telegram says ’light hair, red-checked gingham dress, and straw hat.’  That is all I know, but I think it is sufficient for your purpose.”

“Yes, ma’am; but—­you—­”

Miss Polly evidently read the pause aright, for she frowned and said crisply: 

“No, I shall not go.  It is not necessary that I should, I think.  That is all.”  And she turned away—­Miss Polly’s arrangements for the comfort of her niece, Pollyanna, were complete.

In the kitchen, Nancy sent her flatiron with a vicious dig across the dish-towel she was ironing.

" ’Light hair, red-checked gingham dress, and straw hat’—­all she knows, indeed!  Well, I’d be ashamed ter own it up, that I would, I would—­and her my onliest niece what was a-comin’ from ’way across the continent!”

Promptly at twenty minutes to four the next afternoon Timothy and Nancy drove off in the open buggy to meet the expected guest.  Timothy was Old Tom’s son.  It was sometimes said in the town that if Old Tom was Miss Polly’s right-hand man, Timothy was her left.

Timothy was a good-natured youth, and a good-looking one, as well.  Short as had been Nancy’s stay at the house, the two were already good friends.  To-day, however, Nancy was too full of her mission to be her usual talkative self; and almost in silence she took the drive to the station and alighted to wait for the train.

Over and over in her mind she was saying it “light hair, red-checked dress, straw hat.”  Over and over again she was wondering just what sort of child this Pollyanna was, anyway.

“I hope for her sake she’s quiet and sensible, and don’t drop knives nor bang doors,” she sighed to Timothy, who had sauntered up to her.

“Well, if she ain’t, nobody knows what’ll become of the rest of us,” grinned Timothy.  “Imagine Miss Polly and a noisy kid!  Gorry! there goes the whistle now!”

“Oh, Timothy, I—­I think it was mean ter send me,” chattered the suddenly frightened Nancy, as she turned and hurried to a point where she could best watch the passengers alight at the little station.

It was not long before Nancy saw her—­the slender little girl in the red-checked gingham with two fat braids of flaxen hair hanging down her back.  Beneath the straw hat, an eager, freckled little face turned to the right and to the left, plainly searching for some one.

Nancy knew the child at once, but not for some time could she control her shaking knees sufficiently to go to her.  The little girl was standing quite by herself when Nancy finally did approach her.