“I call that a pretty slick compliment,” he said.  “Why don’t you thank the little lady?”

“I—­I was thinkin’ about—­Miss Polly,” faltered Nancy.

Pollyanna sighed contentedly.

“I was, too.  I’m so interested in her.  You know she’s all the aunt I’ve got, and I didn’t know I had her for ever so long.  Then father told me.  He said she lived in a lovely great big house ’way on top of a hill.”

“She does.  You can see it now,” said Nancy.

“It’s that big white one with the green blinds, ’way ahead.”

“Oh, how pretty!—­and what a lot of trees and grass all around it!  I never saw such a lot of green grass, seems so, all at once.  Is my Aunt Polly rich, Nancy?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“I’m so glad.  It must be perfectly lovely to have lots of money.  I never knew any one that did have, only the Whites—­they’re some rich.  They have carpets in every room and ice-cream Sundays.  Does Aunt Polly have ice-cream Sundays?”

Nancy shook her head.  Her lips twitched.  She threw a merry look into Timothy’s eyes.

“No, Miss.  Your aunt don’t like ice-cream, I guess; leastways I never saw it on her table.”

Pollyanna’s face fell.

“Oh, doesn’t she?  I’m so sorry!  I don’t see how she can help liking ice-cream.  But—­anyhow, I can be kinder glad about that, ’cause the ice-cream you don’t eat can’t make your stomach ache like Mrs. White’s did—­that is, I ate hers, you know, lots of it.  Maybe Aunt Polly has got the carpets, though.”

“Yes, she’s got the carpets.”

“In every room?”

“Well, in almost every room,” answered Nancy, frowning suddenly at the thought of that bare little attic room where there was no carpet.

“Oh, I’m so glad,” exulted Pollyanna.  “I love carpets.  We didn’t have any, only two little rugs that came in a missionary barrel, and one of those had ink spots on it.  Mrs. White had pictures, too, perfectly beautiful ones of roses and little girls kneeling and a kitty and some lambs and a lion—­not together, you know—­the lambs and the lion.  Oh, of course the Bible says they will sometime, but they haven’t yet—­that is, I mean Mrs. White’s haven’t.  Don’t you just love pictures?”

“I—­I don’t know,” answered Nancy in a half-stifled voice.

“I do.  We didn’t have any pictures.  They don’t come in the barrels much, you know.  There did two come once, though.  But one was so good father sold it to get money to buy me some shoes with; and the other was so bad it fell to pieces just as soon as we hung it up.  Glass—­it broke, you know.  And I cried.  But I’m glad now we didn’t have any of those nice things, ’cause I shall like Aunt Polly’s all the better—­not being used to ’em, you see.  Just as it is when the pretty hair-ribbons come in the barrels after a lot of faded-out brown ones.  My! but isn’t this a perfectly beautiful house?” she broke off fervently, as they turned into the wide driveway.