Pollyanna: The First Glad Book. Pollyanna Grows Up: The Second Glad Book / Поллианна. Поллианна вырастает

“Just as if how it looks would make any difference in how it tastes,” she scoffed-but she turned her eyes toward the basket. “Well, what is it?”

“Guess! What do you want?” Pollyanna had skipped back to the basket. Her face was alight. The sick woman frowned.

“Why, I don’t WANT anything, as I know of,” she sighed. “After all, they all taste alike!”

Pollyanna chuckled.

“This won’t. Guess! If you DID want something, what would it be?”

The woman hesitated. She did not realize it herself, but she had so long been accustomed to wanting what she did not have, that to state offhand what she DID want seemed impossible-until she knew what she had.

“Well, of course, there’s lamb broth-”

“I’ve got it!” crowed Pollyanna.

“But that’s what I DIDN’T want,” sighed the sick woman, sure now of what her stomach craved. “It was chicken I wanted.”

“Oh, I’ve got that, too,” chuckled Pollyanna.

The woman turned in amazement.

“Both of them?” she demanded.

“Yes-and calf’s-foot jelly,” triumphed Pollyanna. “I was just bound you should have what you wanted for once; so Nancy and I fixed it. Oh, of course, there’s only a little of each-but there’s some of all of �em! I’m so glad you did want chicken,” she went on contentedly, as she lifted the three little bowls from her basket. “You see, I got to thinking on the way here-what if you should say tripe, or onions, or something like that, that I didn’t have! Wouldn’t it have been a shame-when I’d tried so hard?” she laughed merrily.

There was no reply. The sick woman seemed to be trying-mentally to find something she had lost.

“There! I’m to leave them all,” announced Pollyanna, as she arranged the three bowls in a row on the table. “Like enough it’ll be lamb broth you want tomorrow. How do you do today?” she finished in polite inquiry.

“Very poorly, thank you,” murmured Mrs. Snow, falling back into her usual listless attitude. “I lost my nap this morning. Nellie Higgins next door has begun music lessons, and her practising drives me nearly wild. She was at it all the morning-every minute! I’m sure, I don’t know what I shall do!”

Polly nodded sympathetically.

“I know. It IS awful! Mrs. White had it once-one of my Ladies’ Aiders, you know.