“But, Pollyanna,” began Miss Polly, struggling blindly to her feet, “you must take this off!  You—­child, child! what are you doing?” she gasped, as she felt a soft something slipped about her shoulders.

Pollyanna only chuckled the more gleefully.  With trembling fingers she was draping about her aunt’s shoulders the fleecy folds of a beautiful lace shawl, yellowed from long years of packing away, and fragrant with lavender.  Pollyanna had found the shawl the week before when Nancy had been regulating the attic; and it had occurred to her to-day that there was no reason why her aunt, as well as Mrs. White of her Western home, should not be “dressed up.”

Her task completed, Pollyanna surveyed her work with eyes that approved, but that saw yet one touch wanting.  Promptly, therefore, she pulled her aunt toward the sun parlor where she could see a belated red rose blooming on the trellis within reach of her hand.

“Pollyanna, what are you doing?  Where are you taking me to?” recoiled Aunt Polly, vainly trying to hold herself back.  “Pollyanna, I shall not—­”

“It’s just to the sun parlor—­only a minute!  I’ll have you ready now quicker’n no time,” panted Pollyanna, reaching for the rose and thrusting it into the soft hair above Miss Polly’s left ear.  “There!” she exulted, untying the knot of the handkerchief and flinging the bit of linen far from her.  “Oh, Aunt Polly, now I reckon you’ll be glad I dressed you up!”

For one dazed moment Miss Polly looked at her bedecked self, and at her surroundings; then she gave a low cry and fled to her room.  Pollyanna, following the direction of her aunt’s last dismayed gaze, saw, through the open windows of the sun parlor, the horse and gig turning into the driveway.  She recognized at once the man who held the reins.  Delightedly she leaned forward.

“Dr. Chilton, Dr. Chilton!  Did you want to see me?  I’m up here.”

“Yes,” smiled the doctor, a little gravely.  “Will you come down, please?”

In the bedroom Pollyanna found a flushed-faced, angry-eyed woman plucking at the pins that held a lace shawl in place.

“Pollyanna, how could you?” moaned the woman.  “To think of your rigging me up like this, and then letting me—­be seen!”

Pollyanna stopped in dismay.

“But you looked lovely—­perfectly lovely, Aunt Polly; and—­”

" ’Lovely’!” scorned the woman, flinging the shawl to one side and attacking her hair with shaking fingers.

“Oh, Aunt Polly, please, please let the hair stay!”

“Stay?  Like this?  As if I would!” And Miss Polly pulled the locks so tightly back that the last curl lay stretched dead at the ends of her fingers.

“O dear!  And you did look so pretty,” almost sobbed Pollyanna, as she stumbled through the door.

Down-stairs Pollyanna found the doctor waiting in his gig.

“I’ve prescribed you for a patient, and he’s sent me to get the prescription filled,” announced the doctor.  “Will you go?”